Page 63 of Welker

He screwed up his mouth, apologizing. “I’m sorry, but… Take a deep breath, Moira. You’re about to meet the inimitable Betta Vestore. My mother.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Oh, shit. Welker’s mother?

Moira had heard from a number of sources that she was a tough woman; a ball-buster. And with Welker being her only son, she took championing him to a whole new level. Especially after his precipitous discharge from the Navy.

At least that’s the scuttlebutt Moira had gleaned from his buddies.

“How are you going to introduce me?”

Moira wasn’t surprised her voice shook. She’d had little or no experience with mothers. Not having one herself, and with her friendships being limited, her close-up encounters with moms had been scant. Mason’s mother Ellen Sothard was the exception. That woman was awesome, and loved everybody, so Moira had allowed her to get close, and she’d never regretted it.

She had a feeling Mrs. Vestore was going to be a different story.

“As my girlfriend, of course,” Welker stated nonchalantly.

Moira nodded.

This might be a defining moment.

Moira didn’t know what she expected when Welker opened the door three minutes later, but the diminutive, red-haired lady standing on the steps was not it, and had her blinking. Because when Moira thought red, she meant, red. Mrs. Vestore’s hair had been dyed the color of candied-apples, which not only defied nature, but screamed warning, danger, like a crimson strobe.

“Welker,” the woman purred, striding through the door to embrace him.

He bent his head and kissed her crown. “Mom.” He was smiling, so he must not be too worried. “Don’t tell me. The reason for your impromptu visit is because my sister has a big mouth.”

“No,” his mother corrected, pulling back and reaching up to take his face between her palms. “It was actually Sabira. Not that I’m happy you didn’t tell me about your new friend, first, but I was certainly curious when Sabi voluntarily gave me the scoop. I think she’s glad she’s finally not the sole focus in my quest for grandchildren.”

Moira swallowed her spit the wrong way and began coughing.

What the hell? She and Welk had just started sharing a bed, and only today had decided that she’d move in. His mother was already thinking wedding bells and…procreation?

Up until being with Welker, Moira had only ever thought about sex as something you did to keep a partner assuaged while dating. She’d only just found out it could also be mind-blowingly hot. Now she needed to switch things up again and imagine little sperms and eggs cavorting together?

Hell, n?—

She blinked over at Welker.

Well? Maybe?

Suddenly the idea wasn’t exactly abhorrent. Tiny little boys with spiky blond hair and piercing dark eyes…

“…so I decided to take things into my own hands and see for myself.”

Moira snapped out of her daydreaming to catch the tail end of what Mrs. Vestore had been saying, but she got the gist. Welker’s mother hadn’t wanted to wait any longer for an invitation from her son. Well, two could play at that game. Moira wasn’t going to wait on the bemused man for an introduction, either.

She drew in a deep breath and stepped forward, sticking out her hand. “I’m so pleased to meet you Mrs. Vestore. I’m Moira Bliss.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, eschewing Moira’s gesture like it was a poisonous viper. “First of all, young lady,” she huffed. “I’m Bette. And second, if you’re going to be my new daughter-in-law, hugs are the only acceptable form of greeting.” It was stated acerbically, which was confusing. Her words, gestures, and facial expressions were diametrically opposed.

The little woman minced forward as if she hadn’t just muddled Moira’s brain, and wrapped her arms around Moira’s waist, laying her head right onto Moira’s unfettered chest—because who knew she was going to need a bra—giving her an enormous squeeze that belied her size.

Moira was shocked. She’d expected…censure? Disdain?

Once Moira got her brain past the bite-then-purr switch-up, she didn’t know quite what to do with her arms. She ended up giving the woman awkward pats on her back.

“Uh…okay?” Moira sent frantic eyes to Welker, who looked to be on the verge of hysterics.

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