Annie’s kept up her writing career while being almost constantly pregnant, a feat that amazes me. But then again, it doesn’t surprise me. This is what she’s wanted her entire life, after all: the career in movies, the babies, the sweet and sensitive husband.

I leave them to their chaos and place the bowl of soup down in front of Gary. “Chicken tortilla soup. Need anything else?”

Gary looks up at me and smiles sweetly. “Yes. Have you considered the suggestion I placed in the suggestion box last week?”

“Okay, well, for the millionth time, that’s the tip jar, not a suggestion box. And I keep telling you, we’re never going to allow your ferrets in here, Gary. We would get shut down.”

Gary shrugs. “I had to try.”

I can’t help smiling as I make my way into the kitchen. “Hey,” I say, bumping my hip into Nick’s as he assembles a salad.

“Don’t start,” he mutters, throwing on some feta cheese. “This is sexual harassment.”

“Don’t tell the boss,” I say. “Oh wait. I’m the boss.”

“Did you see that Annie’s here?” he asks, finishing the salad and wiping his hands on his apron before turning to look at me.

“Yeah, I talked to them for a minute. I’m happy for Annie, but just seeing her is the single most effective form of birth control.”

“Good,” Nick says, leaning toward me. “Because I have no desire to share you with anyone else.”

I wrap my arms around his neck as he grabs my hips and pulls me into him, giving me one of those patented Nick Velez kisses, the kind that makes me forget I’m in a cramped café kitchen.

That is, until Tobin clears his throat.

We break apart from each other and turn to see him standing at the grill, staring at us, disgust written all over his face. “Not okay, dudes,” he says.

Now that we’ve expanded what we offer and increased our business, we’ve hired several new employees, making Tobin a senior member of the staff, and apparently all this authority has gone to his head.

“You guys have to stop that,” he mutters as smoke billows behind him. “It’s unsanitary as hell.”

“Tobin!” I shout. “Flip that burger! It’s burning!”

He turns back to the grill and flips it with nonchalance even as smoke wafts in his face.

“Remind me again why we put Tobin on the grill?” I ask Nick in a low voice.

“Because,” Nick says. “This way at least he doesn’t drop the plates.”

He hands me the salad. “Order up, boss. Oh, wait, don’t forget the pie.”

I give him another quick kiss before heading back out into the café. But as I step through the door, I stop for a moment to take it all in. The brightly painted chairs. The floral artwork on the walls. The Christopher Cross playing over the speakers. The spicy, appetizing smell in the air. The tables full of loyal customers and friends who feel like family.