“Nova thinks I look good, don’t you?” I said to my niece. She gave me a toothless grin, then held her arms out to Trent. “You little traitor.” Trent laughed and pulled the baby out of my arms. When he did, his hand brushed my arm and goose bumps raced down my spine. Before tucking the baby into his side, he gave me a quick look that told me he’d felt it, too. “You gotta stop growing, midge,” Trent told her. He called her midge because she was a tiny combination of Braeden and Ivy.
