Ezra

I shrug on my armless jacket—careful not to jerk my injured arm—and hover over Wren’s sleeping form.

“My pretty girl,” I murmur, and plant soft kisses on her cheeks and face.

She mumbles something in her sleep, her nose scrunching up adorably before she rolls on her other side.

A smile spreads across my face. “Sweetheart?” I try again, this time, tapping her softly.

Finally, she rolls on her back and her eyes flutter open. Bright blue, sleepy eyes stare up at me, a pout ...