I’m cheating a bit with this “Hiatus Production Pic Challenge, May 25th.” I’ve left yesterday’s Emerald Fennell/Patsy mannequin pic for Rocky, as she might be brewing something with that (or not–no pressure, Rock). So this prompt isn’t exactly a pic, but the pic of the tweet made me so happy, I don’t care.

Shelagh Turner bustled into the sitting room, nervous despite her smile. “Now when she comes in, don’t start with her about the length of the skirt. It’s not too short, not even a bit.”

“Hmm…” Patrick responded, doubtful.

“Patrick, please. She’s nervous enough as it is. If she thinks you don’t approve, she’ll not have any fun tonight.”

He frowned and crossed his arms. “I don’t approve. She’s too young to start dating, I’ve said that before.”

“She’s seventeen, dearest,” his wife reminded him. “I’d say it’s been put off for about as long as possible.”

“You didn’t date when you were seventeen,” Patrick muttered. He really wanted a cigarette right now. Funny, fifteen years since his last, and he still felt the craving.

“I wasn’t your typical teeneager, so that hardly applies.” Shelagh stepped closer and pressed her cheek to his arm, her arms wrapped around his waist. “Besides, I was waiting for the right man to ask me.”

A small laugh escaped his lips as a crooked smile replaced the frown. “I suppose it’s too much to ask for her to go into the Order until I’m ready for her to start dating?” Shelagh looked up and he met her lips in a gentle kiss.

“Mum, when you said you’d soften him up, I didn’t think you meant this!” Angela Turner stood at the entrance to the sitting room, her outraged expression a direct contrast to her lovely appearance.

“Well, that was foolish, dear. I should think by now you’d be fully aware of my strategies,” her mother teased.

Patrick stood in stunned silence, voices drifting past his ears. Before him stood a vision in pale blue, the light layers of chiffon swirling around her knees. Tall and slim, Angela Turner had blossomed into a beautiful young woman.

Images flashed before Patrick’s eyes:  a newborn, pink and curled into a bundle barely bigger than his hands, a toddler with flaxen hair and brown eyes so big she could charm the world. Angela had been a precocious child, a born leader with a sharp mind and a kind heart. Patrick watched as she gracefully turned before him.

His wife’s small hand squeezed his, bringing him back to the present. “Patrick?” she asked. “What do you think? Isn’t she beautiful?” Shelagh whispered. He could hear the tears of happiness and sadness in her voice.

He took a moment to gather himself, and then smiled.

“Gorgeous.”