My cheeks warmed at the memory, which was miraculous. Like Liem, I wasn’t someone whoblushed.
But then I thought of that smile again. The one from before. The one that was so big that it exposed his extra-sharp canine on the left side, hidden behind pillowy lips.
Pillowy?
Maybe it was just my subconscious yearning for a bed so badly that it was thinking of bed-related descriptors.
The extra-wide elevator jolted as it reached the third floor, and Adair gestured with his crutch as the doors opened. “After you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? Really?” I asked, stepping out of the elevator.
There was a boom of laughter, and my gaze whipped to the only open door on the floor. That was Dad’s laugh. I hadn’t heard it in months. Not like that.
I followed the sound.
“Ma’am,” Adair repeated as he caught up with me and kept pace. “Unless you prefer Miss Sewell. I don’t actually know your name yet.”
I heard him but not really, too set on finding out what was happening.
“Dad?” I asked as I entered the apartment.
They—Mr. Smith and Dad—were laughing at something together, my dad’s sounding loud and unrestrained and Mr. Smith’s low and rumbling. I raised my eyebrows at Director Links and Nurse Emily, silently asking what I’d missed.
“Apparently,” Emily said, flicking her gaze from the men to me, “Mr. Sewell and Mr. Smith both like Mel Brooks.”
I watched in amazement as they continued debating the ranking of classic Mel Brooks comedies, Dad getting in roughly twenty words for every one from Mr. Smith, but it was like magic.
I loved when my anxiety was wrong.
Glancing up at Adair, I couldn’t help but smile. A full-blown, average-canines-on-display smile.
“This might work,” I said out loud, though it was really more for myself.
He nudged my foot with his crutch, and it was comforting. I suddenly felt like I’d gained two people on my team. On Dad’s team.
Adair and I shared a lingering look before Director Links joined us and wordlessly ushered us outside.
Her posture was proud—as it should be—as she took in the scene inside the apartment before regarding us. “I have a good feeling about this,” she said. “We love and embrace any win we can take.” She looked at me, and then at Adair. “Remember that on the bad days.”
The surge of thankfulness I felt for this woman was so powerful, it nearly took my breath away, and all I could do was nod.
“Now, Mr. Jacks,” she started. “I know you’re not technically Mr. Smith’s point of contact, but Jillie says you’re his second emergency contact. How do you feel about the match? Any concerns?”
I looked up at Adair again, full of even more questions about this guy.
He thought it over for a few moments. “Pops knows his mind. Or, umm….” He gripped the back of his neck but then dropped it back down to his side and straightened his posture. “What I mean to say, ma’am, is that I respect his decisions. If he thinks this is where he needs to be, I’ll stand by him. Always.”
Director Links seemed pleased with that answer, and based on the way my chest warmed at the earnest declaration, I was too. But my priority was Dad, and having as much information as possible was key. So, I squared my shoulders.
“I don’t know a graceful way to ask this, or if it’s even legal, but… Mr. Smith?” Adair’s hazel eyes met mine dead-on. “His diagnosis? Is he like Dad, just not as advanced?”
Director Links looked at Adair, too, silently communicating that the ball was in his court to answer or not.
She was good at that.
Adair looked down at me again, though it didn’t feel like that. Everything about him was open and warm.
Full of care.
