“Snuggling my Claire-Bear equals a happy Gibsie. Running laps on the treadmill until I puke equals a very unhappy Gibsie.” The feel of his big body pressed to mine set loose what felt like a cage of wild butterflies in my chest. “It’s all about priorities, babe.” “And I’m yours?” I teased. “Always,” he confirmed sleepily, tightening his hold on my waist. Jesus.
