Sophia’s P.O.V

Nathan set me down on the bed and sat down beside me, close enough that our arms brushed. “You survived,” he teased, his voice low and playful. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it through the mob of toddlers and cake explosions.”

I laughed, leaning my head back against the cushion. “You call that survival? I think I’m officially scarred for life. If I see another balloon today, I might scream.”

He shifted, turning so he could look at me fully. ...