Chapter 6
six
. . .
Jake
I drive on autopilot, my hands on the wheel and mind stuck on a loop. I went back to the office, but after an hour I canceled the rest of my day and left. I had to get out of there and think.
I might be a dad.
The city moves around me like it always does.
Same clogged on-ramps, same half-faded billboards, same guy in a black SUV who thinks a turn signal is an optional suggestion rather than a necessary element of the highway code.
By the time I turn onto my street, my brain has repeated the sentence so many times it has lost all meaning.
I might be a dad.
A baby.
The word is ridiculous and enormous at the same time. It sends a jolt through my chest, some wild mix of terror, awe, and something close to joy.
I have always wanted this. Kids. A family.
The whole thing. Not in a white picket fence way, more in a Sunday mornings in pajamas with cartoons and cereal on the couch way.
After the divorce, I kept telling myself it would still happen eventually, that I had time.
But there was this small, quiet worry in the back of my mind.
But I definitely did not see this happening from a one-night stand, and certainly not with my boss’s daughter.
I pull into my driveway and put the car in park, but I don’t get out right away.
My phone sits in the center console, silent.
I grab it and see three missed calls from the office.
Two texts from my assistant telling me to look at my email.
One from the client I was supposed to meet confirming he’s fine to reschedule.
I fire off quick responses. Then I stare at Ryan’s name in my contacts. What am I supposed to say?
Hey, your daughter’s fine, just a little dizzy from low blood sugar. Oh, and by the way, she’s pregnant with my baby from a one-night stand we had three months ago.
Tomorrow. I’ll figure out what to say to Ryan tomorrow. Right now, I need to talk to someone who won’t fire me.
I dial Wyatt and wait for him to answer.
“Hey man, what’s up?”
“Um, just letting you know I left early today.”
“Oh, ok. How was the contract signing?”
“It was fine,” I say. My voice sounds rougher than usual.
There’s a pause. I can picture him on the other end, eyebrows up, reading between every line.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. Just a long day.”
“I’m about to head out. Blair’s making lasagna.” His tone is casual, but there is a thread of concern under it he doesn’t even try to hide. “Why don’t you come over and eat with us? We have plenty, and you can fill me in on your day.”
I look at the front door of my house and consider the quiet waiting for me inside. There is a part of me that wants to go in, shut the door, and sit on the floor until all of this sorts itself out in my head. But I know that’s not how my brain works.
“Yeah,” I say. “Okay. I’ll head over.”
“Great. See you soon.”
An hour later, I am standing on Wyatt and Blair’s front porch. The house is lit up from the inside, warm and bright. Before I can knock, the door swings open and Blair stands there with Ruby hitched on her hip like it is the easiest thing in the world.
“Jake.” She smiles and steps back to let me in. “Perfect timing. Dinner is almost ready, come on in.”
Their place has always felt like a home, but tonight it hits different.
The air is warm and smells like tomatoes and garlic.
There is baby gear in every direction, but none of it feels like clutter.
My eyes catch on the swing, then shift to the row of bottles lined up to dry next to the sink, and over to the little suction bowl stuck to the highchair tray.
This might be my life soon. Some version of it, at least.
Wyatt greets me with a dish towel over his shoulder and a wooden spoon in his hand, like he has fully leaned into the domestic life. “Hey man,” he says. “Lasagna is almost perfect. Hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving.” I realize I haven’t eaten since this morning and my stomach chooses that moment to agree loudly.
They herd me toward the dining room, and I can’t help notice how they’ve made space for Ruby’s highchair at the table. When the food is ready, Blair brings it out and we all dig in. It’s delicious.
“So,” Wyatt says finally, wiping his mouth with his napkin and giving me his full attention. “What made it such a long day.”
I set my fork down, take a breath as my heart rate kicks up. “Ryan asked me to sit in on a new contract client today,” I say. “It was Natalie.”
Blair’s fork stops halfway to her mouth. “Natalie?” she repeats. “Our Natalie?”
“Yeah.”
“Natalie from yoga?” Wyatt says, brows up.
“Yep.”
“Wait,” Blair says. She puts her fork down completely. “What was she doing at a contract signing?”
“Turns out she’s a screenwriter,” I say. “Just sold a show to FlixPix.”
Wyatt blinks. “Natalie is a screenwriter?”
“Apparently a damn good one,” I say.
“I remember she mentioned something about being a writer, but she’s never talked about it,” Blair mutters, almost to herself.
I push the food around my plate, thinking about how little any of us actually know about Natalie. Blair's been friends with her ever since she rented her house to her when she moved in with Wyatt—and she had no idea she was a screenwriter.
She’s kept herself hidden from everyone. Not in a dishonest way, more like she’s protecting something. Like she’s built walls so carefully that even the people who care about her can only see what she wants them to see.
Most people would find that frustrating, but it makes me want to know her better. I want to understand why she keeps herself so guarded, and I want to be someone she trusts enough to let in.
“That is a surprise, but what made it such a long day?” Wyatt asks, as he continues eating.
I push a piece of lasagna around my plate with my fork.
“Well,” I say slowly, “after the signing, she stood up and almost fainted.”
Blair’s head snaps up. “What? Is she okay?”
“I walked her across the street to the minute clinic,” I say. “Ryan had another meeting and I offered to go with her.”
“That was nice of you,” Blair says softly.
“Yeah.” I stare at my plate, mind half on the food, half on the storm I’m about to unleash. “They ran some tests.”
Wyatt stops chewing. “And?”
I swallow. My fork trembles just slightly in my hand. My chest tightens. How do I even say this? There’s no preparation for moments like this. No script. No way to soften it.
I set my fork down and look up at them. At my best friends sitting across from me, completely unaware that the next bit of info is going to shock them.
“It turns out she’s pregnant.”
Ruby bangs her hand on the highchair tray, the only sound in the room, completely oblivious to the bomb that just dropped.
“Did she know?” Blair asks, her voice careful.
“No. She had no idea.”
“Oh my god.” Blair presses her hand to her mouth. “She must be freaking out.”
“I bet she is,” Wyatt adds quietly. “She just signed the biggest deal of her life.”
“Yeah,” I say. My stomach twists. “She’s terrified about what this means for the show.”
“Did she tell you who the father is?” Blair asks.
Here we go. I take a breath, and my hands grip the edge of the table. “It’s me,” I say. “I’m the father.”
Complete silence.
The weight of it settles on all of us. Blair’s eyes go wide. Wyatt’s face goes through about fifteen different expressions in three seconds. Ruby throws a Cheerio. It bounces off the table and lands on the floor. No one moves to pick it up.
“I’m sorry,” Blair says after a long beat, her voice calm and direct. “Did you just say you’re the father?”
“When did you sleep with Natalie?” Wyatt blurts.
“Wyatt,” Blair hisses, swatting at his arm. “What he meant to say is we didn’t realize you and Natalie were dating.”
“We’re not,” I say. “We, uh… We hooked up at my Fourth of July party.”
Blair’s mouth forms a small oh. Wyatt drags a hand through his hair, processing.
“And it gets worse,” I add, because apparently my mouth wants all of this out at once. “Ryan is her father.”
Blair’s fork slips out of her hand and clatters onto her plate. The noise is loud enough to make Ruby jump. Under it, I still hear her very clear, very quiet, “Holy fuck.”
Wyatt just leans back in his chair like someone hit him with a wave.
“Wow,” he says finally. “Okay. So you slept with Ryan’s daughter, who you did not know was Ryan’s daughter, and then had to sit through a contract signing with both of them, pretending you don’t know her biblically. And she’s pregnant.”
“That’s the summary, yes,” I say.
Ruby chooses that moment to rediscover her spoon and smacks it against the tray, babbling happily. Blair automatically hands her another Cheerio, eyes never leaving my face.
“How are you feeling?” she asks. Her voice is soft. There’s no humor, just concern.
“Honestly,” I say, “I am all over the place. Nervous. Excited. Worried.” I blow out a breath. “But also kind of…okay. Which sounds insane.”
“It doesn’t sound insane,” Blair says, quick and firm.
“The situation is a mess,” I say. “She barely knows me. I work for her dad. There are about eight million ways this can go wrong.”
Wyatt nods.
“That night still plays on repeat in my head,” I admit. “I wanted more than one night, but she was very clear that she doesn’t do relationships, doesn’t do complicated, this was a one-time thing.”
“Maybe,” Blair says, “you get another chance. Different circumstances, yeah. Messier ones. But a chance.”
“If she lets me,” I say. “She’s scared. She’s panicking about the show and what this means, and she has every right to. I told her I’m not going anywhere. That we’ll figure it out together. I meant it.”
Blair reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Jake, once she realizes who you are she’s going to realize she hit the jackpot. You’re one of the good ones.”
“I hope so,” I say.
Ruby decides that is the perfect moment to launch a Cheerio at me. It bounces off my shoulder and lands in my lap. She screeches with glee like she has invented a new sport. Despite everything, I laugh.
“That’s my cue to go wrestle her into pajamas,” Blair says, scooping her up. “Stay as long as you want, Jake. There’s more wine.”
After Wyatt and I catch up on a few work things and schedule our next round of golf, I stand to leave. “I should get out of your hair,” I say. “Thank you for feeding me.”
“Any time,” Wyatt says, walking me to the door. “And hey, we’re here if you need anything. You’re not alone in this either.”
At the doorway, Blair appears again, now with a baby monitor clipped to her shirt and her hair pulled up into a messy bun.
She pulls me into a hug and holds on longer than usual. “It’s going to work out,” she says into my shoulder.
“I hope so,” I say.
“I know so,” she counters. “Just be patient with her. And with yourself. She’s had less than a day to process something that’s going to change her life. Same with you.”
I nod, throat tight. “Yeah.”
Outside, the air is cooler. The sky is washed out with city light, a few stars punching through anyway. I sit in my car for a second before starting it, the quiet wrapping around me.
I pull out my phone. No texts from Natalie. I didn’t expect any. I know she needs time. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do something.
I open my grocery delivery app, fingers hovering for a second.
Then I start adding things without overthinking it.
Fresh berries. Apples. Whole grain bread.
Yogurt. Cheese. Eggs. Orange juice. I add some easy snack stuff.
Nuts. Granola bars. Crackers. Things she can grab when she’s tired and overwhelmed and doesn’t want to cook.
My thumb hovers again.
Then I scroll to the vitamins section and add a bottle of prenatal vitamins. It feels big and intimate and slightly presumptuous and also exactly right.
I type in her address and, after a second of debating, open the little box for delivery instructions.
Just a few things to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Hope it makes your day a little easier. – Jake
I stare at the words for a long beat. It feels like a lot. It also feels like nothing at all compared to what she’s carrying.
I hit order before I can talk myself out of it and set the delivery for tomorrow morning.
It’s small. It might be too much. It might be not enough. She might roll her eyes. She might cry. She might text me. She might not.
But at least she’ll know I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere.