Abi Dunklin

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“It probably should be, right?” “Probably,” I agreed. “I don’t really want it to be⁠—” “Then it isn’t,” I said. “This is whatever you need it to be.” Lennox settled into my arms, laying her head on my chest. Her fingers fiddled with the button along my shirt collar, and it felt natural.
Through the Dust (Black Springs Ranch, #2)
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