“You know, I once thought I wanted a sister.” JJ gave Birgit her pissed-off cop stare. “I guess I got lucky being a single child.”

Birgit flushed a bright red. “I didn’t—” Her gaze dropped. “I did say that, and it was really petty.”

She looked at Frankie. “I’m sorry, Francesca. I can’t find a man I want to see for longer than a date or two, and you have”—she gestured toward Bull—“and he’s so into you.”

Birgit’s mouth often ran ahead of her brain. It was why she caused so many problems at work. Understanding melted Frankie’s anger because… Anyone would envy me having Bull. “It’s okay. I—”

“Shit, I called you Francesca, and you’ve asked us over and over to call you Frankie.” Birgit scowled. “When my BFF thought it was cute to call me Bibi, I slapped her to make her stop. Why do we do it to you?”

“Because Mama said we had to since it’s her given name.” Anja frowned at Mama. “When I was oh, maybe twelve, and my friends called their mothers, mom, and I wanted to call you that, you said absolutely not. You even sent me to my room when I kept trying.”

That’d been quite the week. Papà had called it the battle of the frost giants.

Mama’s blue eyes held anger. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Sat back and stared at nothing. Then she turned to Frankie. “They’re correct. I’m sorry. Frankie. One’s name is a personal choice.”

Cribbio, Bull had accomplished in one night what she’d not managed in years. “Thanks, Mama.”

“So, if Kit’s out of the cult, you’ve achieved your goal. I’m glad you’re coming back to work.” Anja had obviously blown off everything Frankie had said at the B&B about being in love and planning to stay in Alaska.

“Oh, me, too.” Birgit tossed her hair back with a flirtatious look at Bull before telling Frankie, “The makeup people keep messing up my eyeliner before a shoot. And my agent is being a total asshole. You need to talk to him and—”

“Is that what you do all day?” Bull gave Frankie’s hair a light tug. “Deal with quarrels?”

She sighed, because it sounded awful, didn’t it? “That’s the job description, yes. I’m essentially a diplomat in a war zone filled with models and advertising people.”

“Chiquita.” Caz’s voice was smooth and concerned. “You love being with people, I know that. I’ve seen how much you enjoy managing the roadhouse and making the customers and staff happy. You have a sweet, good-natured personality. Enduring hours of angry, frustrated people must feel like you were tossed into a blackberry bush. Do you truly like doing that?”

Papà frowned…and Mama acted as if she was the one tossed into a blackberry bush.