Her bright eyes seek out her son. ‘Ronan! You made it! You didn’t say you were bringing a…’
‘Friend,’ Ronan says firmly.
‘Right. A friend.’ Ronan’s mother turns to me again.
‘Mrs Rivers, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’ I shoot the boys an apologetic look as I cross the lawn and fall into step beside Ronan.
‘Please, call me Nancy. Everyone else does.’ She takes both of my hands, stares at my face for a long beat, and then drops a kiss on my left cheek.
‘Nancy, I’m Savannah.’ I glance at Ronan, who’s watching with an unreadable expression.
‘I know who you are. I’ve seen you on the TV.’ She ushers me inside while she greets her son with a hug that lasts for half a minute.
‘Savannah had a leak at the house she rents out, so we were over there trying to fix it,’ Ronan explains, straightening himself.
‘Is that you, Ro?’ another female voice calls from further inside the house.
‘It is,’ Nancy answers for him.’ And he brought his friend Savannah, too.’
Ronan’s sister hurtles into the hallway, a gravy-splashed apron covering a polka dot summer dress. ‘No fucking way! Single Sav?’
I wince, feeling like the biggest hypocrite in the world. ‘The very same.’
But I’m not the same. And I doubt I ever will be, but now isn’t the time to analyse that.
‘I’m Rachel. Ronan’s younger and better-looking sister.’ She fires him a wink. ‘I’m a huge fan of yours. I say to my husband at least five times a week, “I swear I don’t know how that woman does it on her own.”’ She flings the dishcloth she’s holding into the air and up onto her shoulder. ‘I can’t believe you’re actually here.’
A guy saunters out from behind her with a knowing expression on his face. I recognise his dark hair and distinguished features from that night in Elixir. The night I drove myself demented with jealously when I thought Ronan had gone home with that woman in the white dress.
‘Savannah Kingsley, in the flesh.’ His deep Dublin drawl is as prolonged as his roving appraisal.
He turns to Ronan and clicks his fingers. ‘I knew it.’ Dark eyes dart between us with delight.
‘Savannah and I are friends,’ Ronan repeats, taking a step closer to me. I’m not sure if it’s protective or possessive but I’m not used to someone else having my back, but I like it.
‘Course you are.’ Richard sniffs the air, and I swear he can smell the sex hormones radiating from us.
‘Inside before dinner gets cold.’ Nancy shoos us into the huge country kitchen like a mother hen. A round table punctuates the centre of the room, its top worn and cuffed from years of family dinners and fun. ‘Grab another set of cutlery and a placemat,’ she instructs Ronan.
A traditional style Aga with exposed brick over the mantle is the centre point of the far wall. I can only imagine what memories this kitchen holds.
Another man enters the room, attempting to soothe a crying baby on his chest, rocking and shushing the bundle in his arms. His silver eyes widen slightly as they land on me, and he nods a greeting before turning to Rachel. ‘He must be teething. He won’t settle. Won’t take a bottle. Won’t take a nap.’
‘Savannah, this is my husband, Jonathan. And our baby, Mark,’ Rachel beams. ‘Mark’s a pure rascal already.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Jonathan. Here, let me take him.’ I reach for the baby, offering an encouraging smile, ‘if you don’t mind.’
Jonathan doesn’t hesitate. He hands the baby over quicker than lightning, relief relaxing his shoulders. I position the infant slightly upright, resting his cheek on my breast so he can hear the gentle thudding of my heartbeat. I rock him ever so gently, revelling in the unique baby scent, the smell of his skin and his hair. When a tiny hand curls around my pinkie finger, my ovaries roar.
Yep, still broody.
Not helpful.
Not helpful at all.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
RONAN
