Unable to force out the words, I shake my head and more tears burn my eyelids.

“Here,” he says, pushing a glass of water into my hands.

He’s quiet while I take a long sip, but then he sits on the couch next to me and pulls my hands into his lap. “Talk to me. You used to say you never wanted kids. Did…you…did this happen when you found out you were pregnant?”

His struggle to understand is clear in his voice so the question doesn’t offend me. Besides, he’s right. I didn’t know how much I wanted to be a mother until Ted pressed that tiny sonogram picture in my hand.

“No.” My voice comes out more than a harsh whisper. “I found out I was pregnant because of this.” I trace my finger down the line on my left arm. It’s straighter than the one on my right. It’s deeper too. I’m right-handed. “Chance saved me,” I whisper.

Maybe that sounds ridiculous. But it’s true in so many ways.

“Well, technically Ted saved me,” I add.

“How?”

“He was the doctor on-call at the hospital.”

What words can explain it to a man like Z? Everything about him radiates strength and bravery. Qualities that appeal to me more than ever. With Z, I always feel safe and protected.

He seems invincible and I’ve never wanted to drag him into anything that could bring him harm.

“Lilly, talk to me. Why does he think you’re engaged?”

Ah, that one weakness of Z’s—his caveman mentality—might actually allow me to escape this conversation with a shred of dignity. He wants to know about my relationship with Ted. Not the intimate, painful details that led to us meeting in the first place. That I can handle.

“It’ll sound silly to you.”

“It was important enough for him to fly across the country.”

“Well, we’re friends, too.” Although, after he showed up without warning and told Z we were engaged, I may have to rethink our friends status.

“Do you live with him?”

“No,” I answer with more force than intended. “He did ask me to move in with him before I came home.”

His jaw tightens. “You and my son?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you say?”

I swallow hard. Z’s not going to like this answer. “That I’d think about it.”

“So, I didn’t even know my kid existed, but you were going to think about moving in with another man?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it’s like,” he insists. By the tightness of his jaw, I can tell his patience is about to snap. “I never asked,” he says. “But you sort of implied you hadn’t been dating anyone.”

“We weren’t dating. We’re friends.” My gaze skips to the front door. “Although, I’m not so sure about that anymore.”