Chapter 25
twenty-five
. . .
Jake
I knock on Natalie’s door with my arms full of wrapped presents, adjusting the stack so nothing slips before she opens it. Even though she invited me to come over tonight, my heartbeat still kicks up, the kind of steady thrum that always seems to show up right before I see her.
The lock clicks. The door opens. And there she is.
Her face softens the moment she sees me, something small and real shifting through her expression like a quiet welcome.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.” I lift the presents a little. “These are for your tree.”
She steps aside, letting me in with that slow, warm ease that tells me she wants me here, even if she’s still figuring out what that means.
The Christmas tree glows in the corner, except now I spot a few new ornaments tucked between the branches. Little additions she made on her own. It makes something in my chest settle.
I kneel near the tree and set the boxes down carefully. One with her name. The other labeled Isla? with a question mark.
She steps beside me, her voice quiet. “Isla?”
“I wanted to see what it felt like,” I say.
Her face softens as she looks at the name, something tender easing into her expression. She reaches out, her fingers hovering just above the letters like she’s afraid to disturb them.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs.
“Yeah?”
She nods slowly, almost as if she’s picturing our daughter grown up, introducing herself, carrying this name we’re choosing for her right now.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice catching just a little. “Isla. Our Isla.”
The way she says “our” does something to my chest.
We straighten at the same time, close enough that we almost bump into each other. Neither of us moves away. There’s something in the quiet between us that feels gentler than the last couple of weeks. A tiny shift pulling us forward.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says softly.
“I’m glad too.”
Her eyes flick to mine, full of something restless and tender, and then she clears her throat. “Are you hungry? I was thinking Chinese.”
“That sounds good,” I say.
She orders without consulting me, because she already knows what I’ll want. When she sets her phone down, she tells me dinner will be here in half an hour, and we drift to the couch, settling into our familiar corners.
Except tonight, the space feels different. Closer. Something in the air is shifting back toward us instead of away.
Natalie traces her fingers along the seam of a pillow, her shoulders lifting in a small breath. “I’m sorry I’ve been distant.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I think I do.” Her eyes stay on the pillow, then lift to me. “You’ve been kind. And patient. And I haven’t been either of those things.”
“You’ve had a lot going on.”
“It’s not just that.” Her hand stops. “It’s…”
Her sentence dissolves into a sudden stillness. One hand moves to her stomach, her eyes widening in surprise.
“What happened?” My whole body shifts toward her.
“She’s kicking.” Her voice is full of awe. “Jake. She’s kicking.”
Everything inside me tightens. “Can I feel?”
“Yes. Come here.”
She reaches for my hand and places it low on her stomach. I hold my breath. Waiting. Then it happens. The smallest tap against my palm. A tiny, determined movement. I don’t breathe for a second. Then another kick comes, a little stronger.
“Oh my God,” I say quietly.
“I know.”
“That’s her.”
I keep my hand there until the movements slow, and even when they stop, I don’t move right away. It feels like the moment might break if I do.
“Was that the first time you felt her?” I ask quietly.
She hesitates, just a beat. “No. I felt something two weeks ago. I didn’t know if it was her or just…I don’t know. But yeah. I think it was her.”
Two weeks ago. And she carried that alone. Not because she wanted to. Because she trained herself to.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looks up at me, startled by the gentleness in my voice. “I’m not sure,” she says softly.
I keep my eyes on hers, steady, not accusing. “Nat…why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Close yourself off,” I say. “Hold me at a distance. Like you’re waiting for a reason not to let me in.”
She swallows, her fingers curling into the hem of her shirt. “I’m not trying to.”
“I know you’re not,” I say. “That’s why I’m asking.”
For a long moment, she just sits there, breathing slowly, like she’s deciding whether she’s brave enough to tell the truth. Then she leans back into the couch, her gaze drifting toward the tree lights reflecting off the windows.
“I was engaged once,” she says quietly.
I don’t move. Don’t speak. Just listen.
“His name was Darren.” She says it like the word tastes bitter.
“And he wasn’t all bad. People always talk about red flags, but sometimes there really aren’t any red flags.
Sometimes the person shows up on time. Or remembers how you love Reese’s mini peanut butter cups.
Or fixes the loose cabinet hinge without you asking.
And you think: he loves me. He’s good. He’s mine. ”
Her eyes soften with something vulnerable. “And then one day you realize you were wrong. Completely wrong. And you wonder how anyone could miss something that big. You start doubting not just the person…but yourself. Your judgment. Your ability to tell when someone is true.”
She looks at me then, and the rawness in her eyes hits me in the chest. “That’s why I get scared. I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. And I didn’t see it coming.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say softly.
She shakes her head. “It feels like it was.”
“Nat,” I say, leaning closer, my knee brushing hers, “people who want to hurt you are good at lying. They don’t give you flashing warning signs. They make you feel safe. They make sure you don’t see the escape hatch until they’re already halfway out.”
Her breath catches, and she looks at me with something like recognition.
I settle a little deeper into the cushions, letting the truth in me rise to the surface. “I understand that feeling more than you think.”
She tilts her head, waiting.
“I never thought Lauren would betray me,” I say. “Not once. Not even when she left our honeymoon early. Not when she skipped out on my friends. Not when she always had somewhere else to be. I kept telling myself everything was fine. That I was the one overreacting.”
Natalie eyes are focused on me, listening to every word.
“I thought I knew who she was,” I say. “I thought I was a good judge of character. And I was completely wrong.”
Her face softens. “What did she do?”
I inhale, then let it out slowly. “She went through my files and emails. She sold private information about my clients to tabloids.”
Her eyes widen, the shock immediate and honest. “Jake…”
“I didn’t see it coming,” I say. “Not even a little. And afterward, I had the same questions you did. Am I blind? Did I miss every sign? Am I the kind of man who can’t tell when someone’s lying to him?”
She nods with understanding. They’re the exact questions she’s been living with too.
“But here’s the thing,” I continue. “She took enough from me. She doesn’t get to take everything. And definitely not the part that lets me believe good things can still happen.”
Natalie’s breath catches, just a little.
“I learned from it,” I say. “Not in a way that made me shut down. In a way that made me pay attention. It taught me to look for someone who actually shows up. Someone who’s here because they want to be.”
I take her hand, slow and careful. “Lauren wasn’t the whole world. She was one person who made terrible choices. She doesn’t get the right to define the rest of my life.” I pause, then add quietly, “And Darren doesn’t get the right to define yours either.”
I say his name like it’s nothing. Like he’s nothing. Because he is. Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t pull her hand away.
“You’re not broken,” I say. “You’re cautious. There’s a difference.”
She sucks in a slow breath, her fingers tightening around mine.
“And I’m not naive,” I add. “I’m hopeful. Big difference there too.”
Her lips part, like she wants to respond but isn’t sure how yet. And that’s fine. I’m not asking her for anything immediate. I just want her to know the door is open and I’m not walking away from it.
We sit there like that for a long moment, our hands linked, the tree lights flickering softly through the room.
When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to push you away.”
“Then don’t,” I say.
She stares at me, breath held tight, and I see the exact second something inside her shifts. Not completely. Not all at once. But enough to open a door that’s been locked for a long time.
And that’s when she leans closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “Will you stay tonight?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’ll stay.”
She doesn’t move right away. Just looks at me with those dark eyes that have been guarding so much for so long. Then she stands, offering me her hand.
I take it.
She leads me to her bedroom, and when we reach the bed, she turns to face me. Her hand lifts to my face, palm warm against my jaw. I lean into the touch, and she kisses me.
Soft at first. Tentative. Then deeper.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt. I cover her hands with mine, slowing her down, and she looks up at me. I brush her hair back from her face, my thumb tracing her cheekbone, taking my time.
She reaches for the hem of my shirt and I let her pull it over my head. Her hands flatten against my chest, fingers splaying wide like she’s memorizing the feel of me. I do the same with her sweater, easing it up and off, my knuckles grazing her sides.
When I reach for the clasp of her bra, she doesn’t help. Doesn’t rush. Just watches my face while I undress her, piece by piece, like I’m unwrapping something precious.
Her breathing changes when I lay her back on the bed. Usually she’s the one pulling me down, rolling us over, taking control. Not tonight. Tonight she stays where I put her, her eyes locked on mine as I settle over her.
I bracket her face with my hands and kiss her slowly.
Thoroughly. Like I have all the time in the world and nowhere else I’d rather be.
I feel the exact moment her body relaxes underneath mine.
I slide my hand down her side, over the curve of her hip, feeling the slight swell of her stomach under my palm. Our daughter. Right there between us.
She arches into my touch, her breath catching, and I take my time. Kissing her throat. Her collarbone. The curve of her breast. Learning her all over again, but slower this time. Paying attention to every small sound she makes, every place on her body that makes her gasp.
When I finally move inside her, her hands grip my shoulders and she breathes my name against my neck. I go slow. Steady. Watching her face in the dim light, seeing every flutter of her eyelashes, every part of her opening up to me in a way she hasn’t before.
Her nails dig into my back and I kiss her, swallowing the soft sounds she’s making. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I feel the shift in her breathing that tells me she’s close.
“Jake,” she whispers.
I press my forehead to hers, keeping that same steady rhythm until she breaks apart beneath me, her whole body tightening around mine. I follow her over, burying my face in her neck, and for a long moment neither of us moves.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my hand tracing slow circles on her bare shoulder. The room is silent except for our breathing.
She’s quiet for a long moment, then her hand finds mine, threading our fingers together over her stomach where our daughter is growing. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. For the first time in weeks, I feel like we’re finally on the same page.