by Nora Roberts
She got up, pushed back her hair. “Wimp,” she said, then dashed for the shower.
BY THE TIME SHE’D FINISHED HER MORNING BAKING, LAUREL WAS back on schedule. She’d opted for a DVD of The Thin Man, and arranged pastries for the ten o’clock on a pretty dish while Nick and Nora’s dialogue zinged from the kitchen set.
The air smelled indulgently of sugar and rich coffee, and held the cheer of some of Emma’s Shasta daisies.
She reached back to untie her apron as Parker walked in.
“Oh, you’re finished. I was coming in to help you with the setup.”
“With five minutes to spare? That’s not Parker time.”
“The clients called to reschedule for ten thirty.”
Laurel shut her eyes. “I killed myself to stay on schedule. You could’ve told me.”
“They just called ... okay, twenty minutes ago. But this way, nobody’s late.”
“You didn’t tell anyone.”
“I love that top,” Parker said brightly. “It’s almost a shame to cover most of it with a suit jacket.”
“That kind of thing only works on distracted clients.” But with a shrug, Laurel reached for the jacket she’d hung up before baking. “But it is a great top.”
“We’re not late!” Mac and Emma rushed in together.
“No, but the client’s going to be,” Laurel told them. “Sneaky Brown kept that to herself.”
“Only for twenty minutes.”
“Jeez. I don’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved. I need a hit.” Mac opened the refrigerator for a Diet Pepsi. “So ...” Mac uncapped the top, took a long sip as she studied Laurel. “I bet you’re feeling all loose and relaxed.”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“Oh, I bet a whole buncha lots better than fine. I bet hanging off a lamppost belting out a show tune in the rain kind of fine after that workout. Wait, let me put air quotes around ‘workout.’” She set down her drink and did just that.
“What, did you set up a hidden camera in my room?”
“I would never be so crude—unless I’d thought of it first. Besides, who needs a hidden camera? The two of you were sending off such wild sex vibes in there I had to leave before they caught me and I jumped both of you and had a threesome.”
“Really?” Parker asked, drawing out both syllables.
“Well, not about the threesome probably. Laurel’s not my type. I’d go for you, hot stuff.” She gave Parker a lewd wink.
“I thought I was your type,” Emma said.
“I’m such a slut.Anyway, the two of them are on those elliptical bastards, and the steam’s rising. Then they’re using workout code for sex talk.”
“We were not.”
“Oh, I broke your code.” Mac pointed a finger. “‘I’m coming up on you. I can finish strong.’ I’m getting hot just thinking about it.”
“You are a slut,” Laurel decided.
“I’m an engaged slut, and don’t you forget it. But I should thank you, as I took my unexpected sexual frustration out on Carter after our swim. And he thanks you, too.”
“Anytime.”
“This is all very interesting, and I mean that sincerely. But—” Parker tapped her watch. “We need to set up in the parlor.”
“Wait.” Emma tossed up a traffic cop hand. “Just one question, because I have to get the flowers out of the van. Do you really have energy for sex after your workout?”
“Read the book. Watch the infomercial.”
“What book?” Emma demanded as Laurel carried the pastries out of the kitchen. “What infomercial?”
“Flowers,” Parker said, then carted off the coffee setup.
“Damn it. Don’t talk about anything good until I get back. In fact, you have to help me haul in the flowers.”
“But I want to—”
Emma just made a cut-off sound, held up a finger at Mac.
“Okay, okay.”
In the parlor, Laurel and Parker set up the refreshments. “So, is it later?”
“Later than what?” Laurel responded.
“Later than it was earlier when you said later.”
“Yeah, it’s later.” Laurel fussed with the fan of napkins. “How many clients?”
“Bride, MOB, FOB, Groom, SMOG. Five.”
“Right. FOG was a widower. He’s not coming?”
“Out of town. You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay. Of course, it’s not okay. I’m saying that because you’re my friend, and I don’t want you to feel bad.”
“You’re such a bitch.” Laurel had to laugh. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. It’s just that I feel stupid about it. Especially now, after the hot jungle sex.”
“It was hot jungle sex?” Emma demanded as she came in with a box exploded with star lilies. “What kind of workout was it? How long? Be specific. Parker, take notes.”
“Five miles on the elliptical.”
“Well, God.” Heaving a sigh, Emma began taking out the vases, placing them. “Forget it. I’d be dead after five miles of anything, then Jack would have hot jungle sex with someone else. It’d just piss me off. There are easier ways to HJS.”
“I wonder,” Parker began, “is it possible, is it perhaps conceivable, we’re all a little obsessed with sex at the moment?”
“It’s her fault.” Mac helped Emma with the flowers. “You’d understand if you’d been in the gym with all those sex vibes dancing around.”
“We’re not talking about sex,” Laurel said.
“When did we stop?” Emma wondered.
“Before you came in. We’re talking about something else.”
“Just as well since I’m not doing five miles on some machine. What something else?”
“It’s about dinner last night. Or before dinner. I was late. It’s your fault.” She pointed at Mac.
“What? I couldn’t help it. The studio shoot ran over, and I couldn’t find my shoes. The ones I needed. Besides, you were hardly late. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Long enough for Deborah Manning to sit down with Del at our table and have a glass of our wine.”
“I thought Deborah Manning was in Spain.”
“So you don’t know everything.” Laurel smiled thinly at Parker. “She’s obviously not in Spain as she was drinking wine with Del.”
“He’s not interested in Deborah.”
“He used to be.”
“That was years ago, and they only dated a couple of times.”
“I know.” Laurel held up her hands before Parker continued. “I know, which is one of the reasons I feel stupid. I wasn’t jealous—I’m not jealous—of her, that way. If I was, I’d feel even more stupid because he was so obviously not interested in her that way. I don’t think she was either. In him.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Emma asked her.
“It was just ... when I came in and saw them, sharing wine, laughing. They looked so right together.”
“No, they don’t.” Parker shook her head.
“You didn’t see them. They looked beautiful and smooth and perfect.”
“No. Beautiful and smooth, okay. Perfect and right, no. They’d look attractive together because they’re both attractive. That’s not the same thing as right.”
“That’s profound. That’s actually profound,” Mac decided. “And I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes I’ll do photographs of couples and I’ll think this is a pretty shot, they look great together. But I know they don’t look right. I can’t change that, fix it, arrange it. Because they’re not, and that’s all.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, they looked beautiful. We’ll stick with that. And for just a minute, I felt stuck, separate. It’s stupid.” Laurel pushed at her hair. “It was like looking through a glass wall, and that I was on my side, they were on theirs.”
“That’s insulting, to all three of you.” Emma stopped placing flowers to poke Laurel in the shoulder. “And none of you deserve it. Deborah’s a nice woman.”<
br />
“Who is Deborah?”
“You don’t really know her,” Emma told Mac. “But she’s a perfectly nice woman.”
“I didn’t say she wasn’t. I don’t really know her either. I’m just saying I don’t think she’s ever waited tables or sweated it out in a restaurant kitchen.”
“That’s reverse snobbery.”
Laurel shrugged at Parker. “Sure it is. I told you I felt stupid about it. And I got over it. I did. I know it’s my problem, and I don’t like it. But it’s what I felt for that moment. And I felt it when she realized he was having dinner with me, that we were together, and I could see that flicker of what-the-fuck? on her face before she got rid of it. She was perfectly nice,” she said to Emma. “It wasn’t her fault I felt that way, which makes it worse. It snuck up on me. It does sometimes. Then we had a lovely dinner. Really lovely. So there was this part of me under the part having that really lovely dinner that felt even more stupid for the reaction. I hate feeling stupid.”
“Good.” Parker nodded. “Because when you hate something, you stop doing it.”
“Working on it.”
“Then—That must be the clients,” Parker said as the bell rang. “Crap, I lost track. Emma, get rid of those boxes. Laurel, you’re wearing your kitchen shoes.”
“Damn it. Be right back.” She sprinted out of the parlor, with Emma behind her with the empty boxes.
Parker tugged down her suit jacket. “You didn’t say much.” “Because I’ve been behind that glass wall,” Mac told her. “I know how she felt. It takes some time and effort to smash it down, but she will.”
“I don’t want there to be any sort of wall between us.”
“Never between us, Parks. Not the four of us. It’s different for her with Del, but she’ll crack it.”
“All right. You’ll tell me if you think she’s feeling that way.”
“Promise.”
“All right,” she said again. “Show time.” She hurried out to answer the door.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LATER IN THE WEEK, AND WITH CONSIDERABLE PLEASURE, LAUREL sat down with Carter’s sister and her fiance. Sherry Maguire bubbled like the champagne Laurel kept chilled, and was just as delightful.
From their first event meeting—the day Carter had filled in for Nick, and reconnected with Mac—the key word for the fall wedding had been fun.
Laurel planned to make sure the fun extended to the cake.
“I’m so excited.” Sherry danced in her seat. “Everything’s just coming together so well. I don’t know what I’d do without Parker. Well, without all of you. Probably drive Nick crazy”
“Er,” he said and grinned at her. “Crazier.”
She laughed and poked him. “I don’t talk about the wedding more than a hundred times a day. Oh, my mom got her dress. It’s so pretty! I pooh-poohed every boring mother-of-the-bride type suit she tried on until she finally gave up.” Sherry let out her infectious laugh again. “It’s red. I mean serious, kick-your-ass red with glittery shoulder straps and a swingy skirt that’ll look great on the dance floor. Because, baby, my mom can dance. I’m going with Nick’s mom tomorrow to find hers. And she will not settle for fade-into-the-background matronly. I can’t wait to bend her to my will.”
Charmed, Laurel shook her head. “And some brides worry about being upstaged.”
Sherry dismissed the idea with a flick of her hand. “Everybody at our wedding’s going to look awesome. I’ll just make sure I look the most awesome.”
“No chance of otherwise.”
Sherry turned to Nick. “Any wonder I’m nuts about him?”
“None. How about a glass of champagne?” Laurel offered.
“Can’t, but thanks,” Nick said. “I’m working tonight.”
“The ER frowns on doctors with a champagne buzz.” But Sherry wiggled in anticipation. “But I’m not working tonight, or driving, since Nick’s dropping me off on his way to the hospital.”
Laurel poured a glass. “Coffee?” she asked Nick.
“Perfect.”
She poured, then sat back. “I just have to say working with the two of you and your families has been so much fun for all of us. I really think we’re looking forward to September as much as you are.”
“Then you’re looking forward a lot. And then, you’ve got the next Maguire wedding in December.” Sherry did another quick chair dance. “Carter’s getting married! He and Mac are ... Well, they’re just exact, aren’t they?”
“I’ve known her all my life and can honestly say, she’s never been happier. I’d love him for that alone, but just being Carter is plenty of reason on its own.”
“He’s really the best of us.” Sherry’s eyes filled, and she blinked quickly. “Wow, one sip of champagne and I’m all sentimental.”
“Then let’s talk cake.” Laurel tucked her hair behind her ears before she poured herself a cup of tea. “What I’ve got here are various samples for you to taste. Cake, fillings, frostings. From the size of your guest list, I’d recommend five tiers, graduated sizes. We can mix cakes, fillings for the tiers, or go with one for all. Whatever you want.”
“This is where I’m terrible, because I can never make up my mind. By the time we’re done here,” Sherry warned, “you’ll have stopped looking forward to the wedding.”
“I don’t think so. Why don’t I show you the design I have in mind? If you don’t like it, we’ll try some more until we come up with what works for you.”
Laurel didn’t sketch a design for every client, but Sherry was family now. She opened her sketchbook, offered it.
“Oh gosh.” Sherry stared and blinked again. “The layers—tiers—aren’t round. They’re—what is it?”
“Hexagons,” Nick supplied. “Very cool.”
“They’re like hat boxes! Like fancy hat boxes with all those flowers between, and all different colors. Like the attendants’ dresses. Not white and formal. I figured you’d do white and formal, and it would be beautiful but it wouldn’t be ...”
“Fun?” Laurel prompted.
“Yes! Yes. This is fun, but beautiful, too. Special, beautiful fun. You designed this just for us?”
“Only if you like it.”
“I love it.You love it, right?” Sherry said to Nick.
“I think it’s great. And, man, this is a whole lot easier than I expected.”
“It’s a fondant frosting. I initially thought that might be too formal, but when I thought about tinting each tier to play along with the colors your attendants picked, it felt as if it showed off better, and suited your style.”
As Sherry simply beamed over the sketch, Laurel sat back, crossed her legs.
Nick had it right. This was a whole lot easier than expected.
“The flowers push more color so it’s bold and cheerful and anything but formal. Emma will work with me so we have the flowers keyed into what she does for you, and we’ll arrange more on the cake table. I did the piping in gold—and can change that if you’d like something else. I like the way it played off the colors, and thought we’d use a gold cloth for the cake table—set it all off. But—”
“Stop!” Sherry shot up a hand. “Don’t give me more choices. I love this, I love everything about it. It’s so us. I mean, you just nailed us with this. Look at our awesome cake.” Sherry tapped her flute to Nick’s cup.
“Okay, please avert your eyes while I indulge in unprofessional behavior.” With a grin, Laurel lifted fisted hands in the air. “Yes!”
Sherry bubbled out another laugh. “Wow, you really get into your work.”
“I do. But I have to tell you, I really wanted this design for you—and me. I’m excited about making it. Oh boy.” She rubbed her hands together. “All right, done. Now back to professional mode.”
“I really like you,” Sherry said suddenly. “What I mean to say is I didn‘t—really don’t—know you as well as I do Emma or Parker, and since Mac and Carter got together, I’ve gotten to know her really well. But th
e more I get to know you, the more I like you.”
“Thanks.” Laurel smiled at her. “It’s completely mutual. Now let’s eat some cake.”
“This is going to be my favorite part,” Nick said and reached for a sample.
It took a lot longer and entailed a great deal more discussion and deliberation to choose the inside of the cake than it had the outside. Laurel steered them, just a little, and in the end they went for a variety as delightful as the design.
“How will we know which is which?” Sherry asked as they started out. “Like which is the apple cake with the caramel filling or the mocha spice with the apricot or the—”
“I’ll take care of that, and the servers will offer a full complement as they pass or serve at the tables. If you want any changes, you only have to let me know.”
“Don’t say that,” Nick warned, and Sherry laughed again.
“He’s right. I hate that, but he’s right. I’m better off thinking it’s carved in stone. Wait until Mom and Dad get samples.” She shook the box Laurel had given her. “Thanks, Laurel, for everything.” She grabbed Laurel in a hard hug. “We should run over real quick and say hi to Carter and Mac.”
“I don’t think they’re home.” Laurel checked her watch. “She had an outside shoot, and she was going to drop him off at Coffee Talk. He’s meeting his friend. Bob?”
“Oh.Well. Next time.”
Laurel walked outside to wave them off, and decided it had been one of her most satisfying consults. Not only would she enjoy creating that cake, but they were so happy with it—and each other, she thought, catching the way they leaned into each other for a kiss as they approached their car.
In tune, she thought. That’s what they were, even though Sherry’s beat was often blindingly quick, and Nick’s more deliberate and thoughtful. They complemented each other, got each other, and best of all so obviously enjoyed each other.
Love was lovely, she thought, but being in tune? That spoke of the long haul.
She wondered if she and Del were in tune. Maybe you couldn’t tell, not for certain, when you were inside the dance. They got each other, she mused, and certainly they enjoyed each other. But did they, could they, find a way to match their different beats?
