“Lauren,” a bright voice called out near the valet stand.

Sierra Vaughn walked toward us in a tailored camel coat and oversized dark sunglasses.

She adjusted her diamond pendant with two fingers before setting a small plastic bottle on the hood of Cole’s sedan.

“I saw you two sitting by the window,” Sierra said, her voice dripping with an overly warm concern that felt completely rehearsed.

“I brought some hand sanitizer for the twins.

Public places are so filthy this time of year, especially for babies.”