Page 24 of All This Time

Rhonan shakes his head and continues to walk away, leaving me and Fletcher alone. When his eyes find mine again, my pulse races even faster.

He’s just a guy, Laney. Just a guy you used to have a crush on when you were a teenager. He’s not even that good-looking, so just calm the fuck down.

Fletcher grins, and that dimple of his pops in his cheek.

I’m screwed.

“Excuse me? Are you Fletcher Adams?” a small voice asks.

A young girl a little older than Ellis approaches us before Fletcher can explain why he’s here.

“I am,” Fletcher answers, kneeling down to her level so they can see eye-to-eye. “What’s your name?”

“Isabella.”

“What a beautiful name. Do you watch football, Isabella?”

She shakes her head. “No, but my Daddy does.”

A gentleman who can’t be much older than Fletcher walks up behind her. “Sorry about that. My daughter swore she saw you, and she took off before I could stop her.”

Fletcher stands, smiling. “Well, she was right.” He extends his hand to the man. “Fletcher Adams. Nice to meet you.”

The guy shakes Fletcher’s hand with a grin. “Man, this is wild. I’ve watched you play for years. Big fan.”

Fletcher’s smile softens. “I appreciate that.”

“Do you mind signing my hat?” the man asks, taking it off and handing it to Fletcher.

“Absolutely.” Prepared for occasions such as this, Fletcher extracts a black marker from his pocket, uncaps it with his teeth, and scribbles his name across the bill. “There you go.”

I’m so transfixed watching him interacting with his fans, that I am oblivious to the line of people that has formed behind the young girl and her dad.

Fletcher directs his gaze to mine. “Sorry about this.”

“Why are you apologizing? This is what you wanted, right?” I ask without one ounce of sarcasm in my voice. I remember listening to Fletcher talk about how one day people were going to ask him for his autograph—and now I get to witness it.

While Fletcher takes pictures, talks, and signs autographs for his fans, I walk over to the refreshment table, needing something to do besides gape. I grab two water bottles and linger for a bit, pretendingto organize popcorn buckets while mostly just watching him work the small crowd.

It takes nearly thirty minutes before the last fan finally walks away.

When he turns back toward me, I hand him a water.

“Thank you,” he says, twisting the cap open and taking a long drink.

“Does that happen a lot?” I ask.

“Honestly, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before now. If I’m not keeping a low profile, it’s pretty standard. I’m used to it by now.”

“Comes with the territory, huh?”

It’s in that moment that I realize just how much I don’t know about the man standing in front of me, when once upon a time, I was the person who knew more about him than anyone else.

Maybe that’s still true.

He takes a step closer to me. “Yes, and to answer your question from earlier, Rhonan texted me this afternoon, asking if I wanted to join him and Ellis for movie night. So I called Elliot to ask if we could reschedule, and he suggested we just meet here at the winery. Now I can spend time with Ellisandfulfill my duty as the best man.”

“Oh.” He spent thirty minutes talking to his fans instead of brushing them offandhe didn’t want to let down my niece, so he made other arrangements for our meeting?