Chapter 21
twenty-one
. . .
Jake
I’m standing outside Natalie’s door with a full-sized Christmas tree balanced on my shoulder, a bag of ornaments cutting into my fingers, and a tiny wrapped box in my pocket that felt sweet at the store but which I now worry might be overkill.
It’s been almost a week since I’ve seen her. She spent Thanksgiving with her dad while I flew to Connecticut. And somehow six days turned into this low-grade ache I carried around everywhere. I missed her. Missed her laugh, her snark, that fucking mint tea that tastes so good on her lips.
Tomorrow is her first day in the writers’ room. I wanted to do something that would make her smile and add to her excitement.
I knock with my free hand. As the door swings open, her eyes widen. “Jake. What are you—is that a tree?”
“What tipped you off?” I tease.
“Why did you bring me a tree?”
“Because it’s the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Trees go up this weekend.” I shift the tree on my shoulder. “Can I come in? This thing is heavier than it looks.”
She moves back, still staring like she’s not sure if she should laugh, kiss me, or shove me back onto the porch. I brush a quick kiss on her cheek as I pass.
“I thought maybe…” I start, suddenly awkward. “We could start our own tradition.”
Her eyebrows jump. “Our own tradition?”
“Yeah,” I say, casually enough that you’d never know my heart sped up. “Like putting up a tree the weekend after Thanksgiving. Making sure our daughter has her first Christmas, even if she’s not here yet.”
She goes still, and I can’t tell if I’ve stepped over a line or hit something tender she wasn’t expecting.
“You brought me a Christmas tree,” she says again, slower this time.
“And ornaments,” I add, pulling out boxes. “Wasn’t sure what you had, so I grabbed basics. We can get more later. Personalized ones for…” I grin. “What are we thinking? Wren? Margot? Sloane?”
She folds her arms. “We haven’t decided yet.”
“Well, I can keep auditioning names. See what fits.” I pull the stand from the box. “Where do you want this?”
She hesitates, like the question is bigger than the tree. Then points. “By the window.”
“Perfect.”
I kneel, set the stand, tighten the screws. Natalie watches from the couch, arms wrapped around herself, expression drifting between surprised and grateful. Something like she wants this but is scared to want it too openly.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For all of this.”
“Of course.” I step back, checking the tree’s angle. “It felt important. This is her first Christmas, even if she’s still in there.” I gesture to Natalie’s stomach.
Natalie’s eyes follow mine.
“Oh,” I say, remembering. “One more thing.” I lift a sprig of mistletoe from the ornament box.
She huffs a laugh. “You did not.”
“I did.” I walk to the doorway between her kitchen and living room, reach up, and hook the mistletoe on the light fixture. It twirls slightly, catching the glow of the lamp.
“There,” I say. “Now come over here.”
She lifts a brow. “Jake.”
“Rules are rules, Nat.”
She rolls her eyes but stands, crossing the room. “This is ridiculous.”
“Completely ridiculous,” I agree.
And then I kiss her. It’s supposed to be quick.
Playful. Just enough to make her smile before her big week, but the moment our mouths meet, everything tilts.
Her hands slide to my chest, my fingers find her jaw, and there’s nothing playful about the way she kisses me back.
It’s warm and slow and threaded with an effort of making up for all the days we haven’t been able to kiss each other.
We break apart, both of us catching our breath.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.”
“I missed you.”
She swallows. “I missed you too.”
Those four words hit something deep.
I pull the small wrapped box from my pocket. “I also…got her something.”
“Jake, you didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” I place it in her hands. “Open it.”
She peels the paper carefully, and when she lifts the lid, her eyes soften instantly. Inside is a delicate glass ornament etched in silver: Baby’s First Christmas.
“Oh,” she whispers. “It’s…beautiful.”
She runs her thumb over the script like she’s memorizing it.
“You’re kind of amazing,” she says.
“I try.”
She laughs quietly, shaking her head. “Thank you. This is perfect.”
“Want to hang it?”
She nods, and we move toward the tree together. The next hour is warm and easy. I string the lights while she argues about spacing. She hangs ornaments with quiet intention, making sure each one is placed exactly where she wants it.
When I plug in the lights, the room glows from the soft gold lights, the baby’s ornament hanging front and center catching the light.
For a second, it feels like a snapshot of a life we could have.
The kind with matching stockings and holiday cards and late-night wrapping-paper disasters.
The kind that looks suspiciously like a family.
“Oh,” I say lightly, “I read something about talking to the baby. About how she can hear us now.”
Natalie’s gaze snaps to mine. “You did?”
“Can I…?” I gesture to her stomach.
“You want to talk to her?”
“If that’s okay.”
Her voice warms. “Yeah. Of course.”
I kneel, level with her bump. Up close, it’s small but undeniable, the gentle curve that holds everything that changed my life.
“Hey, baby girl,” I say softly. “It’s me. Your dad.” The word settles warmly in my chest every time. “I know you can’t see me yet, but I’m here. I’m going to be here for everything.”
Natalie’s hand drifts down, resting lightly on my shoulder.
“We put up your first tree tonight,” I tell her. “Your mom picked where your ornament goes. It’s front and center. She’s got excellent taste.”
Natalie lets out a shaky laugh.
“I can’t wait to meet you,” I say. “To hear you laugh. To watch you grow up. You’re going to have the best mom. She’s smart and strong and funny. You’re going to learn all of that from her.”
“Jake,” Natalie whispers, her voice caught somewhere between laughter and tears.
I stand slowly, and she steps into me like she belongs there. I wrap my arms around her. She tucks her face into my chest.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For the tree. For the ornament. For…everything.”
“Always.” I press a kiss to her hair. We stay like that for a long moment, her heartbeat steady against my chest.
“Come to bed,” she says quietly.
I pull back just enough to see her face. “You sure?”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
She takes my hand and leads me down the hallway. The bedroom is dim, just the faint glow from the living room spilling through the doorway. She turns to face me, her fingers sliding under my shirt, palms flat against my stomach.
“I really missed you this week,” she whispers, her voice low and wanting.
Heat rushes through me. “Nat—”
Her hands move to my belt, and I go still, letting her take the lead.
She unbuckles it slowly, eyes locked on mine, and there’s something deliberate in the way she moves.
Like she’s been thinking about this, wanting this.
She pushes my jeans down, then my boxers, and when her hand wraps around me, I let out a rough exhale.
“Sit,” she says, nodding toward the bed. I do, and she drops to her knees between my legs. The sight of her there, hair falling over her shoulders, lips parted, damn near undoes me before she even starts.
I cup her face, thumb dragging across her bottom lip. “Open for me.”
Then her mouth is on me, warm and wet and perfect, and every coherent thought I had dissolves. She takes her time, her tongue working me over in slow, deliberate strokes that make my thighs tense.
I thread my fingers through her hair, needing to touch her. “Fuck, Nat.”
She hums around me, and the vibration sends a jolt straight through my spine. I’m already close, tension coiling through my balls, and when she looks up at me, eyes locked on mine while she takes me deeper, I nearly lose it.
“I’m not going to last,” I warn, voice strained. “But when I come, I want to be inside you. I missed feeling you wrapped around me.”
Her eyes flash up to mine. She pulls back off me and drags the back of her hand across her lips. She stands, stripping off her clothes with quick, efficient movements, and then she’s climbing onto the bed, onto me, straddling my hips.
I reach for her, hands sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the curve of her belly before moving higher. Her breasts are fuller, heavier in my palms, and when I thumb her nipples, she gasps.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” She leans down, kisses me hard. She positions herself over me, sinking down slowly, and the tight heat of her makes me groan into her mouth. Her cunt grips me so tight I can barely breathe, every inch of her pulling me deeper.
“Jesus, Jake,” she gasps, head falling back. “You feel so good.”
I grip her hips, guiding her rhythm, watching the way her body moves above me, the way her hands press against my chest for balance.
“I’m close—Jake,” she whispers, and the way she says my name, breathy and desperate, sends me careening toward the edge. I slide one hand between us, finding her clit and the pressure makes her shudder. She cries out and her rhythm falters.
“Come with me,” I say roughly. “Let me feel you.”
When she lets go, our eyes meet and it feels like everything. I see it all. Me, her, this future we’re building. And I know, deeper than I’ve ever known anything, that this is it. She’s it.
She clenches around me as she cries out my name and I follow her over, spilling into her with a groan that tears out of my chest. She collapses onto me, both of us breathing hard, slick with sweat, tangled together in the dim light.
“Don’t move,” I murmur, kissing her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
I slip into the bathroom, clean myself up, wet a washcloth with warm water. When I come back, she’s sprawled on the bed, flushed and gorgeous and mine. I take care of her gently, then toss the cloth aside and climb back in, pulling her against my chest.
She fits perfectly there, her head tucked under my chin, my fingers threading through her hair in slow, soothing strokes. We lie there, hearts slowing, her weight a perfect anchor.
“You nervous about tomorrow?”
“Terrified.”
“Just remember, they wanted you. They’re lucky to have you.”
She lifts her head, eyes soft as she studies me. “Thanks for saying that.”
I brush a strand of hair from her face. “You’re going to be incredible tomorrow. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
She settles back against my chest, and I hold her close as I think about how I don’t want to be without her in my arms every night. I don’t want mornings where I wake up and she’s not there. I want this for as long as she’ll let me have it.