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Kayla's room was next. Sophia knocked and heard “come in” in a voice that was sleepy in the specific way that meant she'd been awake recently. Sophia opened the door and took in her older daughter, still in bed, the decorative pillow fortress somewhat collapsed from the night, the paperback on the nightstand with a bookmark that was significantly closer to the end than it was yesterday afternoon.

She knew immediately.

Kayla had been reading when Mason came in. And just like Sophia, she hadn't been able to fall back asleep after he left.

Sophia came and sat on the edge of the bed. Kayla looked at her with eyes that were trying to be fine and not quite getting there.

“He'll be okay,” Sophia said.

“I know.” The two words came out with the particular flatness of someone who was saying what they were supposed to say rather than what they actually felt.

Sophia waited.

Kayla looked at the ceiling. “I always worry. I know I'm not supposed to, or whatever, but I always do.”

“I know you do.” Sophia reached over and pushed a strand of hair out of her daughter's face. “I do, too.”

“Then how do you stand it?”

How often had she answered this same question? “Because I know who he is. I know what his team is. I've watched these men operate for twenty-two years, and I have never once seen them fail to bring each other home.” She paused. “And I have faith. You have faith in things you love and trust even when you can't control the outcome.”

Kayla was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “What if faith isn't enough?”

“Then we deal with that if it comes. But it hasn't come yet. Not once in twenty-two years.” Sophia squeezed her hand. “Your dad is smart, Kayla. He has always been smart. That's what keeps him safe more than anything else.”

Kayla nodded slowly. She wasn't entirely convinced, but she was a little better, which was all Sophia had been aiming for.

“I bet you didn't get your homework done,” Sophia said.

Kayla's expression shifted immediately into something deeply offended. “You're thinking of the wrong daughter. I'm the perfect one.”

Sophia laughed, and it felt good, “Oh yeah, I forgot. Well, Miss Perfect, you better get your tushie into the shower before your baby sister hogs all the hot water.”

Kayla was throwing back the covers when Sophia left her bedroom.

Sophia spent the morning at her desk working on catering proposals. The girls had gotten themselves out the door with minimal drama. Lisa had misplaced one shoe and found it under the couch, Kayla had remembered at the last possible second that she needed a permission slip signed, and then they were gone and the house was quiet.

She had two proposals to finish, and she worked through the first one methodically, pulling together the numbers and the menu options and the staffing requirements with the efficiency of someone who had been doing this long enough that it no longer felt like guesswork. When she was done she looked at the total at the bottom of the page and sat back in her chair.

The proposal was for a wedding on a private estate in Rancho Santa Fe. The catering contract alone, not counting the cake, was significant enough that four years ago it would have represented five months of breathing room and she would have celebrated landing it with a bottle of prosecco and a call to Margie. These days it was a Thursday. A good Thursday, but still just a Thursday.

She thought about Margie sometimes when moments like this happened. How proud the woman would have been. How she would have sat at the lunch counter and made Sophia walk her through every detail of how the business had grown, nodding along with that particular Margie expression that meant she had seen this coming before Sophia had.

Her phone buzzed on the desk. Angie.

You up for lunch? There's a place I like near Fashion Valley. 11:30?

Sophia looked at her proposal, looked at the clock, looked at the proposal again. The second one could wait until this afternoon.

I'll be there, she typed back.

Sophia got to the restaurant first, which never happened. She was still quietly proud of it when Angie came through the door, dark auburn curls and that quick, assessing walk that fifteen years hadn't slowed down at all.

They hugged. Both arms. No explanation needed.

“You're early,” Angie said.

“Don't get used to it.”