I felt the heat of a blush on my cheek as I heard the tone she’d used and the way her eyes sparkled as if she knew she was intruding on a special moment.

“No, you didn’t. Don’t get any ideas, Lilly.” Vlad turned his attention to the boy. “Do you need a hand with that, Jake?”

“Nope,” Jake said. “I’m good, thanks.”

They served our drinks, and I thanked them before they left us on our own again.

“Why? Does my name not suit me?” Vlad asked.

“I did not say that.”

“Most of us Hellenicus are doomed to have weird names, whether it’s our first name or our middle name. The names our parents choose are supposed to represent a blessing or a hope.” He shifted in his seat. “Actually, I was named after my great-great-great-grandfather. I don’t think they cared whether the name sounded Greek or not, as long as it had a good meaning. But I think Kris lucked out while I got the short end of the stick.”

“I’d have to agree there,” I said. “But tell me, what’s the meaning behind Vladimir?”

“Vladimir is formed from two words: vladeti, which means rule, combined with miru, which means peace or world. The name literally means one who rules the world.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“Every name has a meaning,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Then what’s mine?”

“Your name, Avery, is derived from the old French name Alfred,” he explained, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Alfred breaks down into the Old English words of aelf, which means elf, and raed, which means counsel. Avery means ruler of the elves.”

“What the flying pigeon!” I shouted. “I’m going to strangle my parents.”

“It’s not that bad.” He laughed

“My middle name is Zosime, in case you didn’t know.”

“I know.” One corner of his lips tugged slightly upward. “Your parents chose your middle name to represent their hope for you. I think you’re just as lucky as Kris.”

“Uh-huh, so what’s my parents’ hope then?”

“Zosime means ‘likely to survive.’ Your parents must have hope for you to survive through any hard times in your life. Actually, I don’t think either of your names is that bad.”

“Okay, fine, the middle one is not that bad, but Avery’s meaning, seriously? How is being named after a silly creature with pointy ears not that bad?”

“Some names have worse meaning than yours. Like Portia.”

“How’s Portia a bad name?” I protested.

Vlad said, “Portia is a Latin name that was derived from the word porcus or porcius, which,”—he leaned forward and smirked—“you can probably guess means pig.”

“Okay,” I said between peals of laughter. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to strangle my parents after all. But I will definitely be careful when naming my future child. They certainly won’t be Portia.”

Vlad watched me with an odd expression, his head tilted at the slightest of angles. “Maybe you should name them Oliver.”