"I'm not fucking posing," Ronan says, though there's no heat in his words at all. "Or smiling."

He heads straight for Cinnamon though, smoothing his hand along her side as she swings her large head their way, blinking lazily at Noah with his camera. When Ronan takes the step closer to hear head, she turns to nose at Ronan's hand, curious of the carton of orange juice, apparently.

Smirking, Ronan lightly cups her chin, guiding her to look at Noah. "Look at this face. Made for the camera."