John took Rose from her, settling Rose against his chest, her cheek on his shoulder, his hand supporting her head. She made a little fussy noise, but quieted when he murmured to her. When he and Nana were together, he held Rose as often as she did, and Rose had become accustomed to his smell, the sound of his voice. When she was older, perhaps they'd tell her about her biological father, but until that time, they'd raise her as theirs.
The party went on, happy and cheerful and congratulatory and began to wind down about three hours later. Guests began drifting away, and the caterers had cleared away everything. John was saying goodbye to some of the last guests when Nana and Rose slipped away for one last feeding. She'd expressed enough milk to feed Rose through tomorrow afternoon, so he they didn't have to rush over early in the morning. They could sleep in, and it had been so long since he'd done that he wasn't sure he remembered how, any more. But he'd be willing to give it a try. Having Nana there with him would be incentive enough.