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.
thirty
. . .
Natalie
The studioforOn the Red Carpetis smaller than I expected. Just a soundproof room with two microphones, some recording equipment, and Jess sitting across from me with her notes and a warm smile.
“You ready?” she asks, adjusting her headphones.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Don’t be nervous. This is going to be great. You’re a natural storyteller.”
“I write stories. I don’t usually tell them about myself.”
“Same skill set.” She glances at her producer through the glass window. He gives her a thumbs up. “Okay, we’re recording in three, two, one…”
