I looked at her, laughing gently as Archie tried to guess her favourite colour.It’s blue, mate.
And then I thought,this is it. This is who I want beside me for the rest of my life. Not just the heat, the sex, the lingerie and soft skin. Her. The one who made me believe home wasn’t a place, it was a person. The one who made the rest of my life feel like it had been waiting for her to show up.
The woman who would hold my hand through the hard stuff. Whodidn’t blink when life got messy. Who could make just sitting here having lunch feel like home. Who mademefeel safe.
When I was nervous before the final, she didn’t tell me to “just do your best.” She listened. Asked questions. Quietly sat with me while I spiralled, then made me laugh so hard I forgot what I was worried about in the first place. When I told her about the pressure, the fear of failure, the mental toll, she didn’t try to fix it. She just stayed. Talked me through it. And that meant more than any pep talk ever could. She never made me feel like I had to be anything but me. I’d never had that before. Not really. Not even with girls I’d been with for months.
With Kate, it was different. I could be quiet around her. I could be dark, and messy, and real, and she didn’t try to shrink from it or patch it over with something shiny. And God, that was dangerous. Because it meant she wasn’t just someone I wanted. She was someone I could build a whole fucking life around. A whole lifewith.
Kate glanced over, caught my expression, and narrowed her eyes playfully. “What?”
I shook my head, grinning. “Nothing.”
She didn’t believe me.
But she reached for my hand anyway.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kate
D.C. was a dream.
My days were deliciously lazy and golden. When I wasn’t attending his matches, I’d meet Jordan in between training, stroll the city while he worked, grab iced coffee, and sit in the sunlit park reading all the romance novels I’d been itching to start. Some evenings, I’d wander back to the hotel suite to find him with his hair still damp from a shower, towel round his waist with that lazy smile I couldn’t resist. How was he mine? ?He looked lighter. Not just physically, but in that deeper way, like something heavy had fallen off his shoulders. And somehow, I was part of the reason.
He mostly ducked the media stuff, saying there’d be plenty of that in Canada and New York. Our nights were spent tangled up in hotel sheets or eating out at weird little places we stumbled across, our legs brushing under tables, his thumb grazing my thigh like he couldn’t help it. It was the kind of simple happiness that made me ache in the best way. I could get used to this life.
Today was the final of the Citi Open. His comeback was still in full force. Jordan had played it down all week, claiming he was still riding the Wimbledon high, calling this tournamenta warmup for the real stuff. But I wasn’t buying it.
I’d seen the way he was moving. He was razor sharp and focused. Like something inside him had clicked into place. He wanted this one, I could tell.
I met Maggie outside the player entrance. Her sunglasses held her hair back as usual, and she had two coffees in her hand. She gave me a hug then stepped back, grinning. “Well don’t you look like you just stepped off the cover ofVogue?”
“Amazing what effort you can put in when you know there’s cameras lurking at every corner.” I laughed.
She linked arms with me as we walked toward our seats. “I’ve never seen him play so well,” she said knowingly.
“He’s electric right now,” I said, smiling despite the nerves dancing in my stomach. “He’s sharp. Relaxed. Cocky as hell.” I laughed.
“That’s the best version of Jordan.” She smirked. “Means he’s got nothing to prove. He’s just enjoying it.”
I looked at her sideways. “He’s been…I don’t know, happy. Since I arrived.”
Maggie’s smile softened. “That’s because he doesn’t have to do the shiny stuff with you. He gets to be Jordan. NotThe Comeback Kid.”
I swallowed hard and looked back out at the court.
He was warming up, bouncing on his feet in that navy tee that clung to his broad shoulders. His hair was tucked into a cap, eyes already scanning his opponent like he was mapping out every single shot before they even stepped up to the line.
“God,” I whispered, without even meaning to. “Look at him.”
Maggie just hummed. “That man is a goner for you.”
?Jordan and his opponent both equally dominated the first two sets. The third set was the decider. The crowd was amped, but I could barely breathe. Jordan was clinical; serve, slice, crosscourt, kill. His eyes never left the court, except once. After a brutal rally he won with a drop shot, he looked up, caught my gaze, and gave me that ridiculous eyebrow raise he knew I couldn’t resist.
“You’ll never recover from that,” Maggie said, nudging me.
“He’s a menace,” I muttered, but my face was aching from smiling.
