64. Kate
Chapter Sixty-Four
Kate
London—March
It was moving day. Jordan had stolen a couple of days off at the start of March, just before training picked back up ahead of California and Miami.
His schedule was as relentless as ever, but we’d spent most of February searching for somewhere to rent before the baby arrived.
We both knew the flat wouldn’t cut it, not with the pram, the crib, and the growing pile of baby gear swallowing the hallway.
Still, leaving was bittersweet. That flat had been where it all started.
We’d spent the best week of our lives there.
It was where he kissed me for the first time, where we made love for the first time, where I told him about the baby.
It was where we both realised this was it, falling hard and fast for each other.
We’d finally settled on a modest townhouse up on Richmond Hill. Something quiet, leafy and perfect that was far enough away from the rush of Central London but close enough to Gwen that I could “pop in” or have her pop over, which, let’s be honest, wasn’t entirely an accident.
Speaking of Gwen, I’d lost track of her about half an hour ago somewhere in the back of the moving van.
We’d roped her and Tom into helping us unload and get somewhat set up.
Truthfully, I needed him for the muscle and her for the logistics.
Lola was camped on the living room floor, quietly colouring pictures to stick on the new fridge.
I was about to go look for Gwen when her voice rang through the open back door.
“Jesus, how much tennis shit does one man need?”
I laughed. Turns out, quite a lot.
She came in carrying a heavy-looking box marked SPARE STRINGS / TAPES / GOD KNOWS, shaking her head at me.
“I still can’t believe we’re practically going to be neighbours.”
It was true. Gwen and Tom lived less than ten minutes away. Which, again, may not have been entirely accidental on my part. My soon-to-be husband would be away for half the year, and I was about to have a newborn in the middle of tennis season. I was going to need all the help I could get.
We’d just started unpacking mugs, far too many mugs, when there was an almighty, “Fuck’s sake!” from upstairs, followed by a heavy thud.
We froze, then burst into laughter.
Jordan had been up there for over an hour, swearing and sweating, refusing help while he tried to build the crib. Tom had offered help, but Jordan had waved him off with a stubborn, “I can handle a few bits of wood.”
Curious and slightly concerned, Gwen and I padded upstairs and nudged open the nursery door.
There he was, kneeling in a sea of cardboard, polystyrene, and unassembled wood. Hammer in one hand. Tiny Allen key in the other. Screws scattered like confetti.
He looked up at me, sweaty, scowling, and still irritatingly gorgeous even surrounded by chaos.
“Don’t say it,” he warned, pointing the Allen key at me.
I raised my hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“These instructions are literally just photos. No words.”
I tilted my head, eyeing one of the half-built sections. “You sure that bit’s meant to stick out like that?”
“Babe, I don’t fucking know. I think I read the instructions upside down,” he replied exasperated.
I snorted. “Oh, Jord, maybe just stick to tennis and looking pretty.” I slid my arms around his waist and kissed the tip of his nose.
Before he could bite back a response, Tom appeared in the doorway. “Jesus, this looks like a war zone…and I’ve actually been in one.”
Jordan rolled his eyes. “You gonna stand there, soldier boy, or you actually gonna help?”
“I’ll leave you lads to it.” I grinned, retreating.
In our new bedroom, I sorted through the boxes of baby clothes I’d been collecting for months. I still remembered the very first one I bought, pulling it out of the bag every five minutes just to look at it. I still did.
Gwen walked in just as I was lost in a daydream, holding up a tiny white baby grow.
“I can’t believe I’ll be holding him in this in a few months,” I said, my eyes glassy.
“Who, Jordan?” Gwen teased.
I laughed. “Shut up, don’t ruin my moment.”
“I’m just teasing you. I still can’t believe how happy you are. You both are.”
I smiled. “I know. It’s still scary, though.”
“The baby or the birth?”
“Neither. Just…when I’m alone. When Jordan’s away and it’s just me and the baby. I know we’ll be with him sometimes, but when we’re not…”
“You’ll have us.” Gwen rested a reassuring hand on my arm. “Katie, you’ve never been alone, not with me around. And you never will be.”
I looked at her hopefully.
“You’re going to be amazing. You were meant for this. And I’m ten minutes away. You know Lola’s already planning sleepovers with the new baby,” she said, folding more tiny sleep suits into the drawer.
I giggled. “I love you, Gwen.”
“I know. But you owe me a big bottle of something after this.”
“Do you think we should check on them?”
“It’s important that we do.” She nodded.
We returned to the nursery, if you could still call it that, to find them surrounded by even more chaos than before.
Jordan was lying flat on his back questioning his life choices while Tom sat cross-legged with a screwdriver between his teeth, staring at the cot that looked even less assembled than when we’d left.
“Oh great, this is going well,” Gwen said.
“We’re at the point of not actually making it worse,” Jordan replied, sitting up.
I leaned against the doorframe. “Are you two alright, or are we just winging it now?”
Tom removed the screwdriver from his mouth. “It’s fine. We’ve established this”—he pointed at a plank—“is probably a leg. And this might be structural. Or decorative. Or both. We’re not sure yet.”
Jordan groaned. “Babe, you’re really not helping.”
I knelt beside him. “I know, but I’m enjoying this whole thing a lot,” I said, gesturing at the mess.
“You know I could’ve just hired someone, right?”
“And miss this bonding moment? Never. Plus, you said, and I quote, ‘How hard can it be?’”
“Famous last words.” Gwen smirked.
A sudden triumphant click from Tom was followed by a surprised, “Oh.”
We all turned.
He blinked at the cot. “I think I fixed the side rail.”
Jordan stared at it. “You what?”
“Lucky guess.” He laughed.
Jordan flopped backwards with a dramatic groan. “I officially retire from cot-building. This was worse than a five-setter at Roland Garros.”
I kissed his temple. “But you look really good doing it.”
He cracked one eye open. “You just want me shirtless and sweaty in the new nursery.”
“I mean, it’s not not part of the appeal.”
Tom dusted his hands off. “Right. That’s enough domestic bliss for me. I’m going to find Lola and see if she’s redecorated your fridge yet.”
“She’s drawn a picture of the baby surfing,” Gwen called over her shoulder. “It’s actually hilariously good.”
“Legend,” Jordan muttered, then reached for my hand, gently tugging me down beside him in the cardboard mess.
We sat there quietly, his hand resting on my bump, which was pretty big now. He didn’t speak, but his thumb kept moving like he was trying to settle something in himself.
“Want to let me in?” I asked softly, covering his hand with mine.
He exhaled. “It just hit me tonight. He’s actually going to be here soon. And there’s stuff I can’t control. Stuff I’ll probably mess up.”
I sighed sympathetically. “Of course you will. We both will. That’s part of it,” I said softly. “But the best bit?” I nudged him.
“What?” He ran a hand over his face.
“I get to mess it up with you.”
That got a grin, the boyish one that always made me want to kiss him and shake my head. He pulled me into his lap.
“I’m so fucking lucky, you know that?”
We stayed like that, tucked into each other, boxes and chaos all around. His thumb moved slowly across my bump while the baby kicked beneath it, as if joining in. The moment was messy, ordinary, and magic. Exactly where we needed to be.
Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his face lighting up, and turned it to me.
Izzy:
*Photo attachment*
Hudson can’t wait to meet his little cousin. Your move, Baby Taylor.