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“Morning,” she said as she patted his shoulder. “Mornin’.” “I can’t accept as true with Lola’s nonetheless asleep. What is it? Seven?” She shuffled across the room and reached for the coffee pot to pour a cup. “You’d higher knock on wood. The days when I wake up before her are a cherished thing. Two-year-olds are all best and dandy as lengthy as they’re no longer in your face at six in the morning.” Tori stirred her coffee. “Yesterday, she bought about an inch away from my nose and whispered, ‘Mommyyyy.’ I nearly head-butted her when I jumped. Our child can be a real creep.” “Yeah, well, a couple of days ago, she managed to knee me in the balls when she used to be mountaineering into my bed at five thirty. That has to be the worst way to wake up, and it used to be an unfortunate first
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