“You know, the girl James Cahill was seeing on the side.” Her pointy little chin had elevated a notch.

Sophia had felt herself blush as she’d squired the other guests, a couple with two small children, into the eating area.

When she’d returned to the station, ready to seat the next couple, the woman who’d made the comment was standing in line, ready to purchase an ornament—an angel with folded wings. Along with her payment, she’d left a note:

1 Corinthians 6:18

Later Sophia had made the mistake of checking the verse online:

Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body.

There had been a few other under-the-breath remarks and tons of questioning glances, all of which she had ignored.

So the woman on the bar stool meeting her gaze in the mirror didn’t particularly bother her, except that she felt they’d met somewhere.

That was the trouble with working here.

She was too visible.

As she strained the cold whiskey into a glass, she silently hoped Zena’s not-so-morning sickness would soon abate. Not likely. Zena was a bit of a slacker. And acted as if she were the first person on this damned earth who had ever ended up pregnant. Sophia imagined she’d be called in to “sub” a lot more in the future.

She’d have to find a way to say no. And that would be easier when James was out of the hospital.

The sooner, the better!

From her position she could see in the reflection that the Jack Daniel’s Straight Up woman really wasn’t interested in Marshall. She flirted a bit, just to keep the conversation going, but Sophia could tell she was just shining him on. Sophia should know. Hadn’t she played that same game a million times?

Until James.

James Cahill had changed everything.

Even now, just at the thought of him, her breath caught in her throat, and she mentally berated herself for falling so hard.

She caught a signal from a couple at the far end of the bar and pinned a smile on her face, dropping off the whiskey on her way to take their order. This couple had been bickering from the moment they walked in, but after one drink had appeared to chill out a bit.

Not that alcohol usually helped. In most cases she’d observed, liquor tended to fuel the fire. But as she watched, the man reached over to take the woman’s hand and rub the back of his thumb over her knuckle line, and the woman smiled into her apple martini.

Ah, bliss.