Nash
The sound of Nolan’s laughter does something peculiar to my heart—makes it contract and expand at the same time.
I toss and tickle him until he collapses on the floor, half-moaning, half-laughing.
“Okay,” Denali soothes. “Who wants some lemonade?”
“I do, I do!” Nolan yells, racing forward to take his plastic cup with a lid and straw.
Denali hands me a glass filled with ice and a clear liquid with green herbs floating in it. I take a sip and savor the zing of lemon and some other taste.
“Mmm—what is this?”
“It’s my version of lemonade. I don’t like Nolan to have too much sugar, so I make it with fresh lemons, stevia, and a little basil.”
I gape at her. Smoking hot single mom is also managing to pull a Martha Stewart existence? I drink the refreshing liquid down in three gulps a
