Wren
[Three Years Later]
The plane touches down in New Orleans airport and I can’t hide the smile on my face.
“Hannah bug, get your things,” Ezra instructs.
Hannah huffs and rolls her eyes. “Mom, can you tell dad to stop calling me ‘Hannah bug’? Jeez, it’s embarrassing, and we’re in public.”
I snort, chuckling at our not-so-little sassy-queen as she grabs her small carry-on and begins marching out of the plane.
As usual, Ezra frowns at me. “She used to love that name.”
“She’s eleven now,” I tell him. “I think ‘Hannah’ is just fine, baby.”
“She might be eleven but she’s still my baby.”
We step out of the plane and Ezra takes our bags at the baggage claim before we head out of the airport.
The moment we step out of the doors, we’re greeted in the New Orleans MC fashion. More than
