So I argued with the guy at the hardware store over glitter paint for her little girl's bedroom, a bedroom in an apartment I want to give them.

So I've been checking on that empty apartment every night for months.

That doesn't mean anything though. I'm not obsessed.

When I finally get the call she's ready for our help, I hop in my jet and go get her.

I expected to find a worn-out, exhausted woman. And I did. But she also called me Conan (as in barbarian) and didn't tolerate any of my bullshit. And that little girl, well she has me acting like an idiot just to make her smile.

Ok, so maybe I am obsessed.

CW: I write about people from hard places. My books are slow burn but spicy, filled with attitude, lots of love, and lots of swearing. This book touches on foster care, body image, and mention of off-the-page violence.