Lots of Naughty & A Little Nice - Leigh Lennon Page 0,57

face, holding our little girl is priceless. He’s going to be a fierce daddy when it comes to our daughter.

“Ah, look at you, mister man,” Ave says as she takes him from me. “You may have been the smallest, little guy, but I think you’ll be the mightiest.” It’s true, this little one is a half-pound smaller than his sister, but his cry was the loudest of all three. “You, my sweet little Nicolas, are loved.” She kisses his little face, and where Noelle’s face is reddish and wrinkled, Nicolas’s is not. It’s smooth and pale.

“Okay, so I sense a theme here, both Christmassy names starting with N,” Whitney observes.

“Yep. I figured Christmas is what brought us together, so it’s only fitting we stick with it,” Ave explains.

There’s no knock on the door this time as the nurse returns with our last little one. And he may have been the last, but he is certainly not forgotten. We hadn’t told Whitney the names or the gender of the babies, and she gasps at the sight of our last baby in a blue blanket, like his brother.

“Another boy? Wow, Ave, you and little Noelle will be outmanned.”

“Well, it’s not so bad with you in the mix. It’s only four to three, Whit.”

Yeah, in the past year, as we’ve made our life with Ave, Whitney has been a big part of it.

“So, sis,” Whit begins, “what’s this little guy’s name?” I walk over to pick up my champ, coming in at 4.2 pounds.

“This little guy,” I start, “is North.”

Whitney lets out a little snort. “You mean, like the North Pole?”

“Or the North Star,” Ave says.

Whitney takes in her other nephew with a broad smile. “I think it’s perfect. Hell, they’re all perfect.”

Perfect. I couldn’t have said it better myself because my little family, or our really large family now of seven people, is more than perfect. They’re mine—all of them. It’s funny the kind of happiness that will find you when you allow for the unknown. This had been my unknown, and sure as fuck, I’ll never take any one of them for granted.

Epilogue

Five years later

Avery

“It’s Christmas, boys. Come see what Santa left under the tree for us.” It’s the scream of our oldest daughter who wakes our entire house up. And as I turn and look over Knox’s shoulder, it’s only five in the morning.

“Your daughter is calling for you, sweetheart,” I say, jostling Ro’s shoulders, who is a much better version of himself in the morning than Knox or I am.

Through the baby alarm, I’m not surprised that Holly is now awake, simply babbling. What were we thinking having another baby with triplets? At nine months, she’s the happiest one of all our kids.

“She’s your daughter, too, baby,” Ro calls, pushing the blankets back to swing his feet out of bed, and at the same time, my covers, too.

“Not until the sun is up, Rowan Peterson,” I almost growl.

And as if the angels are looking down on us, my sister’s voice comes through the baby monitor. “Morning, my little Holly girl! It looks like Noelle woke up the entire house. Let aunty get you, and we’ll go downstairs and make coffee, why don’t we?”

At twenty-one, Whit’s home for the holidays and flying back to North Carolina after the first of the year to finish her undergrad in political science. “I love your sister right now. If I wasn’t married, I might marry her.”

Before Whitney leaves Holly’s room, I hear another set of footsteps enter the room. “Hey, gorgeous, need some help with this cutie?”

Whitney found her happiness a long time ago, but couldn’t be true to herself until she came out, and hearing the voice of her long-term girlfriend has me smiling from ear to ear, even if it’s five in the morning.

“Say good morning to Auntie Jessica, Holly.” At the mention of Jessica and the fixture she’s been in Whitney’s life, I know Whit has found a love like the one I share with Ro and Knox.

I roll over into Knox’s warm embrace, hoping that everyone will go back to sleep, but In the midst of everything, our loudest son comes barreling into the room. “Morning, Mommy! Morning, Daddy! Morning, Dino Dad!” Nicolas screams, and his thunderous stomps continue down the stairs as his cries for his brother continue. “North, North. Santa has been here. Get up. Please get up.”

North is our old soul, and it’s appropriate with his name. It seems destined. “Mom.” He stomps into our room