Page 106 of At First Smile
“Luv? Baby?” Fiona almost squeals as she slaps her hands together. “Terms of endearment and family introductions, this is serious.”
“Easy, Mrs. Bennet,” Rowan tuts, playfully.
Fiona’s entire being lights up at the Austen reference. It’s easy to see the fondness she has for her sons and they for her. Even if Rowan worries that he disappoints her, there’s a closeness. The length of their hug. The inside jokes. The playful banter. It all paints the image of a mother-son bond.
“What kind are they?”
“There’s cream, and this one here…Mam?” Rowan asks.
Gillian clears his throat. “Carrot cake scone with a white chocolate glaze.”
“You made carrot cake scones?” My head tilts to the right.
“Rowan said you liked carrot cake.”
“You make Pen and Rowan’s favorites, but where’s mine?” Finn taunts, his mouth full.
“Cream scones are your favorite?” I look at Rowan.
“Yep.” He spreads lemon curd onto his scone.
“Thank you, Gillian.” I blink.Nougat much?
“You’re welcome,” he mutters, almost as if it pains him to receive a compliment.
Breaking off a piece of still-warm scone, I pop it into my mouth. “Mmm… So good.”
“Luv, please don’t make that noise in my mam’s living room,” Rowan whispers, his smirk pressed against the shell of my ear.
“Jealous?” I coo, batting my lashes at him.
“You and that smart mouth.” He presses a chaste kiss, but his possessive grip at my waist teases me with the promise of all the ways he plans to make me scream his name.
“Get a room,” Finn quips.
“Hush, Finn, they’re sweet,” Fiona defends.
“Diabetic,” Gillian mumbles.
“Since last night, I’ve watched them do nothing but kiss or eye-fuck each other,” Finn groans.
“Watch it!” Rowan chucks a piece of scone at him.
“Boys,” Fiona scolds with a soft laugh.
Finn catches the tossed piece of scone and pops it into his mouth. “Seriously you’re going to have to double up the birth control or you’ll make Mam a grandma before the year’s out.”
“I do like the sound of that. Pen’s lovely hair and Rowan’s green eyes,” she gushes.
“Mam, it’s too soon for that talk,” Rowan protests, but his palm rests against my lower abdomen making the butterflies somersault.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I agree that any future children should have Rowan’s eyes. They’ll work better,” I deadpan.
There’s a beat of silence until Gillian snorts a laugh. “Your girl is funny, Rowan.” His gruff timbre softens with warmth.
“She’s many things.” Rowan presses his lips against my cheek.
