Page 233 of When Love Takes Root

She looked down at her stomach, then back at me with her brows raised.

“See? They agree.”

“They always agree with you.”

“As they should.”

I crossed the room and placed both hands over her belly. The babies shifted beneath my palms, small and miraculous, already part of the conversation. Celeste’s breath caught, and for a moment, she simply rested against me.

Some mornings came with graduation traffic, moving boxes, and children yelling through the walls. Others came with this—my wife leaning into my embrace inside a nursery built for the life we’d prayed into existence, letting me hold the future God had trusted us to carry together.

I kissed her temple.

Then her cheek.

Then the corner of her mouth.

“Josiah, we have to get to Maya’s graduation.”

“We will.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“And yet here we are. Married, blessed, expecting twins, and only mildly behind schedule.”

She laughed, and the sound filled the nursery better than any music ever could.

Jaxon had designed this house around her heart.

He’d taken my scattered list of everything Celeste loved and somehow turned it into walls, windows, and purpose.

A reading room with floor-to-ceiling shelves and a deep window seat.

A studio for Maya whenever Langston University sent her home on breaks.

A workout room for Kayden whenever Hampton Heights University released him long enough to remind us that college students could eat enough groceries to bankrupt a household. A guest suite JJ had already claimed despite being a full-grown engineer with his own address. A room for Zuri and Skye with enough storage for glitter, science projects, and whatever nonprofit for dramatic children they eventually decided to start.

And just beyond the back porch . . .

A garden.

That had been my only request.

I wanted Celeste to have a place where she could sink her hands into good soil, pray without interruption, and watch beautiful things grow without asking anybody’s permission to take up space.

She’d already started filling the house with life.

Prayer plants rested along floating shelves while ferns framed the living room windows. Small, green pots filled every corner until the whole house felt alive.

A snake plant stood in my office because, according to my wife, I needed “something low-maintenance that could survive masculine neglect.”

The house already felt like her.

She reached up and straightened my collar.

“You’ve been staring at me all morning.”

“I stare at my wife.”