Nanny For The Alpha's Lost Twins
“But it’s a picnic.”
Rolling his eyes and patting Grace on the head, he stood. Grace smiled at him, but she was more interested in setting up her paints and small easel than ice cream, I could tell. Her hands were surprisingly expert for a five-year-old, werewolf or not, and I knew I was going to enjoy watching her do something she obviously cared about so much.
Noticing, Chloe reached for her sketchpad and charcoal. “What should I draw, Mommy?”
“What looks fun?” I said, looking around. Unfortunately, the older boy with the soccer ball was staring at us, or rather, at me. And as soon as we made eye contact he came striding forward, his permanent sneer deepening with each step.
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