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“Her name is Louise.” Her brows draw together. “Huh?” “The mother of my child, her name is Louise. Leave the petty shit for someone else.”
We’re going to be in each other’s lives for the rest of our lives, and I hope you’re okay with that because I’ve never been more okay with anything more in my life.”
“And then you look at me like—like—” I grumble, not sure how to say what I’m feeling. “Like I want to kiss you? Like I want to touch you? Because I do. So fucking bad.”
Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I’d be learning how to make blueberry pancakes with the mother of my child at two in the morning. It’s kind of wild but all in a good way, and I hope to God this isn’t a dream because waking up is going to suck.
“You had our son. You brought life into the world. They’re proof once again of how astoundingly resilient you are. Please, for the love of God, don’t ever feel like you need to feel embarrassed or hide them from me or anyone else. They’re part of something beautiful that you and I created.”
“I swear I can’t get enough of you. Nothing will ever be enough. I need to drown in you.”
“Your pussy is mine, so my money, your money. Stop. Being. Stubborn.”

