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“Oh, Patrick . . . we are so blessed.”
    She fell against him in renewed weeping, and he grinned outright. Blessed. An appropriate word, indeed, he thought with a gentle squeeze of her waist. God had given him thirty-six years with a woman who still took his breath away, and six children that brought a gleam to his eye. Pulling back, he lifted her chin with the pads of his fingers, and then cupped her face in his hands. “Yes, we are, Mrs. O’Connor, incredibly so.” A rush of emotion overtook him, and he leaned in to feather the corner of her lips with his own, his words warm against her mouth. “I love you, Marceline, in every way humanly possible.” He fondled her blond hair seasoned by silver, reveling in its silky feel as his fingers wove in. “As a wife and a mother . . .”
    Sky-blue eyes blinked back—eyes that still had the power to make his heart race—and gratitude swelled in his chest. He nuzzled the lobe of her ear.
    “As a friend and a helpmate . . .” His lips trailed to hers, caressing her mouth with kisses that were slow and deliberate. “And most definitely, Mrs. O’Connor,” he whispered against her skin, “as a woman who holds my heart in the palm of her hand.” He kissed her full on the mouth, his moan merging with hers.
    “Aren’t you two a little old for that stuff?”
    Marcy jolted in his arms, but Patrick held on tight, eyelids lifting enough to give Gabriella Dawn a withering stare. “What do you want, young lady—we’re busy.”
    She folded her arms and pursed her lips. “Too busy to be a foster parent? I’m guessing the Boston Society for the Care of Girls might want to know about that.”
    A groan rumbled in Patrick’s chest as he released his wife. “This better be good.”
    “Steven won’t let me have a piece of wedding cake.”
    Patrick eyed her with a dubious stare. “And how many have you had today?”
    “Four,” Steven said as he strolled into the room. “Not counting the top layer you put on ice that I just caught her trying to sneak.”
    “ Four pieces of cake?” Marcy said, mouth gaping in shock.
    Gabe blinked. “Of course—it was wonderful, my first wedding cake ever. Nobody bakes like you, Mrs. O’Connor, you know that.”
    “Flattery will get you nowhere, young lady,” Patrick said, his romantic mood now “on ice” as well. “No more cake.”
    “But what about tomorrow? I can have a piece then, can’t I . . . please?” Panic paled her cheeks, making her generous spray of freckles all the more noticeable.
    “Nope.” Steven plopped in the chair. His blue eyes, a deeper shade than his mother’s, twinkled with a smile that was matter-of-fact. “Sorry, Gabe. All that’s left is Luke and Katie’s top tier in the icebox. Collin, Brady, and I polished off the rest . . . along with you, of course.”
    A painful groan erupted from Gabe’s throat as she slumped against the love seat. “But why can’t I have some of the top tier? Luke won’t mind—he loves me.”
    “We all love you, darling,” Marcy said in a soothing tone. She tugged Gabe into her lap, giving her a tight squeeze. “But the cake in the icebox is off-limits, do you hear? It’s an O’Connor tradition—Luke and Katie will eat it when they get home from the honeymoon, as part of their first meal in their new apartment. Celebration of their new life together as a family—Katie, Luke, and Kitty.” A smile flickered on Marcy’s lips. “And any other little ones who happen along . . .”
    Steven grinned. “That’s something I gotta see—Katie Rose having a baby. Heaven help us all. She’s practically all thumbs with little Kit as it is. Can’t imagine her with a newborn.”
    “Hush, Steven, Katie Rose will make a perfectly wonderful mother. She’s just a little hesitant because it’s been Lizzie who’s watched Kitty since Luke moved back to Boston. But that will all change when Katie gets pregnant and quits the BCAS to stay home