A laugh slips out of me before I can help it. I feel good.
Sophia starts hanging my clothes in the closet next to Jake’s. “I still can’t believe he had cleared out half the closet for you. It makes my heart melt.”
Jess pokes her head out of the bathroom, eyebrows high. “He cleared the space in the bathroom like he thought you would say yes. Nat, this man’s serious.”
“I know.” And I do. The certainty sits warm and steady under my ribs, even with everything that’s happened.
We work for another hour, filling drawers and hanging clothes and stacking my books on the shelf Jake cleared for me in his office. And as we move around the house, it starts to look like our home. My yoga mat in the corner by the nightstand. My favorite mug inside his cabinet. The ultrasound photos on the fridge. Small things that make it feel like I’m settled here.
When we heard Jake had to stay longer than expected in the hospital, I used it as an opportunity to enlist my friends to help me move into his house. The doctors refused to clearhim to fly, but Wyatt stepped in without hesitation and is driving him all the way home now.
When I told him I wanted to move in, that I didn’t want to spend another night in separate places, he responded with a single word: “Yes.” Then gave me the key code to his house. So here I am, surprising him by having everything moved in before he gets home. My books on his shelves. My clothes in his closet. My life woven into his. And I hope when he walks through that door, he still wants this.
“This is surreal,” I say at last, standing in the kitchen and looking around at the house that looks more like ours every time I blink.
“Good surreal?” Blair asks.
“Really good.” I rest a hand on my belly. “It’s just wild to think that last year I barely talked to Jake and now we’re here and?—”
“In love,” Sophia finishes with a little smile.
“Yeah. In love.”
Blair’s phone buzzes. She checks it, then looks up with an excited grin. “Wyatt says they’re twenty minutes out.”
My heart lifts and tightens at the same time. “He’s almost here?”
I waddle into the bathroom to check my reflection. I have zero makeup on, and my hair is up in a messy bun. But my eyes are bright and I’ve never looked happier.
“He’s not going to care what you look like,” Blair calls from the living room. “The man crossed state lines with a concussion to getback to you.”
I step back out, and all four of them are watching me like I’m about to walk down the aisle.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Stella says with a soft grin. “We’re just happy for you.”
“You already said that.”
“It bears repeating,” she says, stepping forward to touch my arm gently. “You deserve this, Nat. You really do.”
My throat goes tight. “Thanks. And thank you for helping me move. I know this is chaotic and last-minute, but I didn’t want to spend another night apart from him.”
We hear the rumble of an engine pulling into the driveway. And I’m moving before I realize it. I fly out the front door and down the steps. The air is warm, a soft Los Angeles evening settling around me as I reach the driveway and see Wyatt climb out of their rental car.
The passenger door opens and Jake steps out slowly. He looks tired, pale. There’s a bandage near his hairline. The moment his eyes find mine, something inside me breaks open in a rush of relief so strong it feels physical. I move toward him as fast as my belly will let me, and he meets me halfway, his good arm wrapping around me, pulling me into him until I’m pressed against the safest place I’ve ever known.
“You’re here,” I breathe against his chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of his T-shirt.
“I’m here,” he says quietly, voice rough and real and full of every mile he drove to get to me. “I’m home.”
I pull back just enough to look at his face, and before I can stop myself, I kiss him. It’s not soft or careful. It’s weeks of missing him, of being scared, of needing to feel him whole and real beneath my hands. He kisses me back just as fiercely, his hand coming up to cup my jaw, and for a moment the world narrows to just us.
When we break apart, I keep my hand on his chest, anchoring myself. Myother hand comes up to gently touch the edge of the bandage. “How’s your head? Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”
“I’m fine,” he says, but I can see the exhaustion around his eyes.
“You’re not fine. You just drove across the country with a concussion.” I slide my hand down to his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath my palm. “Let me take care of you now. Please.”
