Page 17 of Love Like Ours

“What do you want?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I do, however, believe it will be difficult to figure out who is who if they’re both named Lucas.”

“You could always call him Luke?” she suggested.

“Luke.” Avery tilted her head. “I like that.”

“Or you could name him Lucas but he could go by Marcus, Lucas’s middle name. What if it’s a girl?”

“I haven’t talked to Lucas about it yet, but I was thinking… Emily Marie.”

Sophia’s eyes stung instantly at hearing her mother’s name, knowing that she would continue on in her niece, even if in name only.

“She would have loved that.” She dashed a tear away.

Avery reached over and took her hand. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Good tears.” She used her napkin to wipe her eyes, and the conversation turned towards decorating the nursery.

When Avery yawned, she suggested that she take her home since she was due to head into work soon.

The drive back to Avery’s house was filled with idle chatter about Avery’s new ideas for the nursery, while Sophia’s mind remained elsewhere. Max’s sudden reappearance, Palmer’s quiet intensity—it all felt like too much for one morning.

“Thanks for hanging with me this morning,” Avery said as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “See you later.”

Sophia gave her a small smile and a nod. She watched her sister-in-law waddle up the steps to the house and then drove to work.

Sophia parked out back and walked through the kitchen doors, already bracing herself for the day. The familiar hum of activity greeted her: pans clanging, orders being shouted, the savory aroma of fresh bread wafting through the air.

But her moment of reprieve was cut short when she heard raised voices near the hostess stand.

“No, I’m not splitting it with you! I was the one who took the table in the first place!”

“Are you kidding me? I refilled their drinks five times while you were on your phone!”

Sophia sighed and stepped into the fray, her authoritative tone cutting through the argument. “Enough!”

Both employees—Claire, a hostess, and Jordan, a server—turned towards her, their faces flushed.

“What’s going on here?” she hissed, folding her arms over her chest. She hadn’t even had time to put on her uniform yet and already she was breaking the two women up from another argument.

Jordan huffed, crossing her arms. “Claire thinks she deserves half the tip from table seven, but I was the one who did all the work.”

“I seated them and got their drinks,” Claire shot back.

Sophia held up a hand to stop the bickering. “You’re both part of the same team and arguing like this isn’t going to help anyone. Claire, you did start the service, but Jordan finished it. Split the tip. Next time, communicate better.”

Both employees muttered begrudging agreements, and Sophia walked away, shaking her head. The drama never seemed to end with those two. She walked into her brother’s office and sat at the desk. She waited for the computer to boot up, then switched Claire’s work schedule so that she and Jordan wouldn’t be on shift together the following week.

She was heading out of the office to hang up the new schedule when the faint clinking of glass drew her attention. Frowning, she followed the sound through the back kitchen door and into the alley.

There, leaning against the wall with a bottle of whiskey in hand, was Kyle, a middle-aged man who worked part-time in the kitchen. He was almost a hundred pounds overweight and had always smelled of stale cigarettes and peppermints.

“Kyle!” she barked, startling him.

He froze, the bottle halfway to his lips, then quickly tried to hide it behind his back. “Sophia, hey... I was just... uh, taking a break.”

“With a bottle of whiskey?” Her voice was sharp, her patience long gone. “It’s technically not even lunch hour yet.”