“What’s up?” he asked, dipping his head.
“There’s a little boy over there,” I said softly. “He knows who you are. He wants to meet you.”
He slowly turned his head in the direction of the little boy who’d commanded my attention. Now, he was shyly hiding behind his mom’s leg, as if meeting his hero was too much for him.
“Poppy—”
I said nothing. I wriggled free of his hold and walked to the little guy. My eyes met his mom’s, and with a smile, I kneeled down in front of him. “Hey, buddy. Are you here for Rosie’s wedding?”
Clutching his mom’s dress tighter, he nodded.
“Wanna know a secret?”
Another nod.
“I’m Rosie’s sister. And that guy? That’s Adam West.”
“From da Stowms?” he whispered.
I leaned right into him. “Yes. Don’t tell anyone, okay? I’ll bring him over here if you promise to keep it secret.”
He nodded so enthusiastically I thought his head might fly off.
“What’s your name, buddy?”
“Adam,” he whispered.
Oh. My heart.
“Okay, hold on.” I pressed a finger to my lips and stood. My flip-flops thundered against the tiled floor as I crossed back to Adam.
“What are you doing?” Adult Adam whispered.
I linked my fingers through his. “You’re his hero,” I whispered right back.
“We’ll be late for lunch with your mom,” he reminded me.
“I don’t care. He needs you.” I dragged him across the floor to where Little Adam was standing, starstruck.
I mean, I kinda got it. I’d be the same if a naked Channing Tatum showed up in my bedroom, you know?
“Adam, this is Adam,” I said, releasing Adult Adam’s hand. “He’s a big fan of yours.”
Adult Adam dropped to his knees. “Hi there, Adam. That’s a great name. Did you know that?”
Little Adam nodded. “My dad said he named me after your dad.”
Eh?
“He has good taste,” Adult Adam replied. “Are you here to see Rosie and Marcus get married?”
The little one nodded again. “I love Uncle Marcus,” he said.
Ah. Clarification. Wonderful.
“Marcus’ sister-in-law,” Little Adam’s mom said, touching my arm. “Jerica.”
“Poppy. Rosie’s sister,” I replied softly, touching her hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Adam West is his Iron Man.”
Adam laughed at something her son had said. Little Adam threw back his head, clutching his stomach, laughing as though every single one of his dreams had come true.
I swallowed hard. “He’s amazing. I think he’s spent more time with guests than he has with me.” I rolled my eyes.
She laughed, touching my arm. “I’d say that’s a sign of a good man, but that’s probably debatable right now to you.”
I looked back at Adam giving her little boy a high five, and there was nothing debatable about it. “No. He is. He’s a good man.”
Jerica nudged me with her elbow. “You got a good one. Don’t let him go.”
I smiled, but I didn’t say anything. He was my fake boyfriend, after all. But I knew it—he was a good man, and that was all there was to it.
“Adam, baby, we need to go and check in,” Jerica said softly, approaching the two Adams. “I’m sure we’ll see Mr. Winters again this weekend.”
“Your mom is right,” Adam said. “I’ll see you at the wedding!”
Little Adam nodded, grinning widely. “Okay. You promise?”
My Adam nodded. “Sure. I promise.”
***
“That was cute,” I said, turning onto the sloping stairs that led to the beach.
“It was?” Adam reached over and cupped my elbow when I almost tripped on a little crack in one of the steps.
“Thanks.” I smiled at him. “Yes, it was cute. You made his day. How can that not be cute?”
“Is this like when I tell you that you’re cute or adorable and you don’t like it?”
“No. Because I’m neither cute or adorable, but you interacting with little Adam actually was cute. Like a line-up of fluffy kittens interspersed with ducklings cute.”
“Wouldn’t the kittens chase the ducklings and try to eat them?”
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to him. “Are you trying to hurt me?”
Laughing, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders and hugged me against him. “I’m sorry. The kittens and the ducklings played with a little ball of wool and lived happily ever after.”
“Why would ducklings be playing with wool?”
“Why would you line up ducklings and kittens?”
“Because it’s my explanation and I can use whatever imagery I like,” I replied. “It’s like asking J.K. Rowling why Ron got annoyed at Dean for dating Ginny but didn’t bat an eyelid about Harry doing it. Personally, I think she needed to be more consistent in his emotions, but I wouldn’t question her on it. Why do you need to question my comparison for cuteness?”
Adam opened his mouth as if he was going to respond to that, but he quickly shut it and shook his head.
I see he was understanding why I once made my mom roll her eyes so hard she gave herself a migraine and had to lie down.
I was a delight.
“Okay, so what I did was cute. Great. That’s how I want to be seen. The guy who does cute things,” Adam said with a sigh.
“Then don’t do cute things,” I told him, grinning. “It’s really all your own fault.”
He rolled his eyes, squeezing me again gently. Obviously, he’d come to his senses and had decided to give up arguing with me. Not to mention that I could see the tiki-style beach bar and my mom was already sitting at a table with four rattan-style chairs.
The bar wasn’t anything fancy, but it was definitely somewhere I could imagine being the heart and soul of a warm evening on the beach. It was all made out of wood, and the sloping roof was coated in palm tree leaves, giving it an exotic feel.
Large, colorful lights were attached to the edge of it, although they weren’t turned on right now, I imagined they looked beautiful in the dark. The bar jutted out enough for someone to sit and eat—not that I would sit at the bar.
The seats were swings.
Could you imagine sitting at that bar after one too many cocktails and trying to sit still? It wasn’t going to happen. Hell, it probably wasn’t going to happen for me stone cold sober.
Adam caught where I was looking. “You’re trying to figure out how long you’d last on one of those swings, aren’t you?”
“Can you read my mind?”
“No. I was thinking the same thing.” His lips twitched. “Fifty bucks says three margaritas and you’re on your ass.”
“Fifty bucks says one glass of water and I’m on my ass, and that’s pushing it,” I muttered. “All right. Here we go. Let’s survive this.”
“You say it like we’re going down to burn in hell.”
“We are, and I’m taking you with me.”
Another squeeze. This time, a reassuring one. “Come on. We got this.”
I was glad he was so confident. I was shitting my pants. My mother had an eye like a hawk and her mind was as sharp as my tongue was. You could sedate her and tell her a lie and she’d wake up knowing you were lying.
Being so close to her for at least an hour was not going to be a good thing. She’d spend the next sixty minutes examining us to make sure our relationship was what we were saying it was.
Since it wasn’t, that was problematic. If she knew I was faking, I’d never hear the end of it. Birthdays. Christmases. Christenings. Weddings.
Hell, she’d put it on my gravestone.
Here lies Poppy Dunn. She was a big fat liar, liar, pants on fire who faked a boyfriend.
I glanced up at my mom. She picked up a large plastic cup and sipped through the bright red straw that was inside it.
Then, she saw my t-shirt.
“I want to be where the people aren’t,” read my nice, bright, turquoise tank top.
Mom frowned.
Adam looked at my shirt. “Maybe you should have worn a dress.”
“And miss the look on her face? Never.”
He shook his head. “And you think she’s the one who’ll drag us to hell.”
I jabbed my elbow into his side.
I’d remember that.
CHAPTER NINE – POPPY
Drinks and Disasters