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Bridget and Rhys’s daughter watched their roughhousing with a mystified expression that was far too mature for her years.
“I never thought I’d say this, but Rhys’s kid is the only one who isn’t a little terror,” I muttered to Stella.
I was convinced an imposter had swapped bodies with the normally ice-cold Alex the day he became a father. It didn’t make sense.
“You talk a lot of sh—fudge for someone who’s already eaten words once,” he amended when Bridget gave him a warning look.
Ahaaabha
“Are you sure you don’t want any wine?”
Shes preggers
