I get silly fantasies about her becoming their stepsister.
I look at her with adoration and then Brock’s hand slips into mine. “She’s a great kid, isn’t she?”
I smile and say, “She’s wonderful. She’s also a looker. You’re going to have to beat the guys away with a baseball bat.”
He laughs and says, “You think I could stand up to her if she decides she wants a boy?”
We laugh a little at that and then I hear a nervous voice say, “Excuse me, are you Brock Matheson?”
We turn. The person asking is a cute girl, probably fourteen or fifteen. Her parents stand about ten feet away. “That’s me,” Brock says with a smile.
“Can I… Can I…” She holds out a little notepad. “Can I have your autograph?”
“Sure,” he says. He takes the notebook and asks, “What’s your name?”
“Lily,” she says.
He writes and hands it back to her. “How’s that?”
Her nervousness disappears and she smiles brightly. “Thank you!”
Brock says, “Are those your parents?” Soon, he’s shaking their hands. As they walk away, he says, “That’ll happen a lot today. Are you sure you want to be going out with a guy who gets mobbed wherever he goes?” I lift myself up on tiptoes and kiss him.
“Nothing is going to change how I feel about you,” I say. “Nothing.”
That’s when the screaming starts.