Nash Booker was the kind of man who worked well under pressure. Not much fazed him. He looked at a situation. Assessed it. And did what he had to do to reach the end game. It worked well in sports. Hell, when he played football, he could read the field like no one’s business and make the play happen as cool as could be. Skydiving? He’d lost count of the number of planes he’d jumped out of. Scuba diving at night? Again, no problem. Heck, rush-hour traffic was more intense than any of his pastimes. But having a baby? That was something he’d never navigated before, and it was about to send him over the edge.

Oh, the labor and delivery had been fine—as far as he could tell. Honey was a champion. She’d pulled through with flying colors, and he’d never been so damn proud of anyone in his life. She’d been fierce and beautiful, and when she’d held their son for the first time, Nash’s heart nearly broke in two.

He had no idea of the depth of the love that lived inside him until this moment. And, in equal measures, the fear. It took hold of him as Honey slept, and he’d been pacing their private room for at least ten minutes now, casting furtive glances at the small bundle in blue beside her bed.

Gabriel John Booker.

His son.

Damn, he was responsible for a small, tiny, little human. Worse yet, he was expected to pick him up and actually hold the little guy in his arms. The baby weighed eight pounds, for Christ’s sake, and his neck was like a wet noodle. What if he didn’t know how to hold him the right way? What if he dropped him?

A cold sweat chilled on Nash’s forehead, and he swiped at it as he approached the bassinette. Two blue eyes stared up at him, blinking slowly, as if to say, I’ve been here before. Not a big deal.

Right. Easy for you to say, Nash thought.

The little guy was swaddled up like he was baby Moses. Gabriel had been born with thick dark hair, but most of that was hidden beneath a knitted blue hat, and that wouldn’t do. Nash grabbed his knapsack from the chair beside the door and retrieved something special. He approached the bassinette once again, carefully, slowly, as if he were stalking a baby lion in the wild.

Those two blue eyes sill looked up at him, though the little face scrunched up something fierce. Nash prepared for some god-awful screaming (because isn’t that what babies did?), but Gabriel yawned and then settled back to watching his daddy.

Carefully, Nash reached in and slid off the knitted hat, replacing it with the special-order Buffalo Bills’ one he’d gotten just the day before. He stood back and nodded. Now his kid looked like a Booker.

He stared down at his son for a long time. So long that his shoulders tightened up and he had to roll them a few times to get them loose again. Gabriel’s eyes followed his movements, and in wonder, Nash bent closer. He’d been told babies don’t really see anything when they’re first born. But his kid was obviously gifted. His kid was bright-eyed and focused—already ahead of the game.

Nash smiled and, before he could second-guess, found himself reaching for the baby. Carefully, he put one hand beneath the neck, just like he’d seen the nurse do, and then he slid his other underneath the boy. Slowly, he lifted Gabriel from the bassinette and held him in his arms.

His throat was tight with emotion, his chest as well, and he wasn’t embarrassed to say that tears welled up in his eyes, making it hard to see. He walked the room for a couple of minutes, and by that time, he was comfortable with his boy. Hell, he could probably run a marathon with the kid and they’d do all right.

He looked over to the bed, and everything went quiet. Honey was awake, her cheeks flushed to a rosy color, her eyes shiny, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She smiled, a beautiful thing that lit her up from inside, and he crossed the room to her bed.

“Hey,” he said, bending lower so he could kiss her. “You did good.”

Her eyes were wet, and she smiled, her lips tremulous as she gazed up at him. “I can’t believe we made such a perfect little boy. I can’t believe he’s ours.” She laughed through her tears. “I keep thinking it’s got to be a mistake. Like, God is going look down and say, you have no idea what you’re doing, and then he’s going to take him back.”

Nash nodded. “I get it, but it’s never going to happen. You’re going to be an amazing mother.” He dropped one more kiss onto her mouth, a lingering, soul-infusing kiss that he hoped conveyed all the things he was feeling. “Here.”

He waited until she sat up and then handed her the baby. Then he crossed the room, noticing the first few rays of sunlight breaking across the night sky. He had to rummage a bit until he found what he was looking for, and when he returned to Honey’s bedside, he got that punch to the gut again. He wondered if that feeling would ever go away.

“I was waiting for the right time to do this, and, well, now seems to be it.” Nash opened the box and pulled out a simple square-cut diamond.

“Yes.” Honey gulped.

He hid a smile. “I haven’t asked the question yet.”

“My answer is yes.”

“Would you—”

“Yes.”

“Marry me?”

“I already said yes.” She laughed.

Nash slipped the ring on her finger and gazed down at the two of them. “He looks like a Blackwell.”

Honey angled her head for a better look. “You think?”

“I do.”

She kissed Gabriel’s forehead. “He’s got your nose.”

“Thank God, have you seen the size of Hudsy’s?” He paused. “I supposed I should call them and let them know the baby’s arrived.”

“Too late.” Nash and Honey glanced toward the door as Hudson and Becca slipped inside. “Regan’s on call. She told us a few hours ago and we would have been here earlier, except Becca gave me hell and told me you needed some time to yourselves.”

“Right.” Nash grinned. “And so it begins.” With two large families to call her own, Honey would be overwhelmed with visitors, opinions, but, more importantly, lots of love.

Hudson frowned as he approached the bed. “What the hell?” He held up the cutest blue-and-red hat and made a face. “The Blackwells are Patriots fans.”

“He’s a Booker,” Nash replied dryly.

Hudson and Becca peered over his shoulder at the small bundle in Honey’s arms. After a few seconds, Hudson slowly nodded. “He has your nose.”

Nash met Honey’s eyes, and the two of them burst into laughter. It was Thanksgiving Sunday. Life was good. Family was everything.

And he and Honey had their whole lives ahead of them.