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His phone’s shrill ring cut through the moment, piercing the hazy afterglow like a knife. He cursed creatively, a string of expletives that made me laugh breathlessly, pulling the device from the counter where he’d left it.

“Shit. Shit, I’m late.” He looked genuinely pained. “I have a client meeting…”

“Go,” I said, even though every cell in my body protested the idea.

“I don’t want to.”

“I know.” I pushed at his chest gently. “But you have to. Go be a responsible adult.”

He grumbled the entire time he fixed his clothes, washed his hands, gathered his keys, put on a t-shirt. His reluctance was adorable and made my chest warm in dangerous ways. He kept finding reasons to come back, one more kiss, one more touch, adjusting a curl behind my ear that didn’t need adjusting.

“I really have to go,” he said, not moving.

“Yes, you do.”

He took a step toward the door, then spun back to kiss me again. “Later?”

“Later,” I promised.

He made it as far as his truck before turning back, and I had to physically push him toward the driver’s door. He was laughing, hands finding my waist, pulling me against the truck.

“If you don’t go now, you never will,” I laughed.

“Would that be so bad?”

“Tyson!”

“Fine, fine.” He climbed in but kept hold of my hand through the window, releasing my fingers one at a time with exaggerated reluctance. His pinky went last, lingering.

I leaned in for one more kiss, quick and firm. “Go.”

“You’re mean,” he pouted, but finally started the truck. “We’re definitely continuing this later!”

“Looking forward to it!” I called as he backed out.

I stood there grinning until his taillights disappeared down the road. My lips still tingled. My body was still buzzing from the orgasm and the taste of him on my tongue. Everything felt bright and possible and new and-

A car sat in front of my house.

My smile died instantly. I knew that car. The pretentious white Mercedes with the vanity plate that made me want to gag.

Sophie.

My sister had found me.

20

— • —

Sam

My sister stood next to her white Mercedes, lifting a baby carrier from the backseat. The morning sun caught the infant’s blonde hair, and even from across the yard, I could see those unmistakable blue eyes.

Holy fuck. I’d been right.

The baby was Garrett’s.

Same golden hair, same crystal blue eyes. Same nose that would probably grow into that aristocratic shape I’d once found attractive. Sophie had given birth to a miniature version of my ex-husband, and now she was standing in my driveway in Cedarbrook, holding the evidence of their affair.