A wave of emotion crashes into me when I see Wilson smiling at Gretchen. Anger, envy, sadness—they all mulch into a ball and slam my chest.

I turn away, because I can’t stand the sight of it any longer. Plus, I don’t want Wilson to see the annoyance in my eyes.

He’s proven to be more intuitive than I’d like, and it’s embarrassing enough that he’s got so much control over my emotions. It would be even worse if he knew it.

My tennis shoes clop against the ground as I stride toward the exits. Wilson’s thudding footsteps warn that he’s chasing me and, a moment later, he catches me by the arm and whirls me around.

“Hey, where are you going?”

I shake his hand off. “To the parking lot.”

“Why?” He notes my brush off, but doesn’t seem concerned by it. “Aren’t we seeing a doctor here?”

“No.”

“Why not? Isn’t it easier—?”

“I said no, alright?” I spin and stalk outside.

Wilson takes his time walking behind me.

I let out an irritated sigh and jog until I hit the very end of the parking lot. It’s then I realize that I have no idea what his car looks like. The moment I whirl around, Wilson is right there, smirking at me.

“Where did you park?” I yell.

“I was wondering when you’d ask.” He tosses his head back. “We passed it a minute ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I grumble.

“Hey.” Wilson steps in front of me when I try to storm past. “What’s going on? Why are you angry?”

“I’m not. I’m fine.”

He shakes his head and spreads his arms out when I try to bypass him. “Talk to me, Zora.”

“We don’t have time to talk. We’ll be late for our appointment.” I duck beneath his arms, which is easy to do since he’s so much taller than me. Wilson’s car chirps when I near it. I slip inside, looking straight ahead.

A moment later, Wilson joins me. He stares at me for a long minute like he’s deciding whether or not to talk to me. In the end, he thinks better of it and sticks his keys into the ignition.

I’m grateful for his sensitivity and rest my eyes. The intense wave that struck me in the hospital is gone, leaving a painful awareness in its wake.

Obviously, my little pep talk about Wilson last night did nothing. If watching him flirt with Gretchen put me in such a mood, I never want to see him with Violet again.

“Zora?” Wilson says hesitantly. “I need directions.”

“Oh.” I bury my pride and guide him to the private OB/GYN.

Doctor Clara’s office is located in the ground floor of a tall, brick building. The moment we step inside, we’re assaulted with strains of peppy, foreign music. A nurse in a patterned teddy bear scrubs notices me and lowers the radio.

“Sorry about that.” She smiles kindly, causing the wrinkles around her sunken, brown eyes to deepen. “Are you the Kings?”

“I’m Zora King.” I point to myself. “He’s not a King.”

“I beg to differ,” Wilson teases.

I glance back at him, surprised he’s in such a good mood after my mini-meltdown in the parking lot. He winks and places his hand on the small of my back as he addresses the nurse. “Sorry we’re late.”

“No problem. Could you take a seat while I let Dr. Clara know you’re here?”

Wilson nods and leads me to the chairs near the window. The waiting room boasts a corner for young children to play. It has colorful floor mats, a tiny piano and a box of building blocks.

“I get it now,” Wilson rumbles from beside me.

I glance up at him. “Get what?”

“Why you didn’t want to do this at your hospital.” His gaze slides to mine. “It’s a lot to explain. The fact that we aren’t married or together in any way.”

I bite down on my lip. “I work with those doctors everyday, and I’d prefer if my private life was kept private.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrug. “It wasn’t important.”

“Zora,” he takes my hand, “if it’s about you, then it’s important to me.”

My heart flutters as I stare into his eyes.

No! Why would he say something so sweet?

Incubator. Remember, you’re just the incubator.

I pull my hand out of his and smooth my hair down as the doctor emerges from a room. She’s a short, Hispanic woman with curly hair and an easy, welcoming vibe.

“Come on in, lovelies!” She beckons with an arm. When Wilson rises to come with me, she gestures for him to stop. “The daddy doesn’t need to be there. Just mama.”

“Are you sure?” Wilson catches my eye. “Will you be okay?”

Dr. Clara chuckles. “We’ll just run a few tests to check mommy’s health. Make sure there aren’t any risks for the pregnancy or birth. No need to panic.”

Hearing Dr. Clara call me ‘mommy’ sounds weird, but I guess I’ll just have to get used to it. My kid will use the word soon enough.

My kid.

How did I get myself into this?

Dr. Clara smiles. “Don’t worry about a thing, Zora. We’ve been doing this for years.”

I know. It’s why I chose her out of all the doctors in the city. But, while Dr. Clara administers her tests, it’s hard to stay still. I’m used to being the one who fusses over the patient and gets things done.

Thankfully, Dr. Clara is quick, and I’m not uncomfortable for long.

As she’s directing me to lie on the cot for the last test, the door opens and Wilson walks in.

“Take a seat and hold mama’s hand,” Dr. Clara says.

“It’s fine.” I tuck my hands on my stomach and shift uneasily. “You don’t have to—”

Wilson grabs my hand and holds it firmly, not even waiting for me to finish. He looks at the doctor. “Are you going to do a transvaginal ultrasound, Doc?”

“Why yes.” She chuckles and slaps a condom on top of a wand. “I see someone’s done their research.”

“I’ve read a lot of articles.”

“You have?” I arch an eyebrow.

“I’ve purchased books too.” He winces. “But I haven’t gotten around to the birthing videos. I’m building up a tolerance though. I figure I still have at least seven months to get through a full one.”

My jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” He stares back frankly.

“Alright, here we go.” Dr. Clara adjusts the sheet above my spread-out legs and inserts the wand. “Give me a few minutes to find the fetus.”

Wilson squeezes my hand. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“No.”

He moves a tendril of my hair behind my ear. “You’re doing great.”

My heart swells. Why is he so freaking gentle? And attentive? And perfect? Honestly, I hate it.

“Alright…” Doctor Clara mumbles, “Alright.”

Wilson stiffens. “Is everything okay? Is the baby somewhere other than the uterus? It isn’t in the cervix, right?”

“Wilson, calm down.”

“I am calm.”

I place my hand over his chest where his heart is beating like crazy. “You’re not.”

“Listen to mama. Everything looks to be on track.”

“Are you sure?” Wilson asks with a furrowed brow.

“Yes, sir. This…” She moves the wand around and the images on the computer monitor changes, “is your baby.”

“Looks like a bean,” I mumble.

“It’s beautiful,” Wilson cries.

I scrunch my nose at him. He looks ready to cry. I snort at his expression. The man is invested, I’ll give him that.

Dr. Clara flicks a machine and a thudding sound fills the room.

That’s when the emotions hit me. “Is that…?”

“Yes, that’s your Little Bean.”

Tears fill my eyes. Before this moment, I wasn’t quite sure if I was pregnant. Some days, I could pretend it was all in my head.

I glance at my stomach. There’s someone in there. Someone who’s going to live.

Please live.

When Dr. Clara turns the monitor off, I’m so overwhelmed I can’t even speak.

That’s… not the case for Wilson.

He asks a ton of questions, all of which Dr. Clara answers clearly and patiently. By the time we leave the office, I know my due date, exactly when the kid was conceived, and advice on what I should and shouldn’t do in preparation for the birth.

We head outside. Wilson opens my car door for me and clutches his ‘prize’ in his other hand. It’s a print out of our Little Bean, as Dr. Clara dubbed the baby.

I snapped a picture of it on my phone and plan to set it as my lock screen, but I knew Wilson wanted the original for himself.

On our way back home, Wilson offers me the picture to hold while he drives. “Have you thought about names?”

“Not really. Have you?”

He rubs his beard. “Noah.”

“Why Noah?”

“Kent’s dad. His name was Noah.” Wilson shrugs. “He was a great father and uncle. It was hard when he died. I think that would be a great way to honor him.”

“If it’s a girl?”

He ducks his head. “I’d let you pick.”

“You just want a boy, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter to me what sex the baby is.” He pauses. “But I would really like a boy.”

I laugh. “You made me look like an uncaring mother back there.”

“What? No way.”

“How much research have you done, Wilson?”

“I admit, reading articles about pregnancy has taken up a lot of my free time, but you’re the nurse and the mother. You know more than me. And no one is accusing you of being uncaring.”

I hunker into my seat and smile, content in this little makeshift family Wilson and I created. A few minutes later, we park in front of the apartment and climb out of the car.

“Are you hungry?” Wilson asks as we walk up the stairs together.

“Why? You’re going to make me more of those awful scrambled eggs?”

“Awful?” He tilts his head. “Is that a challenge?”

“To a scramble off? I’d cream you.”

“We’ll see about that.” He nudges me in the side.

I laugh at him and stumble up the last stair when I notice two people standing outside my door. The woman’s silky green shirt clings to her chest and her white pants compliment her lean, brown legs. The guy has dirty blonde hair and is dressed in a simple T-shirt and khakis.

I gasp as I recognize them. Why are Amaya and Kent waiting in front of my door? Again?

They’ve really got to stop showing up unannounced.

The moment Amaya sees me walking next to Wilson she freezes. “Zora?”

“Hey.” I wiggle my fingers. “Uh, welcome back.”

Her eyes zip between us and understanding dawns. She covers her mouth, causing her curly hair to bounce around her face. “Oh my.”

“What?” Kent looks confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Wilson,” Amaya hisses loud enough for us to hear. “Wilson’s the father.”

Kent laughs. “Wilson’s not the father.”

“Guys, why don’t we head to my apartment and talk this through?”

Kent acts like he doesn’t hear me. His smile fizzles into a frown. “Wilson wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Kent…” Amaya warns as her husband takes a step forward.

Wilson moves back.

Kent pulls his fingers into fists. “Wilson’s done some stupid things, but he’s not that irresponsible.”

“Cuz,” Wilson swallows, “I can explain.”

“Tell me I’m right,” Kent warns.

“This is just… I can—” Wilson abandons any attempt at clarification and spins, darting down the stairs.

Kent sprints after him.

“Babe!” Amaya yells.

I hold her back when she tries to go after them. “Let ‘em go.”

“Aren’t you worried about Wilson?”

“I’d be more worried about Kent. You know Wilson boxes in his free time, right?”

“Hey! Kent’s not some wimp. He can take Will anyday.”

“Right. He couldn’t even take a couple teenagers.”

“He was suffering from a stab wound!” Amaya fires back.

We pause, stare at each other and then burst out laughing.

Amaya gives me a hug. “I love seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Happy.”

I open my mouth to disagree but I realize… against all odds—I am.