AARON WALLACE POV

Ending the call with Lively, I turn to face Carol in her office. "Lively will be exclusively attending to the Wallaces, and no one is firing her—not even a Wallace; tell them it's my directive," I assert, watching her nod in acquiescence. I then slip out of my jacket and place the envelope that Keenan arranged for me this morning on her desk.

"This is Lively's tip from our section for yesterday," I inform Carol, who nods once more, accepting it with a gentle smile.

"I'll ensure she receives it while she's here."

"Good." I rise from the chair and adjust my outfit before stepping out to rejoin my family on the outdoor patio.

My parents arrived in Lake Oswego last night for the holiday, accompanied by most of my aunts and uncles, except for Uncle Steven, Kyle's father.

As I step into the lively open air, I greet familiar faces with nods and handshakes before making my way to our section of the lounging area beneath the expansive awnings, overlooking the views of the golf course.

The whole family is present, my father, Robert Wallace, the firstborn of my grandfather, Thomas Wallace, and my mother, Cynthia Wallace. Aunty Kathleen Wallace, the second sibling and the sole woman among my grandfather's children. Many have speculated why she retained her family name instead of adopting Uncle Raymond's last name. It's as if they've forgotten the three-hundred-year family rule that denies a woman the Wallace inheritance unless the man she marries takes her last name and swears to keep it forever.

This rule has been upheld countless times, which is why no one in the family carries a different last name. And really, who could let pride stand in the way when our surname commands such prestige? Uncle Raymond understood this well, bound by the contract he signed that tied his descendants to the family legacy, simply the reason why Emersyn and Mason kept the family name too.

Then there's Uncle Joseph, the third sibling, alongside his wife, Aunty Debra. They own the largest family, filled with three children, Dane, and the unidentical twins; Meadow and Mallory. Uncle Steven is the youngest, but due to the narrow birth intervals of our late grandmother, there's only a seven-year gap between my dad and Uncle Steven. As the most academically inclined in the family, my dad pursued his studies until his early thirties, marrying my mom around the same time my uncles and aunts were having their first children, except for Kyle, who is over two years younger than us.

"The man we don't often see," Mallory exclaims, rising alongside Meadow as I arrive, the girls leaping into my arms before I can respond.

"I was just at your graduation ten days ago," I point out as the whole family, except for Grandpa, had been present just a few days ago at Cambridge, Massachusetts, to celebrate their graduation. The twins are known for being huggers, especially when it concerns me and Grandpa.

"That feels like ten years ago." Meadow rolls her eyes as they both return to their seats.

Kyle laughs at their longing to age up, even though he's basically the same age as them. "You wish. I believe you in those gowns are the latest pictures I have on my phone." He continues to taunt them while I take my former seat and grab my phone from the table that I had forgotten when I had to go see Carol. At the minute some girl with her hair up appeared to serve us breakfast this morning, not Lively.

Dane adjusts his eyeglasses. He is sitting next to Emersyn, his favorite cousin and childhood best friend, whom he'd snitched on us with.

"Your phone has been going off dramatically times by Ruby," Dane says, and I swallow back any reaction not to give the family a reason to start THE conversation about my duty as the first grandson. I concluded my master's degree last year, so the chat of starting a family is on the brink with my parents and uncles. This is behind the reason I have been avoiding Grandpa, who, by the way, won't be in Oregon with us this year.

I scroll through my phone and send Lively's address to Keenan. It turns blue, and he sends me an acknowledgment. I turn off the phone screen and put it in my pocket. So far, I have nothing to talk to Ruby about. I never told her to stay for twelve months; she glued up and felt privileged to live the Wallace life. I never promised her anything other than uncertainty.

We continue to have breakfast, everyone engrossed in their group conversations. Then Aunty Kathleen had to ruin it, tensing up the atmosphere with her sudden question, "So, darling Aaron, this Ruby you've brought to Thanksgiving, literally all the family events for the entire year, have you put a ring on it yet? Is the plan for this summer? Give me something, and we can begin the customization of the perfect ring worthy of my first nephew. I mean, we love you all, but the youngest in the family has now graduated college. We need newcomers. Father deserves a great-grandchild. What do you say?"

Everyone agrees, but I turn rigid. This direction of conversation is what I have been avoiding since my graduation.

"Humble him and check on me, the eldest child here, whether I have plans for marriage," Emersyn distracts them, winking at me, and the attention goes back to her.

Let's just say there's something about women getting married in our family that no one cheers for or is eager about. Perhaps it's the fear of diminishing their status to a mere class. Therefore, we are all obliged to find them suitable suitors from the business world. Only when assured of the prominence of the new family they are entering will marriage be considered.

"Who would want to marry you?" Dane teases her, and she elbows him.

"Shut up, my sis is the hottest commodity in any place you exist," Mason goes on defending her, and the bickering goes on.

I am sightlessly staring into space as I have drifted off from watching the club members training on the green landscape, the golf carts going about delivering refreshments, and people going to their next hole, but I hear, "You've talked with your father?" My dad asks Kyle, and his response is nonchalant. "He's cruising the world with naked women,"

"Kyle?" he is chastised by the elders, but he only laughs, stretching out his legs on the table and putting on his eyeglasses. His attitude is well-known to all for years, so his uncles don't take it personally.

Kyle has been one of the most unreadable among us and problematic until now. It has been since his mother died in the car crash that killed both our grandmother and the five dogs we grew up with in the Wallace family mansion.

"Good afternoon," the violet voice utters above my head, and my eyes look up instantly. She has finally arrived. She makes eye contact with me, but swiftly breaks it. "If you're done, I will clear the table and bring the dessert,"

"We would like to have those in the private section," Aunty Debra says on behalf of the women there, and they agree.

"Noted," Lively nods and jots down. "What would you like to have?" she asked cluelessly.

"Our regulars," Mom states, as a matter of fact, adjusting her elegant hat.

What part of the server who knows all that isn't working here anymore do they not understand?

"Mom, she can't know your regulars; the former attendant we had quit," I repeated to everyone so as not to pressure Lively as Ruby did. I can't handle any more of that brattiness.

"Weren't the records supposed to be there? The girl who served breakfast earlier didn't need a reminder," Meadow says.

Okay, patience.

I rub my forehead. "The girl who served breakfast wouldn't serve us again, so just make your orders," I say strainedly with thin tolerance.

Meadow rolls her eyes and goes back to chatting.

"Two profiteroles," Mom tells Lively, but with her monitoring eye on me, "A pavlova and souffle for the two of us,"

"Okay!" I hear Lively gently say. There is an inkling that makes me want to know if she could get all that written. "Anything else?" She asks again, and it confirms to me she was able. Then a surge of relief washes through me.

"You men want nothing?" Aunty Kathleen asks her brothers, and my uncle explained they were about to go play some golf. "Add Wallace red wine to the list," Mason's mom adds, and Lively hums, concentrating.

"Is that all? You want anything else?" Lively asks again. It takes me a moment to understand that she is asking the rest of us. Most of the girls and boys aren't paying attention.

I kick Kyle and Mason, who are by my sides, and they look alert, but gradually understand my death glare.

"No, nothing, I am good," Kyle started. "Yeah, me too. Dane, Emersyn, twins?" Mason chided.

"Just eclairs," Mallory said without lifting her head from her phone.

"Okay, everything will be ready immediately," she said and twirled on her heels to leave.

"Is that with you?" Aunty Kathleen started, attracting everyone's attention and stopping Lively in her tracks. She turned and nervously mumbled something inaudible. "The kid?" Aunty Kathleen elaborated to Lively, and that's when my eyes looked around and at her knee. There was a boy, clinging to her side and staring up at everyone like we could bite. Apart from his ¼ buzz-cut brown hair, he looked exactly like Lively, with adorable eyes that were green, and innocence that was obvious.

"Umm, yes..." she croaked. My eyes flew to her, and she was pale, wriggling her hands.

"Are you permitted to work with a child here?" Aunt Kathleen wondered.

I know this same plotline; this is when she will scold Lively and then fire her.

"I approved it," I interjected, feeling everyone's eyes on me. "Actually, I promised Lively her brother would be looked after in our section by the guards while she works."

"Why will you do that?" Mom breathed in shock at my altercation.

My eyes went to the girl, not knowing what to do or say. She shouldn't hear this.

"Come here," I signaled to the boy, and he shrank back into Lively while her terrified gaze shifted between me and the boy looping his arms around her thigh.

"I can have him with me. It wouldn't be a problem—" she stuttered, frightened. She seems worried.

What's she scared of, my family? I understand, but I will honor my words from earlier. No one will be rude to her in my presence.

"You are dismissed," I told her, and she nodded relievedly, picking up her brother and spinning around.

"You can't fire her. I called Grandpa, he approved me to manage the country club this summer. And I made a new rule, so no one is going to be rude to her or too demanding even though she works for us. What we will do is collaborate in helping her know our regulars without assuming she's a mind reader," I asserted while Dad watched me intently with narrow eyes.

"You had an affair with her, didn't you?" Meadow laughs, getting on my nerves, and Mom lands the final blow. She curses under her breath in a disgusted tone. "God forbid."

I was about to slam the table when Kyle sat upright, patting his hand over mine. "I might have crossed boundaries yesterday and hurt the girl inappropriately. Aaron is just trying to compensate her, so she doesn't react to the media. Imagine what they will say? Like father like son," he mocks mischievously, infuriating our uncles even more. With that, I took the chance to remove myself from this not-so-functional family gathering and followed into the clubhouse, swerving angles not to get stuck in a conversation with family friends who are members here, and headed toward the kitchen and then into it.

"Mister Aaron Wallace, how can I help? You don't have to be here," a young woman says. I recognize the face. The face that unsettled me at breakfast. I had to go find Carol and call Lively immediately.

At her mention of my name, Lively's head lifted. She was facing her baby brother, who was seated on the counter. She must have given the orders and is waiting for it to be ready.

"I am fine, go back to work," I dismissed the nosy girl and the rest of the employees tensing up in their stance at my weird kitchen visit, and advanced toward Lively.

She looked like she'd seen a ghost herself. She readjusted next to the boy, holding his tiny hand like she needed support.

"Mister Aaron Wallace," she mumbled tenderly, almost like she didn't intend for me to hear. "What are you doing here?" She asked with her head down.

What am I doing here? Good question.

"To apologize about yesterday, again," I partly lied.

"You already did," she looks over, "I received a generous tip; I don't know if I should take it."

"You should, why not?"

She pressed her lips into a thin line, her fingers fumbling with the hem of her apron. "I didn't work for even an hour."

"You earned it, so you have to keep it."

She nodded, gazing at her brother, who was watching me talk. "Thank you."

Awkward quiet set in then; it was short-lived, though, because it was unlike me to be left speechless. Then again, it was unlike me to stand in the kitchen, wanting to stall even more minutes, but this is the girl my misguided seventeen-year-old self messed up a chance with, and I only felt regret from last year on to this day when adult experiences hit me to the core. If I could go back to the day when I last saw her, when she'd run over an hour to my house and I shut the door in her face, I would take back my words at least. Now she's not that pretty girl I jogged up the steps after my final year football win and kissed without knowing her name. She is a young woman, unwound into an even more captivating creature, more than I even thought possible for a human.

"So, this is your brother?" I brought up a new subject to continue conversing with her.

"Yes," she nodded. I mean, she already told me over the phone; I just didn't know what to say next.

"He seems clingy," I remark from observation, taking my eyes from her to the boy cautiously staring at me, attentive to my move.

"He is." She could not keep up a two-second eye contact; she lowered her eyes to their laced hands.

"What is his name?"

"Bubble." She smiled to herself, aware of a surging controversy.

Who names their child Bubble?

"What? Don't tell me that's not his nickname."

"It's not," she ruffled his hair from behind caressingly.

"Your mom decided that name while she was pregnant?" I was agape.

"I offered a suggestion." She guiltily admitted, looking over, probably to see my reaction.

"You sure have an interesting choice of names."

"The boy can hear you mock his name." She signaled, scolding me with her eyes, somewhat protective, I see. Then I realized I was running my mouth. I look at the boy, and he seems even more uneasy in my presence. It's not a good feeling.

"Oh no! I wasn't," I defended. "I wish I had a cool name, too. This is me being jealous." Hoping it helped cheer the boy. I am not very good with little humans; I am the only child, and even in my extended family, there have been no newborns for a long while now. But when I look over to Lively, she's smiling. I must have done well.

Her smile faded before I could process it, and she blinked, looking away like some realization had dawned on her, but she didn't show it; she held the boy and playfully tickled him until he laughed, "Maybe you should name Mister Aaron Wallace something cool, what do you say?" She tells him, and he laughs merrily.

"Kay kay." He agrees while squirming at the tickles. "I will gib hem mani—goes." He laughs. His voice sounded inaudible. He should be able to speak; what is he, four?

Lively gazed over at me with a soft smile on her face that now I could take in fully. She has the most celestial green eyes that are rare and too good for this world; they perfected her golden blonde hair, curtaining her face suddenly, and ended my calm study on her, "He says he's giving you a name, mangoes." She interpreted her brother's words to me.

The boy laughs even more loudly in the kitchen when my eyes playfully widen at him.

"His vocals?" I asked her curiously.

She swallows, breathing a bit audibly, and tucks back the locks of her hair behind her ear. Her heart-shaped face was adorably small, as I knew it to be, and she didn't even put effort into her brows yet she had the most flawless ones, just as she didn't need makeup, and her olive skin passed the richest summer tone check.

"He is taking medication for it." She sounded a bit strained, somehow, like she took offense from the topic.

"It will clear up," I assure her, and she continues to brush back the edges of her hair, looking around the kitchen, clearly wanting the topic to be over.

"The future will decide." She commented.

Maybe I shouldn't have asked. It's not like I mean it in a bad way. He is just a child with a lot of time to grow; he will be fine.

"The orders are ready; let me not mess up my job," she nervously smiles at me as she says, pushing up against the counter she is leaning on.

I look over my shoulder to see a pinkish brunette quickly swirl on her heels, scratching her neck. That's not new. And then, on the worktop, are my auntie's orders. Returning my attention to Lively, she was picking Bubble off the counter.

She's not thinking of doing this all day with him! I guaranteed her a place for him here, and I will fulfill that promise.

"Leave him here; I will watch him while you deliver those," I motion at the order, and she pauses for a moment, over-analyzing while chewing on her pink, succulent lips.

My breath was becoming erratic reviewing her, something unusual happening to me. I averted my eyes to Bubble and reached out my hand to him so as not to scare her away from my conspicuous intention of desiring to know what she tasted like now.

He smiles shyly and draws tighter to his sister.

"You want to watch videos?" I held out my phone, and his eyes lit up at the device in my hand. And just like that, he was coming over to me.

"That's a reasonable negotiating bribing mechanism," I tell Lively, and she smiles faintly. Maybe she's afraid this will get her in trouble or something, but this summer I am the boss here; she doesn't have to worry about her job.

She backed away cautiously to the readied food cart, afraid of any sort of reaction from Bubble, unable to believe she lost him to my bribery. He's now in my arms, tapping into anything his tiny fingers landed on the screen.

A proud, challenging smirk came from me, and her cheeks reddened; she stumbled around and pushed away.