Chapter 12
Two years later
Manny
Contentment vies with excitement as I watch my wife smooth away imaginary wrinkles and adjust the fluffy white bunny on the pale pink, yellow, and gray quilt laid across the tiny white toddler-size daybed. She’s spent hours making every single detail as perfect as possible.
“Mama,” I call, getting her attention. “They’re here.”
She rushes to me, a beautiful smile gracing her lovely face. “Oh my goodness. Where’s Devan?”
“Exactly where you think he is—at the front door waiting.”
After a melting kiss that leaves her lips swollen and her eyes hazy and me more than a little aroused, I take her hand in mine and lead her toward the front of the house.
After we snuck off to Vegas and got married on New Year’s Eve, we returned home and immediately started filling out the tons of paperwork involved in becoming foster parents.
Four months later, eight-year-old Devan arrived, dark eyes frightened and painfully shy.
Leah and I started the adoption process the very next day.
Now we’re opening our home to three more—siblings this time, two more boys, Booth, who’s seven, Liam, who’s five, and a three-year-old girl, Sophie.
They’re fosters, but in the meantime, we’ve already started the adoption process.
“Mama-Leah, there here!” Devan shouts.
Mama-Leah. She glows every time he calls her that. This woman has so much love to give, and it shows in everything she does.
“I know, sweetheart. Do you want to get the door and be the first one to welcome them to their new home and family?”
“Can I, Dad?”
“You sure can, son.”
You sure can.