Chapter 29
twenty-nine
. . .
Jake
I’m waiting in the FlixPix parking lot when Natalie emerges from the building. She’s walking slower these days, one hand at her lower back, the other cradling her belly. Seven months pregnant and still showing up every day, still breaking stories, still proving she can do it all.
She spots my car and smiles, and something warm settles under my ribs.
God, I love her. I’m completely gone for this woman.
This is our routine now. I pick her up when I can, drive her home, stay for dinner.
We’ve been practically living at her place since right before Christmas.
Her cozy bungalow is nice, and I know she’s been slowly converting the guest room into a nursery, but with the baby coming, I keep thinking about space.
About what comes next. And there’s something I’ve been wanting to show her for weeks now.
She climbs into the passenger seat with a groan. “My feet are killing me.”
“Long day?”
“We’re on episode four. Everyone’s getting punchy.” She adjusts the seatbelt under her bump. “Bernard pitched a joke about menstrual blood being the key to unlocking the curse and Rebecca just stared at him for a full minute.”
“Did she use it?”
“Shockingly, yes. With tweaks.” She leans her head back. “How was your day?”
“Good. Closed the St. James deal. Ryan’s pleased.”
“That’s great.”
I pull out of the lot, but instead of heading toward her place, I take the highway north.
It takes her a few minutes to notice. “Where are we going?”
“My place.”
She sits up a little straighter. “Your place?”
“Yeah. I want to show you something.”
She quiets, and I can feel her watching me. She hasn’t been to my house since that night months ago, the night that got us here.
“I’ve only been to your place once,” she says. “I’m not sure I remember much besides your bedroom.”
I grin. “Well, you’ll get the full tour this time.”
“Should I be nervous?”
“Why would you be nervous?”
“This feels very deliberate.”
“It is deliberate,” I say. “Just not in a scary way.”
“Now I’m definitely nervous.”
I reach over, take her hand. “Trust me.”
She threads her fingers through mine. “Okay.”
When I pull into the driveway and turn off the engine, she stares up at the house, taking it in slowly, quietly.
“Come on,” I say softly. “I’ll show you inside.”
I help her out of the car, and we walk up the front path. Inside, the entry opens into a wide, light-filled space—hardwood floors, high ceilings, and the living room flows into the dining area and kitchen.
“Wow,” she says under her breath. “This is so much bigger than my place.”
“Three bedrooms, two and a half baths. Bought it earlier this year. After the divorce.”
She wanders into the living room, fingers brushing the back of the couch. “I love the fireplace.”
“It’s gas. Easy to use. Nice on cold mornings.”
She moves to the windows overlooking the backyard. “I remember this backyard. Beautiful.”
“There’s plenty of space for a swing set or sandbox or whatever she needs.”
She turns toward me, something unreadable flickering in her expression.
“Come upstairs,” I say quietly. “There’s something I want to show you.”
I lead her up the staircase. The guest room is on the left. My room at the end of the hall. But it’s the room on the right I open.
The nursery.
Soft lavender walls. The crib that matches the one at her house. A changing table. A bookshelf filled with baby books and toys and more space for whatever she ends up loving.
Natalie’s hand lifts to her mouth.
“Jake,” she whispers.
“I know we haven’t talked about custody or any of the logistics.” I keep my voice low. “But I want her to have a space here. A room that’s hers. So when she’s with me, she’s not just visiting.”
The words feel wrong even as I say them. When she’s with me. Like we’ll be handing her back and forth, splitting time, dividing our daughter’s life into shifts.
It’s not what I want. What I want is Natalie here every night. The baby down the hall. All of us under one roof, building something real together.
She steps inside like she’s afraid she’ll disturb the air. She touches the crib rail, gentle and careful.
“This is perfect,” she says quietly.
“You think so?”
“Yeah. It’s exactly what I pictured.”
I lean against the doorframe, watching her hand drift over her belly. Everything about her in this moment makes something tighten in my chest.
“Nat,” I say. “Can I say something?”
She looks up immediately. “Of course.”
“I know you love your place. And Blair’s been a great landlord. But I’ve been thinking…” I exhale, trying to find the right words. “You’re renting month to month.”
“Yeah.”
“And after the baby comes, after maternity leave, you’re going to need support. Someone who can help with the day-to-day.”
She’s watching me without blinking.
“I have space,” I say, crossing to stand in front of her. “Real space. A house that can be a home for all of us. I’m not asking for an answer now. I’m just putting it out there. If you ever want to live here. With me.”
Her eyes go wide, soft, almost startled. “Jake…”
“I’m not rushing you,” I say quickly. “I just want you to know the option exists.”
She looks around the room and then back at me.
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course. Take however long you need.”
She touches the crib again before turning toward me.
“Thank you,” she says. “For this. For thinking about her. For…everything.”
“Always.”
We grab takeout on the way back to her place and spread it across the coffee table the way we do most nights. She curls into the corner of the couch with her laptop, working on notes for tomorrow’s session. I settle into the armchair with my laptop, reviewing a contract.
It’s domestic in a way I never had with Lauren. Lauren lived everywhere but home. Natalie lives here, in the moment, in the work, in the connection. Even when she doesn’t say it out loud.
Around nine, I notice her laptop has gone still.
Her eyes are closed, her head tipped back against the cushion.
I set my computer aside and cross to her silently.
She’s out, one hand curved protectively over her belly.
I close her laptop, set it gently on the table, then slide an arm behind her back and another under her knees.
She stirs. “Jake?”
“I’ve got you. Just taking you to bed.”
She burrows into my chest. “You smell good.”
I smile, carry her down the hall. I get the covers back one-handed and lay her down gently. She’s already in her pajamas, so I leave her as she is. I pull the blanket up, kiss her forehead.
“Stay,” she murmurs.
“I’m staying.”
I change quickly, then climb into bed beside her. She immediately rolls into me, fitting her body to mine like it’s instinct. Her belly presses against my side, warm and real and full of our daughter. The baby kicks against my side.
“What do you think?” I whisper, brushing my thumb over the curve. “Think your mom’s ready for more?”
Another kick.
I take it as a yes.