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I turned and walked to my house without another word, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame Tyson had just rebuilt. Through the window, I watched her stand in my driveway for a full minute, composing her face back into the mask, before loading the baby into the Mercedes and driving away.

But I knew this wasn’t over. Sophie had come here for a reason, and it wasn’t reconciliation. Sophie didn’t reconcile. Sophie took inventory, found weak points, and applied pressure until she got what she wanted.

And right now, she’d found a new weak point. The man next door.

* * *

By afternoon, Sophie had launched her campaign. Full-scale charm offensive on a town of people who didn’t know her from Charlotte.

My phone buzzed with texts from Judy at the coffee shop: “Your sister’s here. Ordered a decaf latte and told three people she drove all this way because she ‘just wants her twin back.’ Playing up the baby angle hard. Gloria is eating it up.”

Then from Tom at the hardware store: “A woman claiming to be your sister just ran into Tyson by the paint aisle. Asked him to help her carry supplies to her car. I thought it was you for a second, but then he ignored her and walked away, and I knew it was your sister. She looked pissed.”

I loved that the friends I’d made in town were updating me. I was still processing everything when Tyson showed up at my door, twenty minutes before he was supposed to be done with work.

“Your sister tried to flirt with me,” he said without preamble, stepping inside. “You should know.”

The layered fury hit me in waves. Anger at Sophie for being so predictable. For thinking she could just take whatever she wanted. But underneath that, another feeling I didn’t want to examine when Tyson came straight to me. No hiding, no games. Just transparency.

“That’s what she does,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “She takes whatever I have.”

He stepped closer, hands finding my waist. “She can’t take what doesn’t want to go.”

The whispered words against my skin made me shiver. I wrapped my arms around him, holding tight.

“Thank you for telling me,” I whispered.

“There’s nothing to be thankful for.” His lips found my neck. “I’m here for you.”

The kiss started soft, his tongue brushing against mine seductively, but quickly turned desperate. His groan vibrated against my mouth as I pressed closer, needing to erase the morning’s ugliness with his touch. We had maybe an hour before Noa got home from school, and I intended to use every minute.

His hands were just sliding under my shirt when a knock on the door interrupted us.

“Honey? Are you home?” Delia’s voice carried through the door.

I jerked away from Tyson fast enough to stumble over the coffee table. “Shit. Your mom.”

He chuckled, looking entirely too pleased with himself as I frantically smoothed my hair, checked my shirt was straight, and wiped what was probably a very obvious I-was-just-making-out-with-your-son expression off my face. He, of course, looked perfectly composed. Infuriating man.

“You have lipstick on your neck,” I hissed.

“I’m not wearing lipstick.”

“MY lipstick. On YOUR neck.”

He rubbed at it casually while I shot him a glare and opened the door.

“Hi, Delia!” I said, a full octave higher than normal.

“Hi, honey!” She smiled at me, then scowled. “Are you okay? You look flushed.”

“I’m fine. Just, um, a little warm. From the… sun. Lots of sun today.”

“It’s overcast, honey.” She looked at me with a curious expression. Shit.

“Is it? Hadn’t noticed.”

“Can I come in?” She peered past me, and her face lit up when she spotted her son lounging on my couch with absolutely no shame. “Oh, Tyson! I hope I’m not interrupting.”