63. Kate
Chapter Sixty-Three
Kate
I really hadn’t expected to fall in love with a place like this. But that was the theme of things lately, wasn’t it? Unexpected falling in loves.
And now, I almost ached at the thought of leaving.
I was curled up on the deck of our little rental villa, the one we escaped to after that magic week with his parents, my bump wriggling gently beneath the soft cotton of Jordan’s T-shirt, watching the last of the warm orange sunset melt behind the trees.
I’d miss waking up to the smell of eucalyptus and the hum of the cicadas every day.
He’d gone and bloody won it. The Open.
And it wasn’t just a comeback; this felt like a resurrection.
He walked out onto that court every match with fire in his veins, and by the final, he looked untouchable. So fluid. So powerful. Not just physically, but emotionally. Like every step forward meant something more now. Like he had something or someone to fight for.
And now, just a few days later, we were packing up our sun-soaked bubble and heading back to London.
We’d spent the last two afternoons house hunting. Nothing serious.
At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
I’d been glued to Rightmove since we arrived, and Jordan hadn’t taken much convincing.
But there was this one place tucked into the hills in Melbourne, wrapped in glass, and gum trees, and golden light. When the agent opened the doors and the smell of lemon blossom drifted in, I felt it.
Jordan saw the look on my face and went quiet. He wasn’t messing around or joking like he always did; he was just watching. I think that’s when he knew I was serious.
Last night, I couldn’t sleep.
He was already out cold beside me, sprawled like an absolute furnace, and with another smaller one kicking around inside me, I had no hope.
I scrolled through my phone and saw Gwen’s name flash up.
Gwen: You’re a bloody icon. Can’t wait to see you (and your bump, which is now officially viral). Also, your dress from the final sold out in twelve minutes. TWELVE. Who even are you?
Oh Jesus. I laughed softly, shaking my head.
That part still felt so surreal. Me, a girl from Wales who used to play county cricket and once hid in the toilets to avoid her own engagement party.
Even my wedding had been too much. And now I was viral because I’d worn a floaty, blue dress with a bump under it, and kissed my gorgeous fiancé in front of a few million people.
Weird. So fucking weird. But also…kind of wonderful.
I slipped out of bed in his T-shirt, tiptoeing barefoot out to the deck again, trying not to wake him. Though he was out cold from the hammering his body had taken.
The air was warm and sweet, the sky full of stars.
I thought about how peaceful he looked out here. How free. Like the boy his parents raised and the man I was building a life with had finally aligned. He was different in Australia. Looser. Happier.
All tan lines and backwards caps, and that damn grin that would never stop melting me from the inside out.
Calvin Klein model energy, I’d muttered under my breath one afternoon when he came in shirtless, laughing.
“What was that, sweetheart?” he’d said.
“Nothing. Put a shirt on, I’m trying to focus and your abs are distracting.”
I’d smirked, feeling absolutely smug.
God, I’d miss this version of him.
But I was determined to bring him back one day, back home, back to us. Because joy like this? It wasn’t something I was ever letting go of again.