32. Adam

32

ADAM

A nna visibly relaxes as we wander around the benching area and meet the dog owners, and despite Fabian’s ‘manipulate her’ advice, the tight bubbling feeling I’ve been sitting on for days morphs into warm water flowing through my veins. I’ve given her this, and they’ve been kind enough to accommodate her. Maybe that makes me an idiot after she unceremoniously dumped me. She didn’t dump you, Adam, remember! You were friends. Hopefully, you’re still friends.

She signs autographs and poses for selfies and answers questions about tennis, before subtly moving the conversation on to dogs. These people can talk about their dogs forever once they’ve started: the history, the breed, the coat conditioners. It’s a masterclass. Anna grins from ear to ear. She is a nerd . A smile curves over my lips.

But the more I watch, the more annoyed I get on her behalf. Arty Maroz unleashed the worst aspects of the media and made her nervous, whereas her real fans are so nice, so genuinely excited to see her. She doesn’t deserve to be hounded; she works so damn hard. Why isn’t she angry about all the intrusion and disruption to her life? Perhaps she is and is trying to keep a lid on it. Lord knows, I can identify with that. Maybe she was also helping you, Adam? Shame burns through me.

“It’s lovely not to have the press around,” I say. “No drama.”

Perhaps if today is relaxed and easy, over time she might recognize that we could have a different relationship that didn’t eat into her concentration. If Arty Maroz stopped hounding her and dropped his stupid court case about Pepper, this whole thing could be manageable. I’m a patient guy. I’ve hung on to my business for ten years, after all.

When I called the Kennel Club earlier in the week and said Anna Talanova wanted to visit, I was expecting all sorts of conditions. But dog people aren’t like that, seemingly. They were excited and said they’d never been asked for something like this before. Seriously? There are no celebrities with pets who want to hang around backstage at a dog show? They don’t know what they’re missing. It’s a blast. The dogs are as cute as hell and happy to be fussed over, although Anna and I learn quickly not to touch them if they’re about to go out into the ring and be judged.

As we’re talking to a lady about her Schnauzer, two small boys appear at my elbow.

“You’re that guy!” one of them says as the other one holds up one of my kit dogs.

“The Electronic Man!” the second boy says, waving the kit around. They must be what, ten, eleven years old?

I squat down, grinning. Is this how Anna feels when she’s accosted by kids? “Did you like making it?”

He nods, then kneels down and places the kit on the floor. And of course it’s the Beagle Bot, Susie’s favorite.

“Don’t start that running in here!” A woman suddenly looms over his shoulder, looking flustered. “You’ll set all the dogs off!” Her eyes catch mine, and they widen.

“Oh, you’re that man!” She pats her hair absently. “On the videos.”

“I am indeed,” I say, standing up and holding out a hand. “Adam Miller.”

“It’s so lovely to meet you! We just love all your silly jokes on camera, and we adore your kits in our house. The boys spend so much time making the dogs and then ages playing with them after. It’s a godsend if I’m honest.”

“That’s nice to hear.”

“Can I have your autograph?” the first boy says, and it makes me laugh.

“Of course!” I say.

I glance at Anna, and she’s grinning at me. “YouTube star,” she mutters under her breath.

“Stop it,” I say with a shake of my head as I sign the boy’s exhibition program.

“Are you here exhibiting?” the woman asks. “We’ll come by the stand later. It would keep these two occupied.”

“I’m afraid not.” Why didn’t this occur to me? “Perhaps next year.”

When we move on, Anna waves a hand around the tent. “Don’t let me keep you from your public,” she says, still grinning. I roll my eyes at her.

But after an hour of answering questions and talking, Anna’s smile is a little brittle.

“Maybe we need coffee, cake, and a rest,” I suggest.

“I’m not sure I’m allowed cake,” she mumbles.

“Everyone’s allowed cake.” My lips curve up, and her eyes roam all over my face. I groan to myself. Every time she looks at me like I mean something to her, I want to kiss her. It’s one thing to hatch a plan with Fabian, but another thing entirely to execute it.

Kevin turns around from where he’s talking to one of the competitors. “Did someone mention a rest? We have a private box where you can watch the show and have refreshments if you like.”

I raise my eyebrows at Anna, and she stretches her back, nodding. “I am tired if I’m honest,” she says. “But I’d love to see what the dogs do out on the floor.”

Kevin gestures back to where we came in and then takes us through a whole series of long corridors through the bowels of the building. We go up a few escalators to a suite with a perfect view of the center of the stadium, and Kevin disappears to fetch tea and coffee and sort out some cake.

“Look at that Pekinese!” Anna says, flapping her hands as it bounds through tunnels and jumps over several obstacles. I grab a program from the table as we settle into a couple of seats. There are so many kinds of competition. Some are about breeds, but others are trials of sorts—obedience, agility, even something they call “dock diving.” It’s mind-blowing.

She slips her hand into my elbow, and I’m ridiculously thrilled to have her hand back tucked into my side. “I could take them all home,” she whispers.

“Some of them are very valuable, more valuable than Pepper. You might have to take out a mortgage on that penthouse of yours.”

She laughs. “Perhaps Pepper would like a friend? That Pekinese was very cute.”

“Are you kidding me? Share all the glorious fuss and attention she gets? She’d be so grumpy.”

I squeeze her hand where it’s resting on my arm, and she sighs then rests her head on my shoulder, and I have to fight to stop myself from turning to kiss her hair.

“Maybe she’d like a nice boyfriend.” She says this so quietly that I almost don’t catch her words, but my heart thumps in my chest when I do.

“Doesn’t every woman want a nice boyfriend?” I say.