The comment has the intended effect, Mom’s shoulders immediately loosening and her smile turning a touch more genuine. “Well, aren’t you a charmer?” She teases. “And handsome, too. Not that I’d expect anything less – my daughter takes after her mama.” She laughs, but I don’t miss the way her gaze lingers on his sharp jawline or the broad shoulders currently straining against his white linen shirt. My jaw clenches, and I fight the sudden urge to snap: Don’t look at him. He’s mine.
POPPY! Down girl 😭✋
