Dropping my bag on the floor, I stop right next to Wren’s—my—chair and sit down, nudging her over, which isn’t too difficult. She weighs nothing, and doesn’t take up much room on the chair. Her scent is heady, like a burst of wildflowers in the middle of a spring meadow. She’s warm and soft, and she fits perfectly by my side. I sling my arm around the back of the chair, half-tempted to pull her onto my lap. “Crew!” She’s squealing. “What are you doing?” “What does it look like?” She angles her head toward mine, and our faces are so close, I can make out the faint freckles across her nose. Of
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