“Jameson,” I scolded-laughed. “If the baby has horns, it’s from your side of the family.”
He snorted.
“No horns…unless you count this,” Dr. Bob told us. Our gazes riveted to the monitor as we figured out what he was talking about. My mild panic receded as I saw it. Jamie drew in a breath as he saw it, too.
“We’re having a boy?” Jamie whispered. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my temple. “Thank you. Thank you, baby. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too,” I answered, my heart so full, I could barely stand it. Our faces close together, we watched the screen containing the image of our son. I wasn’t sure if that moisture was from my tears or his. I wouldn’t have traded this moment for anything. More than ever, I was glad Jamie was here with me and I knew he was committed to us—a real commitment, not a duty.
“Who should we call first?” he asked as he helped me off the table after the doctor had finished and left the room.
“The Chinese takeout place. I’m starving.”
He laughed. “Fine. I have a backup fruit bar in the car, too. And after that?”
I grinned, absolutely sure who we’d tell first because his family was my family now. “Your mom and dad. But I know everyone, even Em and Laura, is at the office today. Maybe, we can get them all together in the big conference room and announce it to them all at once.”
“Brilliant.” He kissed the top of my head. “I’ll call Roz and get her on it. She’s still trying to get back in Mom’s good graces.”
“I’ll call Penny and get her there, too. Won’t Bennett be happy with that?”
“What?”
“Really, Jameson?”
“Really what?”
“You haven’t noticed your brothers seem to have a thing for my friends?”
“Huh…no.”
I shook my head. Men…
“So Bennett and Penny? And she likes him too? Does Bennett know?” he asked.
If Penny did, I certainly wasn’t telling this man who’d run blabbing about it to his Irish-twin brother. They were close enough they shared the same age part of the year, and had been in the same grade in school. They’d done everything together—except pick on me. Jameson had never allowed that. I was his own personal frienemy. Now, I was his own personal everything.
Chapter Twelve
~Jameson ~
“You have got to talk to your mother,” Willow said firmly.
We were standing next to each other in the hall, staring up at the nine-foot-tall stuffed giraffe that had just been delivered.
“Sir, where would you like it?” the delivery guy asked.
“Second floor, third door on the right,” I answered, still staring.
“Fourth door,” Willow corrected. “Please put it next to the elephant.” She nudged me with her shoulder and motioned for me to follow her into the kitchen.
I still wasn’t used to this house. We’d been officially moved in for a couple months now, and we loved it, but damn…there was a lot of space. We’d assigned the entire right side of the second-floor hallway as the kid’s domain. The nursery, the playroom, the overflow closet, then additional bedrooms for additional babies.
Well, that was my plan anyway. Willow kept calling them guest rooms.
“What are your plans for today?” I asked, bustling around the kitchen to make her a cup of decaf as she settled onto a barstool.
“I have to go into the office for a couple hours.” She was already glaring at me when I spun around to argue with her. “Don’t. I just have a few things to wrap up, Jameson.”
“That’s why you have assistance,” I told her. “You’re on maternity leave. You shouldn’t be working.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t aware that companies gave women two months of maternity leave before their due dates,” she said.
“We’re very progressive,” I informed her, turning my back and smiling into the fridge as I got her cream. “Besides, I need you here. Laura is coming back today to work on the nursery, and I need you here to make decisions.”
“You make them,” Willow said, her tone exasperated. “I’ve had to deal with the whole house.”
“Because I want you to be happy,” I insisted. “I thought you’d want to decorate the house. I’d have just made everything black and gray, and you’d have been miserable.”
“I wouldn’t have been miserable,” she lied.
“You told me my apartment reminded you of a television prison drama.” I handed her a mug of coffee and watched as she took a sip.
“Not as awful as that Columbian from last week,” she said, shaking her head and setting the cup down. “But still not great.”
“By the time I find you a decaf that doesn’t suck,” I picked up the mug and dumped it in the sink, “you’ll be pregnant again.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, looking down and rubbing her belly. “So, you’ll talk to your mom, right?”
“About what?” I asked.
“About the menagerie she’s purchased for the baby. About everything she’s purchased for the baby.”
“Wills, it’s the first grandbaby.” I reached across the island and took her hand. “Are you really surprised she’s going overboard?”
“Surprised? No.” She shook her head. “Annoyed, yes.”
“Why?”
“This baby is already spoiled, and he hasn’t even been born yet,” she answered. “I don’t want him to grow up expecting the world to be handed to him.”
“The world is going to be handed to him,” I insisted.
“Jameson Malloy,” she snapped.
Her mood swings had gotten a lot worse now that we’d hit the third trimester. She was tired and sore all the time, so I could see how that would wear her down. But I’d been tiptoeing around her for so long, that sometimes, I forgot and stuck my foot in my mouth.
The basic plan was to agree with whatever she said whenever she said it. Even when it contradicted itself. Agree. Agree. Agree.
“Sorry, babe,” I said quickly. “I just mean, didn’t we work our asses off so our kids didn’t have to?”
“Is that how your parents raised you?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. “They were the richest people I’d ever met, but they
