Page 73 of How Good It Was (Excess All Areas 3)

Oh, she wanted to. When she’d showered, she’d imagined what it would feel like for him to join her in there. To place his hands on her bump and love her slowly and thoroughly. And it had been his face she’d imagined as she’d carefully applied her makeup, every step, including contour and fake lashes.

For a fraction of a second, she hadn’t recognised herself.

Fake relationship, fake lashes, fake posts.

She didn’t like the way the word irritated like a stone she couldn’t get out of her shoe.

Fake.

She pulled on her heels. Strappy. Like her dress that she’d steamed in the bathroom as she showered to help the creases drop out of the stretchy material.

With a deep breath, she pulled the door open and stepped into the living room where Luke stood, rolling up the sleeves to his black shirt to reveal the corded forearms and all their delicious ink. His dark jeans fit him perfectly.

“Jesus. You look hot, flower.”

Hot didn’t begin to describe the feelings she had as she studied him. His grin, genuine, and for her.

His eyes trailed down to her stomach and his grin grew broader.

For the baby.

Was it possible to be jealous of a foetus?

“Why do you call me flower?”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I like it. Babe, sweetheart. They are more usual.”

“My dad was a Geordie.”

“A what?”

“A Geordie. My dad was born and raised in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. You wouldn’t have understood a word he said, but he called my mum flower. I rarely heard him say her real name. Always flower.” A sad smile replaced his grin. “A better man didn’t walk the earth than my dad. It’s a pity he can’t see any of this, although he’d likely kick my arse for making a meal of it.”

“Making a meal of it?”

“A mess. Anyway, I don’t know why I was suddenly reminded of flower and started calling you it.”

Thoughts came fast and furious. The sweet name his father had used for his mother. The wave of sadness she felt, sure that his emotions had taken form when he talked about his father. The impact the loss of his dad must have had, and the fear he might feel with his own child, as a result.

“I like it, Luke. Flower.”

He nodded. “We should take these pictures. We have about half an hour before we need to leave. Where do you want me?”

Wasn’t that a leading question? She wanted him just about anywhere. But not when his position had only changed because he’d seen the baby. Not when she couldn’t be sure if his feelings were real or a contact high from seeing their son.

“What about by the palm near the bar cart? It should coordinate with what I’m wearing, and the light should be good?”

She took a moment to compose herself as she set up the lighting and her camera to capture the shot. “Okay,” she said eventually. “I’ve set a sequence timer. It will take a shot every few seconds so we can take lots and decide which we like best.”

Luke held his hand out to her, and she looked at it for a moment before taking it. “How do you want to stand?”

Suddenly, everything she knew about how to capture the best angles, which side was her best, whether or not to lower or raise her chin, disappeared. She was so close to Luke, she could smell his cologne, all woodsy, not a trace of anything remotely floral. His warmth seeped through her clothes.

They stood next to plants and the bar.

Things they’d bought just so they could take pictures like this. Things Luke didn’t own, hadn’t wanted, couldn’t afford. But they were here, because she’d asked him if they could add them. And he’d agreed.

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