ADRIAN
If someone had told me years ago that the most dangerous creature I’d ever face would be two feet tall, covered in curls, and armed with a stuffed rabbit named Mr. Fluffles, I would’ve laughed.
Now? Now I knew better. Ava Salvatore was a menace.
A tiny, adorable, terrifying menace.
And I was completely, hopelessly, pathetically in love with her.
It was seven in the morning when she launched herself onto the bed like a missile.
“Dada!”
I woke up to a forty‑pound toddler landing on my ribs.
I groaned. “Ava… sweetheart… gentle.”
She was not gentle.
She climbed onto my chest, grabbed my face with both hands, and squished my cheeks together.
“Up,” she demanded.
I blinked at her. “I am up.”
She shook her head, curls bouncing. “No. Up‑up.”
Which meant: get out of bed, carry m
