“What? Wilson is here?” I drop my spatula in the pot of scrambled eggs and hiss when the splatter hits my apron. I dot at the mess with the end of my shapeless grey dress. “He’s early.”

“So you didn’t know?” Diandra’s voice squawks through the phone speakers.

“We agreed he’d come for my first prenatal appointment but that’s not for a few days.”

“I knew it was strange. When I dropped him off at the airport two weeks ago, he said he wouldn’t be back until the end of the month. I was wondering if you two had talked about moving up the schedule.”

“No. We haven’t talked at all.”

“As in he hasn’t even called since then?”

“Nope?”

“Facebook?”

“No.”

“Text?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Why not?” Diandra sounds horrified. “Are you fighting again?”

“No. I told Wilson I would only bother him if there’s a problem and so far, the pregnancy has been smooth sailing.”

Well, I’ve been sick every morning, but that’s to be expected. Apart from the nausea and the fact that almost every woman at my work can tell that I’m pregnant, not much has changed.

“He should at least check on you,” Diandra murmurs. “Maybe that’s why he’s moving down here, so he doesn’t have to worry from afar.”

“Move? Who said he was moving?”

“Last week, Wilson emailed me asking if I could recommend a realtor.”

“He’s buying a house in Belize? Are you sure the realtor’s not for Amaya and Kent?”

“Kent wants to stay in Amaya’s bungalow since it’s already familiar to him. Most of his things are there too. And even if they wanted to move, they wouldn’t ask Wilson to ask me.”

I lean against the counter and soak in the news. Why didn’t Wilson ask me to help? Why Diandra? I thought we were closer than that. Does he still not trust me even though I’m having his child?

Diandra senses my hesitation and laughs sheepishly. “Oops. Maybe it was a surprise and I spoiled it.”

“Maybe.”

“Sorry for bothering you on your day off. What were you doing?”

“Nothing much. Thanks for calling, Diandra.”

“Anytime.”

We hang up, and I set the phone on the counter next to my pan of scorched eggs. My thoughts race so fast it’s hard to settle on one.

At our last meeting, Wilson expressed interest in being more involved in the baby’s life. He convinced me to let him tag along during doctors’ visits and left strict instructions to call him if there was an emergency.

I insisted I’d be fine on my own, but he threatened to draft up a contract if I wanted to put up a fuss.

I thought his desire to take care of me was cute, and it made me eager to show that the street ran both ways. Which was why I asked Diandra to help him out with the rental car.

We were on a good path. So why is he withholding information now?

I hear a thud outside and frown. After checking that the stove is off, I run to the door and rise on the tips of my toes so I can investigate. Through the peephole, I spy deliverymen scrambling around like ants.

Looks like someone’s finally moving into that empty apartment.

I shrug and take one step away from the door when the conversation with Diandra crashes into my head.

Wilson was asking for a realtor.

My jaw drops. “No, it can’t be…”

I’m rushing into the hall before I can convince myself that my instincts are wrong.

The door to the apartment across from mine is wide open. A deliveryman smiles at me as he emerges with an empty box in his arms.

I barge past him and sprint inside, skidding to a stop when my eyes land on Wilson.

He’s standing in the middle of the living room, bringing order to the chaos. His brown T-shirt strains against his muscular chest and dark jeans clad his thick legs. He runs his fingers through his black hair, mussing it further.

“The sofa goes there,” he says, brown eyes focused and arms gesturing. “Leave the lamp on the table for now.”

I tiptoe deeper into the room. “Wilson?”

He turns, his gaze colliding with mine. “Hey, Zora.”

“‘Hey, Zora’?” I advance on him and hiss, “What is all this?”

“This? It’s furniture.”

“I know what it is, Wilson. What does it mean?”

“Is that another rhetorical question or…?”

I grab his arm and lead him to the side. “When were you going to tell me you’d bought a place in my apartment building?”

“Oh? So it’s your apartment building now?”

I meet his smirk with a dark glare. “You should have told me.”

“I knew you’d react like this.”

“Like what?”

“Annoyed. Offended. Angry.”

I’m all those things, but I’m even more agitated that he pointed it out. My feet shuffle on the floor. “You’re not really moving to Belize, are you?”

“You bet I am.” He gestures to the room by spreading his arms wide. “You’re looking at the second headquarters of Barton Industries.”

“Come again?”

His smirk becomes a full-blown smile. “Kent and I are working on the B-Jogger 2.0. I figured he wouldn’t want to leave his new bride to come work with me and since the mother of my child is in Belize, I thought it would be best if I moved the company here.”

“I get that.” I let out a breath. “But why did it have to be my building?”

“What? You don’t like that we’re neighbors?”

No. No, I don’t. The closer I am to Wilson, the more confusing things can get.

We made love, but we don’t love each other. We’re having a kid, but we’re not married. We’re doing everything out of order and it’s all messy.

I like having control, which means hanging out with Wilson in a prearranged environment where I can prepare myself emotionally and mentally for his presence.

This… is not what I wanted.

“Come on.” He takes my hand and gently leads me forward. Wilson’s muscles flex as he grabs a chair with one arm and places it in the corner, away from the commotion. “If you’re going to scold me, at least sit down while you’re at it. Have you eaten?”

I stare at him, confused by his thoughtfulness.

“It’s not a test, Zora. A ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ will do fine.”

“I was just making breakfast.”

“So you haven’t eaten?”

I shake my head.

Wilson glances over his shoulder and addresses the workers. “Keep going, guys. I’ll be back in a minute.”

A rousing chorus of grunts and ‘uh-huhs’ meet his statement.

Wilson drags me back to my apartment and closes the door. He studies the lock. “Don’t you have a deadbolt?”

“Why would I need a deadbolt?”

He scratches his chin. “You’re right. You’ll need a deadbolt and an alarm system.”

“For what? I’m not hiding a jade head in here.”

He doesn’t seem to hear me. Wilson moves into the kitchen and, with a hand on his hips, looks around. “Where’s breakfast?”

“It’s that.” I nod to the eggs.

He makes a face. “What is it?”

“Scrambled eggs with chopped ham, onions and bell pepper.”

“Why is it black?”

“What are you? Chef Gordon Ramsey? It’s my breakfast. You can save your judgment.”

He chuckles. “Sit down.” Wilson grabs the pan and slides the eggs into the garbage. “I’ll make you the best toast and eggs you’ve ever had.”

“We’ll see about that.”

I sit around the small table and watch him open all the cupboards in search of a bowl. “Top corner to the right.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” I lean back, letting the silence linger for a moment before I speak. “Did you really move here for the baby?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I just… I thought we’d agreed not to make any major changes without discussing it with each other first.”

“Are you that upset that I’m here?” he asks, cracking two eggs into the bowl.

“It feels like you don’t trust me.”

His arm drops. “What?”

“Look, I get it.” I glance away before he thinks his opinion of me matters at all. “We don’t really know each other and yet we’re connected in such a huge way, but I told you before that I can handle everything on my own.”

“Of course you can.” Wilson stares me right in the eyes.

“Then why are you here?”

“The risk of miscarriage increases around the nine-week mark. Besides that, there are a ton of other complications that could happen. I didn’t want to be hundreds of miles away in case you—I mean the baby needed me.”

His words rob me of speech. Is he really that invested in this kid or is there something he isn’t telling me?

Wilson rubs the back of his neck and turns around to finish making the eggs. He whips up the meal in ten minutes flat and slides the plate on the table.

It smells divine, but I coach my expression so he can’t tell how impressed I am. Wilson looks too arrogant already.

“If that’s not the best scrambled egg you’ve ever tasted, I’ll grant you one wish,” he says.

My eyebrows hike. “For anything?”

“Anything.”

My, my. Someone’s confident.

I shovel a forkful of eggs into my mouth and straighten when the flavors roll over my tongue.

Wilson watches me closely, but after I take that first bite, he barks out a laugh. “Shoot. I should have made you bet something too.”

“It’s not that good,” I lie through a mouthful of eggs.

Before he can respond, there’s a knock at the door. A voice calls out, “Mr. Barton, where do you want this dresser?”

He slants me a knowing look. “Try not to stuff it all down while I’m gone.”

I stick my tongue out at his back and proceed to enjoy the best scrambled eggs I’ve had in my life.

When I’m done, I check the peephole again and notice that the deliverymen marching into Wilson’s new apartment have slowed to a trickle now. Is he coming back?

Not that I expect him to pop back over here. He must have his hands full putting his apartment together.

I glance at my own space. I’m not a messy person so even though I use my day offs to clean and do laundry, it doesn’t take me that long. Maybe I can help Wilson fix his place up.

My hand goes for the doorknob when a thought stops me. Why are you seeking Wilson out? Didn’t you say things could get complicated if you got too close to him?

It’s a good point and I turn away from the door.

But… he is the father of my child. There’s nothing wrong with getting a little closer.

I spin back to the door.

You had sex. How much closer do you want to get?

That’s a good point.

I linger in front of the door before chickening out and staying in my room all night watching Netflix. My eyes flit to the clock on my phone after every episode. It gets later and later, but Wilson doesn’t stop by.

After eight, I take the television off and slide out of bed. I’m shocked by how disappointed I am. It’s not like we’re friends. He doesn’t owe me anything. Wilson made it clear he’s here for the baby and nothing else.

“I’m such a mess.” I palm my forehead and squeeze. It feels like I’ve wasted hours trying to distract myself from an issue that shouldn’t even be an issue.

My phone buzzes on the pillow beside me. My heart skips a beat as I scoop it up, instinctively searching for Wilson’s name on the screen.

It’s not him.

AMAYA: Hey, we’re heading back home now. See you soon!

I groan and toss the phone away from me. Wilson being so near is going to complicate things and my life is already complicated enough.

No matter how kind or considerate he is, Wilson will never see me. All I am is an incubator. Life will be much easier if I remember that.