The Baby Blizzard. Caroline Cross

      He raised his head and opened his eyes, forgetting to breathe as he took in Tess’s daughter’s serene, sleepy little face, so close to his. His gaze traced the fan of spidery black lashes that brushed the rose-petal cheeks, took in the button nose and the Cupid’s-bow lips parted to form a perfect O. Beneath his hand, he could feel each delicate bump of her spine, the steady ebb and flow of her breathing, the rhythmic flutter of her heart.

      An odd pain squeezed his heart. He hadn’t lied last night. She was perfect.