Page 254 of Wait for Him

Jackson

“Would you mind opening the blanket and making sure her socks didn’t come off?” Blaire asks Rose.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. Impatient little shit.

Rose has been holding Jaxon for all of ten minutes, and that’s already ten minutes longer than Blaire allotted for this part of the plan. I glance at Bennet, who's standing near the foot of the bed doing a much better job of keeping his face neutral than his wife.

We've been planning this for weeks. Going over every detail until I was certain there was no possible way for it to go wrong. The onesie. The blanket. The pocket. Getting it onto Jaxon without Rose seeing it. Making sure everyone knew exactly when to shut the fuck up and let me handle the rest.

Bennet told me at least twice that I was becoming unbearable. I told him excellence requires preparation. He told me to go fuck myself. The only thing we couldn't plan was when Jaxon would be born. My girl decided tonight worked for her.

Rose looks down at the blanket. “Her socks?”

“Yes.” Blaire nods solemnly. “They keep coming off.”

Bullshit. I bet those socks haven’t come off once.

I look away before Rose catches me because the woman can smell a conspiracy from three rooms away, and I didn’t make it this far to blow the whole thing over imaginary sock problems.

“Okay.”

She shifts Jaxon carefully in her arms and finds the edge of the pink blanket covered in tiny elephants. She's still handling the baby like the slightest wrong movement might cause catastrophic structural failure, taking her time as she folds one side of the blanket back.

Then the other.

And stops completely.

Her hand stills against the blanket, and I watch the exact second she reads it. Her breath catches sharp enough that I hear it from where I'm standing.

There, across Jaxon's tiny chest, are the words I had printed weeks ago.

Auntie Rose, will you marry Uncle Jackson?

An arrow points down toward the tiny buttoned pocket sewn just above her belly. The pocket holding Rose's ring.

Nobody says a fucking word. Even Blaire manages it. The whole room goes so quiet I can hear the faint sounds from the hallway outside, the hum of something behind the bed, Jaxon's tiny little breaths. Rose still hasn't moved. She's just staring down at the onesie while I stand here trying not to crawl out of my own skin.

Then her head snaps up.

Her eyes find mine.

Fuck.

I've imagined this moment so many times. Planned details so small that Bennet eventually stopped answering my calls about it. I've thought about what I'd say, what Rose might say, whether she'd laugh or cry or call me an asshole before giving me an answer.

I planned for everything.

I did not plan for that look.

Her mouth is slightly open, her eyes already filling with tears, and there is so much fucking love on her face that for the first time tonight, I'm the one who forgets how to breathe.

“Jackson,” she whispers.

I can't help smiling.

“Hi, baby.”

“Hi.” A wet little laugh escapes her.