Page 166 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

“It is. What’s on your mind?”

I glance out across the yard, heart thudding hard. “I wanted to ask you properly. Out of respect. Because Ava means everything to me.”

I take a deep breath.

“I’d like your blessing to marry Ava.”

A slow silence stretches between us, long enough that my palms start to get sweaty.

Finally, he lets out a low chuckle. “Brad never would’ve had the guts to ask me this,” he mutters. “And if he had, I’d have told him hell no.”

Then his voice softens. “But you… you’ve always looked out for her. Even when you two were just kids. Part of me always believed it’d end up like this someday.”

Memories of backyard games with Greg, of Ava trailing behind us, flash through my mind.

“You’ve got my blessing,” he says. “Just… make her happy.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I will.”

We hang up a moment later, and I stand there, phone still in my hand, the weight in my chest replaced by something steady and certain. I realize my eyes are stinging.

I know, deep in my bones, that this is it.

Our family, messy and loud and perfect.

And soon, when I ask Ava to marry me, it won’t feel like starting something new.

It’ll feel like sealing what’s already ours.

Chapter Fifty-Three

AVA

It’s been a week since the Stanley Cup win, and the house finally feels like it’s exhaled.

Most mornings now, I find myself lingering in the kitchen long after my tea has gone lukewarm, watching the boys chase each other down the hallway.

Jackson’s been home more too, usually grilling out back or playing board games with the boys in the living room. Every time I look at him, there’s a settled ease in his shoulders that makes my chest ache in the best possible way.

As for me, I’ve been slowly stepping back from Open Pages. Jenna has started taking more day-to-day calls, and I’m in the middle of drafting a transition plan for her to fully take over asinterim director. There’s a small, unexpected relief in knowing it’s in good hands, and that I can step away, at least for a while.

I told my parents about the baby a few days ago.

I hadn’t planned to, but it just slipped out while I was catching up with them.

My mom gasped and then started crying, her voice wobbly and bright. My dad immediately said something about finally getting a grandkid, then tried to cover it with a cough like he hadn’t just gotten choked up.

I’d been nervous to tell them, unsure how they’d react to something so unexpected, but their joy was instant and unmistakable.

I catch myself smiling when I think about it. The way my mom’s voice cracked with excitement. The way my dad cleared his throat and muttered, "That’s the best news we’ve had in a long time."

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of small errands and quiet moments. I catch the boys whispering in corners, darting into their rooms with armfuls of markers and poster boards.

“What are you two making over there?” I call, brows lifting in curiosity.

Noah freezes mid-sprint, whipping around so fast his paper nearly flies out of his hands.

Liam elbows him, eyes wide and shaking his head.