“Stop pacing, honey, you’ll wear yourself out.”
I shoot a glare at Braxton and spin on my heels, pacing another lap in the doctor’s incredibly tiny waiting room. There’s no way I can wear myself out when there’s only ten feet of room.
“I’m nervous.” We’re in the waiting room at the radiologist’s office, moments away from our ultrasound. We’re finding out if we finally call Squirt a boy or a girl, and I’m so excited I can’t stand myself.
“I know. Come here.” Like always when Braxton gets bossy, I listen, mostly because I’m learning every day he only has my best interests at heart. When I get close to him, he grabs my hand and pulls me onto his lap.
I fall with an oomph of surprise and look back to the nurse at the reception desk. “You can’t have me on your lap in the waiting room.”
He grins. It’s a grin that makes me warm all over. “Ah, but I can have you whenever and wherever I want.”
Other parts of me not only get warm, but wet. “Don’t turn me on in the doctor’s office, Braxton Henley.”
“Cara Thompson?”
Both of us turn our heads in the direction of the feminine voice. A nurse is standing at the door, blond hair pulled up into a topknot, teal blue scrubs on and a clipboard in her hand.
“I think that’s our cue,” Braxton says, his hand on my back, guiding me to my feet.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go see what we made, shall we?” He grins down at me. I pick my purse up off the chair and look at him over my shoulder.
“Boy,” I guess, because all the midwives’ tales I’ve read online have told me that’s what our little squirt is.
“Healthy,” Braxton counters. He always says it and now, I can’t believe I ever accused him of only loving our child if it was a boy.
He absolutely, one hundred percent, doesn’t care either way. Even when I’ve tried to prod him into choosing a gender he just shakes his head, kisses me and then my belly, and says, “As long as it’s healthy.”
“Phil’s diner?” I ask when Braxton pulls up to the train car diner he took me to after the first midwife’s appointment.
“It’s where we began, sort of,” Braxton says and grins at me. “And it’s a great place to celebrate.”
It’s not exactly where I’d choose to celebrate the fact we’re having a boy. I was right!
Holy cow, we’re having a boy!
I can’t contain myself. I throw my face into my hands in the front seat of his car and tears erupt like a volcano.
“What the hell?” he asks.
“I’m just so damn happy!” I grin at him with eyes filled with tears and for a split second, Braxton looks completely stunned.
Then he does what he always does when I’m a complete, massive wreck.
He yanks me into his arms and he kisses me.
“You okay now?” he asks when he pulls back. His eyes are glimmering with moisture and happiness.
“No. I’m a mess.”
“You’re a beautiful mess. Come on, I have something planned for you.”
A surprise at Phil’s diner? Do I get my own roller skates? I laugh at the idea and climb out of the car, Braxton meeting me and closing the door for me.
I’m ushered into the diner and as soon as we step inside, the entire diner erupts with cheers so loud I jump back into him.
“Congratulations!”
I can’t believe this. I’m swept into a euphoria as I scan the room. Dan and Jenna. Stella and her husband, Robbie, who’s hilarious and bossier than Braxton. Bonnie and Asher are in front of them, and Robbie has a hand curled around each of their shoulders, holding his hellions in place.
We’ve seen them several times since our argument a few weeks ago. The first couple of times were awkward, but then things settled. It might take me a while to fully trust Stella and call her a friend, but her kids who are absolutely crazy and always hyper and shouting go a long way into smoothing the rough areas when it comes to us.
Then there’s Luca.
And Graham.
Javier from MadInk is here.
Everyone is here.
“Oh my gosh!” I throw my hands to my mouth and then turn, and throw my arms around Braxton. “You planned this?”
“Wanted everyone we love to celebrate with us. Should we tell them?”
I grin at him. I probably look insane. “Can I?”
“Go for it, baby.”
I spin on my feet and throw my hands in the air, shouting, “We’re having a boy!”
Shouts go up, more shouts and cheers and clapping hands and I’m rushing into the melee of Jenna’s arms around me, then Graham’s and Luca’s, when I’m suddenly yanked back by Braxton’s hand grabbing mine and pulling me back to him.
“What the heck?” I ask, as he’s tugging me.
He doesn’t stop until I’m standing in front of everyone again. “What are you doing?”
“That was sweet, baby, but that’s not what we’re celebrating.”
Huh? “What?”
“They can be happy for us that we’re having a boy,” he says, and before I can ask what he’s talking about, he drops to a knee.
He’s dropping to a knee.
Oh my God. Braxton is on a knee in front of me.
Pulling out a box.
A black box.
Behind me, I vaguely recognize Jenna’s squeal of delight.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, my hands already shaking. “Shut up.”
“Nope.” He grins at me and takes my hand. His other hand has the box.
He flips it open.
“Cara Thompson, in front of everyone who loves us, who’s happy for us, I want to promise all of them, and you, that if you agree to be my wife and marry me and give me the family better than anything I’d ever dreamed of having, I will make sure that all of your dreams come true, every day, for the rest of your life, because you’ve already given me mine.”
“Braxton—” My voice is wobbly. Shaky. How am I even speaking? My knees feel like jelly and I might fall over.
“Marry me, Cara. Be my wife.”
“Yes!” It rushes out of me with such force I surprise myself and I laugh, and he laughs. And the crowd around us cheers.
But I’m still staring down at him, more tears running down my face as he takes the ring out of the box. A gorgeous sparkling diamond that’s round and bright and I don’t even care what it is just that it’s on my finger and I’m getting married.
“I love you,” he says, kissing my hand as he stands. “I love everything about you.”
I throw my arms around him again, my belly preventing me from jumping into his arms like I desperately want to.
I kiss him until I can’t kiss him anymore as all of our friends—our family—cheer and clap and Graham yells for us to get a room.
Then I twirl, tossing my hands into the air again, and shout, “I’m getting married!”