The coffee shop smelled like burnt espresso and broken promises.
Lily had been back in New York for exactly forty-three hours, and she'd already made three catastrophic decisions: coming home, leaving her apartment, and ordering a decaf latte that tasted like regret filtered through cardboard.
She pressed one hand against her still-flat stomach, hidden beneath an oversized sweater that had seen better days. The pregnancy test sat at the bottom of her purse like evidence at a crime scene-three pink lines that had derailed her entire life plan.
No. Not derailed. She could handle this. She'd handled everything else life had thrown at her, hadn't she?
Her phone buzzed with another text from her mother. *Mija, you never called me back. Are you eating enough? You sounded tired.*
Lily's thumb hovered over the screen. How did you tell your mother-who'd raised you alone after your father disappeared the moment he learned about the pregnancy-that history was repeating itself in the most humiliating way possible?
She shoved the phone back in her pocket and reached for her latte with a trembling hand.
"Lily?"
The voice hit her like a physical blow. Deep. Certain. Unmistakable.
*No. No, no, no.*
She looked up slowly, praying she'd imagined it, praying the universe wasn't cruel enough to-
Jasper Sterling stood three feet away, immaculate in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her rent, his steel-gray eyes locked on her face with an intensity that made her want to crawl under the table.
"What are the odds?" His mouth curved in that half-smile that had gotten her into trouble in the first place. "I thought you'd still be in-where was it? Turkey?"
"Cappadocia." The word came out strangled. "I was. I'm not anymore."
He moved closer, and she caught his scent-sandalwood and something crisp, expensive. Her stomach lurched, and she gripped the table edge, willing herself not to bolt.
"Mind if I sit?"
*Yes. Very much yes.*
"It's a free country."
Jasper slid into the chair across from her with the easy confidence of a man who'd never been told no in his life. His gaze swept over her face, assessing, and something shifted in his expression.
"You look different."
Lily's heart hammered against her ribs. "Bad lighting."
"No." He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You look... are you sick?"
"I'm fine."
"You're pale. And you're shaking."
"Low blood sugar." She grabbed her latte, took a scalding sip to prove her point, and immediately regretted it. The nausea hit like a wave, and she set the cup down with a clatter. "I haven't eaten today."
"Then let me buy you lunch."
"I don't need you to buy me lunch, Jasper."
"I wasn't asking for permission." He stood, pulling out his phone. "There's a place two blocks from here-"
"Stop." The word came out sharper than she intended. Several heads turned their way, and she lowered her voice. "I said no."
He studied her for a long moment, his jaw tightening. "What's going on, Lily?"
"Nothing. We ran into each other. That's all."
"We slept together eight weeks ago."
"Nine," she corrected automatically, then wanted to kick herself.
His eyebrows rose. "Nine. Right." He sat back down, his posture shifting from casual to predatory. "And now you're back in New York looking like you've seen a ghost, refusing food, drinking decaf-" His gaze dropped to her cup, then snapped back to her face. "You never drink decaf."
Panic clawed up her throat. "I'm cutting back on caffeine."
"Why?"
"Because I want to."
"Try again."
"This is none of your business."
"If it involves me, it is."
"It doesn't-" She stopped, pressing her lips together. Every word was a trap, every denial digging her deeper.
Jasper went very still. When he spoke again, his voice was dangerously quiet. "Lily. Look at me."
She forced herself to meet his eyes, those storm-gray eyes that had looked at her with hunger in Santorini, that had watched her leave without a backward glance.
"Are you pregnant?"
The question sucked the air from the room. Lily felt the blood drain from her face, felt the walls closing in. Around them, the coffee shop continued its mundane rhythm-milk steaming, conversations humming, oblivious to the bomb that had just detonated at table seven.
"That's-" Her voice cracked. "That's a hell of an assumption."
"Is it an assumption?" He leaned forward, his hands flat on the table, and she could see the muscles in his forearms tensing beneath his rolled sleeves. "Or is it the only thing that makes sense? The timing. The way you're acting. The decaf."
"Lots of people drink decaf."
"You're deflecting."
"You're being paranoid."
"Then say no." His voice was steel wrapped in silk. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll apologize and walk away. We'll pretend this never happened."
Lily's throat constricted. She could do it. She could lie. He'd never know. She could disappear back into her nomadic life, raise this baby in hostels and rental cars and beaches halfway around the world, never looking back.
Just like her father had never looked back.
The thought made her sick.
"I don't owe you anything," she whispered.
Jasper's face went pale. "Oh God." He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "You are. You're pregnant."
"Sit down. Please." She glanced around wildly. "People are staring."
"I don't give a damn about people." But he sat, his movements rigid. When he spoke again, his voice was raw. "How long have you known?"
"Two weeks."
"Two weeks." He ran a hand through his dark hair, disheveling it for the first time since she'd known him. "And you weren't going to tell me."
"I was handling it."
"Handling it?" His laugh was bitter. "What does that mean? Were you going to-"
"No." The word exploded out of her. "No. I'm keeping it. Him. Her. I don't know yet."
Something flickered across his face-relief? terror?-before his features hardened into that impenetrable mask he wore like armor.
"We need to talk about this. Properly." He pulled out his phone. "My lawyer-"
"No lawyers."
"Lily, be reasonable-"
"I said no lawyers." She stood, grabbing her purse with trembling hands. "This was a mistake. All of it."
"You can't just walk away."
"Watch me."
She made it three steps before his hand closed around her wrist-gentle, but firm enough to stop her. The touch sent electricity racing up her arm, and she hated herself for still feeling it, even now.
"Please." The word sounded foreign in his mouth, like he wasn't used to saying it. "Don't run. Not from this. Not from me."
Lily turned, and what she saw in his eyes stopped her cold. Not anger. Not calculation.
Fear.
Raw, visceral fear that mirrored her own.
"That's my child," he said quietly. "Mine. You can hate me, you can want nothing to do with me, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm going to be a father."
"You don't have to be anything. I told you, I can handle-"
"I won't abandon my own child."
The words hung between them, weighted with something deeper than duty. Something that spoke of old wounds and unhealed scars.
Lily's phone buzzed insistently in her pocket. Then buzzed again. And again.
With a sinking feeling, she pulled it out.
Seven missed calls from her mother.
One text message: *Lily Marie Rodriguez, I know something's wrong. I'm at your apartment. We need to talk. NOW.*
"Perfect," she breathed. "This day just keeps getting better."
Jasper was watching her carefully. "What is it?"
"My mother. She's at my apartment." Lily met his eyes, and despite everything, she felt a hysterical laugh building in her chest. "She knows something's up. She always knows."
"Then we should talk to her together."
"Are you insane?"
"I'm the father of her grandchild." His jaw set with determination. "She has a right to know I'm not going anywhere."
Before Lily could respond, her phone rang. Her mother's face filled the screen-a photo from last Christmas, smiling and vibrant and completely unaware that her daughter was about to break her heart all over again.
Lily stared at the ringing phone, then at Jasper, then at the door.
One night. One mistake. One impossible choice.
She answered the call.
"Hi, Mamá," she said softly. "We need to talk."
