Kristen
I woke to the rhythmic, crashing thunder of the waterfall and the sensation of cool mist settling on my skin like a veil of diamonds. The "nest" the kids had built—the pillows, the rumpled white sheet, the scattered wildflowers—was a beautiful wreck, a testament to the storm of passion that had finally broken the dam of my old life.
Ezra was curled behind me, his body a furnace against my back. His arm was draped heavy and possessive over my waist, anchoring me to the earth. I stayed perfectly still for a long moment, simply listening.
The world was no longer quiet. My ears picked up the frantic scurry of a squirrel fifty yards away; I heard the rhythmic thrum-thrum of a woodpecker deep in the timber; and most of all, I heard the soul of the man behind me. I didn't just hear his
