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Rebecca watches as Henry's eyes move from side-eyeing Ted's hovering form to her. As one of his extracurriculars to bridge the time between school letting out for the day and Rebecca and Ted making it home, he's asked to do a cooking class. It's hosted at Murano. Sometimes Angela's there to weave in and out of the student benches. Sometimes she's recording the Dish podcast with Nick. But Henry delights in learning and being able to add himself to the dinner rotation. Tonight he was attempting to make a roast veg and curry sauce he learnt last week.
"Ted," Rebecca tries, her lips curling inward as the man in question reaches out for Henry's idle knife.
He angles his head up, but his attention is only half on her. His eyes still linger on the knife.
"Ted," she tries again, a little firmer.
This time he looks up.
"Yeah?" He asks, the obliviousness carrying into the way he smiles a little lopsided thing at her.
"Come sit," she tells him, leaning over a little to pat the seat padding of the chair next to her.
He opens his mouth, whether to protest or agree, they'll never know.
"Dad," Henry interrupts. "I think I can handle cutting a courgette."
Ted chuckles, knowing Henry tries to assimilate as much as possible by using British terms for things. It's still a little funny to hear that instead of squash or zucchini, though. Not that they bought many of those before his cooking lessons. But he had made a roasted red pepper and saffron risotto with parmesan-crusted courgettes for dinner one night, and Rebecca's been craving them since.
He relents with a nod. Steps back and weaves his way back to the other side of the kitchen island. Ted's hands go round the back of the chair next to Rebecca, and he pulls it away, but he feels too fidgety to sit.
"Here," Rebecca dips her chin to the chair, sensing his shiftiness, and he sits down before she takes his hand. She scoots their chairs together; their knees knock as she shifts. "Say hi."
Her hand lifts to let his slip under the t-shirt she put on after exchanging her work clothes for lounge ones. The swell of her growing belly isn't very pronouced at sixteen weeks, but there's enough of a bump that Ted runs a hand over it every morning and every evening. She's always up first but lies in bed until his alarm goes off, letting him sneak under the sheets to press a kiss to the soft skin of her belly. She always hears hushed, muffled whispers as he peppers her skin with kisses and the occasional moustache burn as he tells her and the baby what's on the day's schedule. She can't feel any jabs or quickening for a few more weeks, allegedly, but that doesn't stop either of them from pressing palms to her belly and poking at her skin. Sometimes he even sneaks one long brush of his fingers from her jawline to her belly as he kisses her goodbye and tells her to have a wonderful day in the quiet of her office after Biscuits with the Boss concludes if he's closed her door. He loves the little bump almost as much as she does.
"Hi, my little baseball," he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek before his gaze settles on his hand hidden beneath a familiar t-shirt. "Oh, wait. We just hit sixteen for you, so you're now a Blackberry. The phone, not the fruit."
She laughs, throwing her head back as she giggles at the ridiculous clarification. She hasn't heard the term 'Blackberry' in about a decade.
"I still think fruits and veg are a fine comparison," she points out as he takes one of her hands and settles it atop his own underneath the t-shirt. He moves his hand, and hers travels with it, smoothing across her belly as he chuckles.
"I know," he agrees. "I just think Beard-o would get a kick out of these sizes versus the 'your baby is the size of an avocado' sites."
She doesn't disagree. Beard would probably find an even stranger comparison, given the opportunity.
"You know, if this is making you too nervous, you don't have to tell him just because I'm telling Keeley tomorrow," Rebecca says, taking a stab at why he's been so full of nervous energy tonight.
They've had two whole months to get used to it. Just the three of them. Long nights and early mornings. Of feeling so poorly that Ted's skipped out on training and even an away match. And then a few weeks later, feeling so much want that as soon as Henry left for school, she cancelled her meetings and brought Ted back to bed until he dragged himself to work with pink scratches on his hip and thighs she pretended to be sorry about.
Rebecca sort of expects that Beard's already put the clues together and is just waiting for Ted to tell him, but Ted's nervous about the prospect, and it's sweet, even if Henry's been annoyed at the increased hovering as of late.
"Nope," Ted tries to convince them, popping the 'p' with gusto. But it doesn't really work. They'll let him be for now.
She hums, leaning towards him, and presses a kiss to his cheek.
"You should tell your children who just entered the transfer portal and asked for a meeting." Rebecca pulls away, looking to Henry as Ted wiggles his eyebrows to set the stage.
Henry smiles, a soft, slow blink and dip of his head as he thanks her for the distraction.
As Ted sets the stage for his big reveal, his fingers tracing a pattern against her skin, she wonders if they should make biscuits. Not her biscuits, of course, considering there is plenty for the week. But ones that might help Ted. A sort of break-glass-in-case-of-blundering-start sort of biscuit.
—
She pulls into the idle lane at Brewers Lane and shifts into park for a moment so the doors unlock to let Ted out.
It's early. A few shops are setting out their chalked advert boards, adding flair to entice the tourists and locals alike. They're even early enough that she's taking Henry to school. He never turns down a ride, even if he prefers to use his bicycle.
"Got all your stuff, Dad?" Henry teases from the backseat. He's usually peppered with that question from the both of them before he heads off for school.
Ted shakes his head, narrowing his eyes playfully as he shrugs on his knapsack.
"Yes," he answers, in a drawl so familiar to Henry's response it makes her giggle.
He reaches for the coffees in the to-go holder that Rebecca's hand makes sure is balanced on the console before he takes the pastry bag on his seat.
"If the timing isn't right, it's not the end of the world, Ted," Rebecca reminds him.
"Feels right," he nods to the Richmond Green behind them. "Lots of good things in my life happened here on this little green space."
She smiles, thankful that Henry misses the way both their cheeks turned pink a little at the reminder of where he first entwined their fingers on the way to the Crown and Anchor and the way she kissed him when he was telling her that he hopes she agrees that's the last first date either of them will go on for the rest of their lives.
"Plus, it's Tuesday. Don't have to work so hard to find a free day," Ted points out. Beard will drop plans at a moment's notice for Ted. After all, he'd do the same, but his friend does have quite the busy social diary.
Rebecca wobbles her head. It's a fair point.
"Love you, love you, and love you." Ted looks over at each of them. The last one is more towards her belly, hidden behind her coat. They respond back in kind, and he steps away before shutting the door and heading for the usual bench between the phone booth and the Crown and Anchor to await Beard's arrival.
"You staying back there or sneaking into this spot?" Rebecca asks, reaching for her latte as she looks in the rearview mirror.
"I'll stay back here," Henry says, eyes catching hers in the mirror. "Easier if I don't get mowed over by a car before my big maths test."
Rebecca has to laugh. The Range Rover would alert him if a car was in the blind spot when he tried to open the door, but safety first, she supposes.
—
Tuesdays are sacred for Beard and Ted. A tradition started from their very first day at AFC Richmond was to walk the Richmond Green with cups of coffee, shooting the breeze as they walked to the tube station that would drop them a few blocks from Nelson Road. Even after he moved in with Rebecca, he would wake up early to travel from Chiswick to Richmond on Tuesdays. It was the easiest day—Rebecca often had meetings offsite in the morning, and they'd either schedule a late training day (if they weren't playing a midweek match) or have film review day with optional gym time for the fellas.
Ted always buys the coffee on Tuesdays. And with Rebecca driving him to Richmond these days, the quality of coffee has increased, in Beard's humble opinion. After all, Ted's a syrup guy rather than a coffee guy. Coffee is just the vehicle for Ted's sweet tooth. He cares less about the beans and roasting and more about what flavour of syrup combinations he could try that day. Luckily, Rebecca is a coffee snob, and the to-go cups on Tuesdays have become Beard's favourite. He's told her so on multiple occasions, and he grins when she stands proud like a peacock.
Ted's a little early. The coffees won't get cold, but it's early enough that he rehearses how he wants to tell his best friend the good news. He's in his head long enough that he misses when Beard gets a surprised look on his face at seeing Ted on the bench. He's usually the one on the bench, waiting for Rebecca to pull in and drop Ted off.
Oblivious, Ted sits on the bench, a coffee on either side and a pastry bag in his lap. If Beard knows the routine, the pastry bag is for Keeley. The younger woman has learnt that Biscuits with the Boss overlaps with transition time to meeting with her. Rebecca won't share her shortbread biscuits—unless Henry's asked for a piece—so Ted's been getting her a random pastry from the coffee shop as her sweet thing for what Ted's described as the ladies' favourite 'girl talk' meeting.
"Morning, Coach," Beard greets, with a slight wave of his hand as he finds Ted staring into the nothingness in front of him.
Ted doesn't reply.
Beard's brow raises curiously, looking towards what Ted is staring at. But there's nothing but an empty lane and a Green of schoolkids and joggers making their way along the paths.
"Earth to Theodore Welton," Beard half-shouts, startling Ted at the way he's used Rebecca's last name instead of his own.
"Oh," Ted stumbles from his stupor with a chuckle. "Welton?"
Beard shrugs his shoulders.
"Could have been a Welton. Could have been a Welton-Lasso like her, Coach," Beard points out. "Never too late."
It's something to mull over later. Instead, he eyes the cup on his right side, hoisting it as an offering as Beard closes in.
"Thank you," Beard whispers before lifting the cup to his lips, taking a drink. He smacks his lips, trying to place the flavour. "Is this caramel?"
"I think so? Uh, Rebecca ordered in Spanish because the barista has been learning for a summer down in Costa Rica for bean roasting classes for the shop. I heard what sounded like caramel, but that could have been the beans she wanted 'em to use."
Ted, bless his heart, was not gifted in the foreign language department. The mandatory two years of high school German were all his repertoire boasted.
Beard hums, and Ted grabs his own coffee, standing and checking the bench for things he might have left. But the pastry bag is in one hand, coffee in the other, and the knapsack is on his back.
He tips his head towards the Green.
"Lead the way, Coach," Beard says, turning to face the street.
It's telling how long they've been in London, doing this routine, that Beard no longer has to remind Ted which way to look when crossing the road.
As they make it to the Green, Ted's steps begin to slow. His stride shortens. Clues that tell Beard that Ted has something to say but needs a little time. So, he begins to tell Ted about the volleyball book he's been reading. How there's this one play used in beach and court volleyball by some teams that has devastated opponents.
Beard gets to the end of his ramble, and Ted mostly looks like he's cut Deborah's lemon wedge wrong for making her famous lemon-lavender mojito again and is trying to salvage the fruit.
"You okay, Coach? Need a break?" Beard gestures to the bench a few metres ahead.
Ted warbles something, but it sounds like he has marbles in his mouth, and Beard takes it as a yes to the bench.
As they sit, Ted takes a long pull of whatever sugary, syrupy concoction that makes up his drink order. Beard sips at his own coffee, watching as Ted wobbles his head before their eyes meet.
"I got something to tell you, Coach," Ted says, rather seriously.
Beard's mouth moves into a curious sort of half-frown.
"Well," Ted begins, a slight lean as he moves to angle himself into a more comfortable position. "I, uh. You know how the past few months I haven't been the most reliable?"
Beard wouldn't have called it that, had he been given the option of interjecting.
"Maybe not 'reliable'. More, uh, like, missing things? Asking for little extensions to read the scouting reports or showing up late to things? Or asking for cancellations a few hours before you, me, and Roy are supposed to meet?"
Roy's been a little off-kilter a few times. Grumbling that a manager needs to be 'on fucking time' and 'reading my fucking notes because I read his shit… some shit.' Beard's run interference enough that it hasn't gotten back to Ted, but it's shown that Roy's a little more human than a big, hairy robot without feelings.
"It's not like any of us haven't been busy or delayed, Coach," Beard interjects this time.
Ted hums, taking another sip of his coffee before he settles it beside him. Just far enough away that he won't knock it down if he forgets he's set it down.
"There's a reason," Ted says, smiling unconsciously at the thought of what comes next. "I think it's a pretty darn good reason anyway."
Beard waits. He's always thought himself a patient man, but the way Ted's smile slips even wider makes him wonder if the universe is testing just how patient he can truly be.
Ted swallows and then chuckles ever so briefly.
"We're… well. Rebecca's pregnant." Ted's whole being brightens. He turns softer. His grin, the way his eyes sort of water as if he were this close to crying. "I'm going to be a dad two times over now."
As Beard watches Ted, he can't help but chuckle. There's a sort of walloping gut punch of pleasure hearing those words from his best friend. He knows Ted's already a dad. And he's heard the 'we're pregnant' before from Ted about Henry, but it's different this time. This time feels like something has burrowed into his chest and grabbed a hold of his heart.
He's watched them fall for one another. The way Ted almost tripped over Rebecca's wedding dress because he couldn't stop looking at the way she smiled that day. The way Rebecca did run full stop into a player because she had been checking out her husband's bum as he did squats with the reserves before a training when she and Keeley were observing the team that day. It feels right that the universe should hand them this precious little life.
"Rebecca's going to be a mom," Ted whispers as if he still can't believe it. "A little mini me."
Both of them know that Rebecca and Henry have a great relationship. Henry spent months preparing to ask Rebecca if he could call her mum after asking Michelle if she'd be okay with him having a 'mom' and a 'mum'. The first time he ran out of the school gates and yelled 'mum', there wasn't a dry eye that whole ride home. Or so Rebecca said after he'd come home from an away match victory to find them curled up together watching match highlights on the telly with a bowl of ice cream between them.
"I mean," Ted clarifies, even though he doesn't have to, "Rebecca loves Henry. She was perfectly content with him as our only kid. She's so happy to be his mom. You heard her vows that turned us both into blubbering boys. But I still don't know who is more excited. Henry's delighted he finally gets a sibling, and Rebecca still can't believe we've made this little human."
Beard had put the clues together. The smallest giveaway had been the crisps. A few weeks ago, before every Biscuits with the Boss, Ted would run to the canteen to pick up salt and vinegar crisps. His least favourite but Rebecca's top five crisps. Before one afternoon version of the meeting, Richard had purchased the last package, and a harried Ted offered fourty quid for the snack-sized bag. Richard agreed to the exchange, staring at the two twenty-pound notes for a minute after Ted disappeared and put them in the team's monthly kids' kit fund. A fund they'd started when they went round to schools to promote getting outside rather than watching telly or other screens and purchased all the kids a Greyhounds Get Outside! t-shirt. One of Keeley's more kid-friendly ventures for AFC Richmond promotions. But he had been waiting for his best friend to share the news. After all, it's a big deal.
Beard nods and sets his coffee aside before he stands. He gives Ted a moment to shift slightly and then takes Ted's arm, hauling him up from the bench and into a bear hug. The sort of hug where Beard can feel Ted's shoulders drop, relieved of the secret. The sort of hug where Ted can feel the way Beard's excitement is pressed into how long the hug lasts.
"Congratulations, Ted," Beard says against the soft cotton of Ted's jumper.
Beard can feel the way Ted releases his breath as he laughs – a light, airy thing. He can also feel the way the pastry bag makes itself known with the crackling crinkle of the parchment paper.
He'd forgotten about the pasty bag.
"Sorry," Beard says as he releases Ted, and they both take a step back.
The bag hangs loose in Ted's grip, and he uncrinkles the edges as he lifts it up and inspects the contents.
"Little worse for wear, but still edible, I think." Ted shrugs a shoulder.
"There's a shop before the tube entrance," Beard remarks. It's not the same calibre of pastry as what the other shop dishes out, but he can vouch for their kouign amann, one of Keeley's favourites.
"Oh." Ted hems and haws a bit. And then he offers the pastry bag to Beard. "See, umm. I was nervous as all get out last night. Driving Henry and Rebecca a little crazy, if I'm honest."
Beard eyes the bag, slightly suspicious, not opening it yet.
"After dinner, they sent me to go take a bath and, well, they made those. A sort of 'break glass in case of emergency' clue sort of thing. Just in case I needed a little starting point."
Curiosity getting the better of him, Beard opens the bag as he watches Ted retrieve his coffee from the bench.
It's a 'kitchen sink' cookie. His favourite. Choc chips, pretzel pieces, crisp flakes, caramel, and pecan pieces. They aren't shaped in the classic round shape, though. Instead, there's a 'u' and a 'b'… or what was once a 'u' and a 'b' shape. Whenever he babysat Henry and they made cookies, they'd always make them into u, b, h, and l—Uncle Beard and Henry Lasso. A clue from Ted's oldest for Ted's youngest. It's fitting.
As he sniffs the pastry bag, unwilling to eat such a delicacy out in the open, he gets a familiar whiff of salt and vinegar. A sure sign that Rebecca's used her precious salt and vinegar crisps for the crisps bit of the recipe.
"She gave up her salt and vinegar for me?" Beard asks, looking up at Ted.
"It's her sign of affection. Sharing of a pregnant woman's food cravings is a big deal," Ted remarks sagely.
Beard chuckles with a nod as he retrieves his own coffee.
"Come on, Beard-o," Ted tips his head to the path. "We've got a team to train."
"And your wife to thank," Beard adds.
"Too right, Coach. Too right."