“We’re not,” I say, squinting against the blaring yellow sunshine pouring against my windshield. “Maybe they’re here for a different house?”

Shelby unbuckles her seat belt and reaches for the door, but she hesitates, her hand pausing on the handle. “Hm.”

“Hm?”

Her blue eyes narrow and she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Hm. We aren’t that late, but the camera crew is waiting for us at the front door.”

I grunt. “That figures. Lyle will love getting footage of us arriving together first thing in the morning.”

“Undoubtedly,” Shelby says, sounding unconvinced. We’d kind of assumed Lyle had washed his hands of us.

I grab her other hand, giving it a squeeze. “If you’d rather, you can drop me off, then take my truck for coffee and circle back.”

Her lips quirk in a half grin. “Didn’t get enough caffeine this morning?”

“Someone distracted me,” I admit.

Her brow arches at me in challenge. “Someone distracted you? That’s not how I remember it. I was minding my business, filling my cup—”

“While naked.”

She shrugs lightly. “I forgot pajamas. Whoops.”

I bite back a groan. This woman.

She smirks and gives up the act, reaching for the door again. “I’m good if you are, but we should get going. There’s some kind of congregation happening on the porch and my dad’s looking flustered. He needs you.”

The sun is still preventing me from seeing much, but I pull my keys out of the ignition anyway and follow Shelby. Once I’m out of the bright light, I can read the side of the landscaping trailer. My chest instantly deflates like I’ve been kicked in the diaphragm.

RIGGS & SON

Son. As in singular.

Derek is here.

Shelby takes in the wording and her hand finds mine. After a beat, I allow her to pull me along toward the porch where a full camera crew is ready to catch my reaction.

Fucking. Lyle.

My brother’s back is to me, but I’d recognize him anywhere. Tall like me, but more lean, angular even, same as my dad. His hair is longer, with a soft curl. He’s dressed in durable khaki pants and a burgundy polo. The uniform of generations of Riggs men, but not me.

My heart is pounding a staccato beat and my hands are clammy. I try to pull away from Shelby, but she doesn’t relent, and I’m grateful she’s so stubborn.

What I really want is to leave. To get in my truck and call in sick. I don’t care what Lyle makes of that. All I know is I don’t want to do this, and I especially don’t want to do it on camera.

Shelby’s fingers squeeze mine and I have the sense to squeeze back. “Can you do this?” she asks in a low tone.