Pjot

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“Hi, baby girl,” he murmurs. “It’s so nice to meet you.” The sweet cooing noise she makes back at him, like she’s an instant goner for this man, makes me want to cry. And I never cry. It’s just not my thing. It’s pointless, and I always feel tired and bereft afterward—not better.
Reckless (Chestnut Springs, #4)
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