by Nora Roberts
When she shrugged, he opened a bottle of pinot and poured two.
“I didn’t know you were coming by” She ignored the wine for now as she added the dazzle of sugar fireworks to her cake.
“I’m staying over, since we’re all leaving from here tomorrow. Mrs. G’s going with some of her friends, but she’ll see us there. She’s bringing enough food to feed the village.”
“Yes, I know.”
He sipped his wine and watched her. “Flowers, huh?”
She shrugged and kept working.
Casually, and in long-standing habit, Del opened a canister for a cookie. “He’s not your type.”
She stopped long enough to arch her eyebrows. “Really? Attractive, considerate men who work in the food industry and love their grandmothers aren’t my type? I’m glad you let me know.”
Del crunched into the cookie. “He plays golf.”
“Good God! That was a lucky escape.”
“Twice a week. Every week.”
“Stop it. You’re scaring me.”
He pointed with the cookie, then took another bite. “And he likes art films.You know, the kind with subtitles and symbolism.”
She paused to take a sip of her wine. “Did you date him? Bad breakup?”
“Funny. I happen to know someone who did.”
“Is there anyone you don’t know?”
“I’m his cousin Theresa’s lawyer—and her husband’s. Anyway, Nick’s more Parker’s type, except his schedule’s nearly as insane as hers and they’d never manage to get together anyway.”
“Parker doesn’t like art films, especially.”
“No, but she gets them.”
“And I don’t because, what, I didn’t go to Yale?”
“No, because they’d annoy you.”
They did annoy her, but still. “There’s more to types than cinema choices and golf. He’s a good dancer,” she shot out, and hated the defensive tone in her voice. “I like to dance.”
“Okay.” He stepped over, put his arms around her.
“Cut it out. I’m not finished with the cake.”
“It looks good.You look better, and smell really good, too.” He sniffed at her neck. “Sugar and vanilla. I didn’t recognize Nick when you were dancing with him.” He turned her smoothly, right, then left. “It was crowded. And I was looking at you. Really, I was just looking at you.”
“That’s pretty good,” she murmured.
“It’s pretty true.” He dipped his head to brush her lips with his. “Hi, Laurel.”
“Hi, Del.”
“If you give Parker those flowers, I’ll buy you some more.”
It was, she thought, the perfect amount of beeswax in the sugar. “Okay”
HOLIDAYS, THE REAL DEAL WITH NO WORK ON THE SLATE, WERE SO rare Laurel’s internal clock woke her at six sharp. She started to roll out of bed when she remembered she didn’t have to roll out. She snuggled back in with the same sort of giddy wonder she’d felt as a child with an unexpected snow day.
Even as she sighed and closed her eyes again, she thought of Del in another bed, conveniently close by.
She could get up after all, sneak into his room, into his bed. All bets off.
It was Independence Day, after all. Why not be independent? He wasn’t likely to complain or yell for help. She could change into something sexier than her tank and boxers. She had the equipment. The blue teddy would do the job. Or maybe the silk chemise with the pastel flower pattern, or ...
Thinking about it, she fell back to sleep.
Opportunity missed, she thought as she wandered down to the family kitchen nearly three hours later. Probably for the best as the others would surely gloat about her and Del losing the bet. This was the best way, the way to show they both were adults with willpower and sense. Just a couple more weeks, really, so no big deal.
Breakfast scents and voices filled the kitchen. And there he was, looking all gorgeous and relaxed, drinking coffee and flirting with Mrs. G. She could only wish she’d followed through on that early-morning thought.
“And she’s up,” Mac announced. “Just in time. We’re having the ginormous holiday breakfast, which, thanks to Del’s persuasive powers, includes Belgian waffles.”
“Yum.”
“I’ll say. We’re going to do nothing but eat and fat-ass all day, until we go to the park and eat and fat-ass there. Including you.” Mac pointed at Parker.
“Not all fat asses are created equal. I’m going to do a little reorganizing in my office. It relaxes me.”
“Your office is already organized to Obsessiveville,” Emma pointed out.
“It’s where I live, where I make my home.”
“Nag the girl while you finish setting the table,” Mrs. Grady ordered. “I haven’t got all day.”
“We’re eating on the terrace because, holiday.” Mac picked up a stack of plates, shaking her head when Carter started to take them from her. “Uh-uh, cutie. Grab something unbreakable.”
“Good thought.”
“We’re having mimosas, like grown-ups.” Emma handed Carter the bread basket. “What this is, is a prelude for our vacation next month, where every day’s a holiday”
“I’ll tend bar.” Jack hefted the champagne and a pitcher of orange juice.
“Someone should’ve woken me up. I’d have given you a hand with this, Mrs. G.”
“Under control.” Mrs. Grady flicked her spatula. “Get the rest out there.We’ll be ready in two minutes.”
“Nice start to the day.” Laurel glanced at Del as they carried platters outside. “Your idea?”
“Who wants to be inside on a day like this?”
Laurel remembered how often there’d been fun summer meals on the terrace when she’d visited as a child. Flowers, good dishes, and easy company on lovely, lazy mornings.
They’d already put tables together to accommodate the whole group, draped them in pretty cloths, and, yes, there were flowers and good dishes, and the sparkle of crystal in the morning sunlight.
She’d forgotten what it was to indulge like this with nothing more pressing on the day than enjoyment.
She took the glass Jack offered her. “Thanks.”Took a sip. “You could have a career.”
He gave her hair a friendly tug. “A fallback’s always good.”
When Mrs. G came out with the last platter, Del took it from her. “Head of the table for you, Waffle Queen.”
Of course she loved him, Laurel thought, watching as he fussed over Mrs. Grady until she was settled with a mimosa in her hand. How could she help it?
She stepped up, kissed his cheek. “Good job.”
It would be like this from now on, she realized. Oh, not Belgian waffles and mimosas on the terrace. But this group, this family. These voices, these faces, on holidays and impromptu family meals.
Voices crisscrossed the table along with the food. A sliver of waffle for Emma, fruit for Parker while she talked to Carter about a book they’d both read recently. Heaps of whipped cream for Mac, and Del arguing with Jack about a call on a baseball game.
“What’s on your mind, girl?” Mrs. Grady asked her.
“Hardly anything. It’s a nice change.”
Mrs. Grady leaned over, lowered her voice. “Are you going to show them the design you just worked up?”
“Should I?”
“Eat first.”
Mac tapped her spoon on her glass. “I want to announce we’re holding tours after breakfast for the new Carter Maguire Library. Carter and I hauled half a million books up there last night, so we expect lavish praise, with some left over for the architect.” She lifted her glass to Jack.
“It wasn’t more than a quarter million books,” Carter corrected. “But it’s great. Really great, Jack.”
“Nothing I like more than satisfied clients.” He aimed a look at Emma. “Well, almost nothing.”
“And no more hammering, sawing, painting. Not that we’re complaining,” Mac said. “But, oh boy.”
“Earplugs,” Mac said to Emma. “Highly recommended.”
“I can take it. For a new cooler and work space, I can take it.”
“We’ll be doing some work on your space in tandem, Laurel.”
“She’ll bitch.” Mac waved her fork. “Me? I’m a saint, but she’ll bitch and complain.”
“Probably.” Laurel shrugged and finished her waffle.
“We’ll block off the work area from your kitchen,” Jack told her. “Keep out of your space as much as possible.”
“She’ll still bitch. It’s her nature.”
Laurel gave Mac a cool stare, then rose and walked inside. “What? What? I was kidding. Mostly.”
“She’s not mad. If she was mad she’d have snapped your head off.” Parker glanced toward the house. “She’ll be back.”
“True.You’re not mad, right?” Mac wagged her fork at Del. “If she’s mad you’d be mad on her behalf since you’re hooked up.”
“If that’s a rule, it’s a girl rule.”
“It’s not a girl rule. It’s a couple rule.” Mac looked to Emma for verification.
“Yes, it is. If you know what’s good for you.”
“I’m not mad, so if she’s mad she’s going to have to get over it.”
“You really don’t get how this works,” Mac decided. “Parker, you should write some of this stuff down for him. Rules are the thread that knits the fabric. He’s got holes in his fabric.”
“Are these girl rules, couple rules, or Quartet rules?”
“It’s really all the same,” Parker told him. “I’ll get you a memo.” She glanced over as Laurel came back out with her sketchbook. “But the point’s moot at the moment.”
“What’s the point?” Laurel asked.
“Anger and insult rule.”
“Oh. I’m not angry or insulted, I’m just ignoring her.” She walked around the table to Carter. “This is for you, not for her. Just for you.”
“Okay.” He glanced at Mac. “Is that allowed?”
“Depends.”
“She has nothing to say about it. For you, if you like it. The groom’s cake.” Laurel angled the pad so Mac’s view was blocked, and opened it for Carter.
She watched his face and saw exactly what she’d hoped to see. The quicksilver flash of pure delight. “It’s amazing. It couldn’t be more perfect, and I’d never have thought of it.”
“What is it?”
Even as Mac asked, shifted, Laurel snapped the book shut.
That brought a few hoots of laughter from around the table as Mac cursed. Then she shifted tactics with a sad, pitiful expression.
“Please? Pretty, pretty please?”
Laurel opened the book a fraction. “I’m only showing you for Carter. Not for you.”
“Okay.”
Laurel opened the book, heard Mac’s breath catch before she managed a shaky, “Oh.”
Jack craned his head to get a look. “It’s a book. It’s nice. Fits.” “It’s not just a book. It’s
As You Like It. It’s kind of our book, isn’t it, Carter?”
“I was teaching it when we started seeing each other. It’s even open to Rosalind’s speech. See down here.” He ran his finger down the open page. “‘No sooner looked but they loved.’”
“Oh, big
awww.” Emma leaned over for a better look. “I love the bookmark ribbon with their names on it.”
“I think I’m taking Mac’s off. I’ll just have Carter’s.” Laurel considered. “Yeah, just his. Carter Maguire, PhD.”
“You won’t take me off the cake.You love me.”
Laurel made a
pfft sound.
“You love me,” Mac said again, scooting up. “You designed the perfect cake for my guy. You love me.” She grabbed Laurel in a hug, did a little dance.
“Maybe I love Carter.”
“Of course you do. Who wouldn’t? Thank you, thank you,” she whispered in Laurel’s ear. “It’s the best.”
“You almost deserve it,” she whispered back, then laughed and hugged hard.
“I’ll have a look at that while the lot of you deal with the dishes.” Mrs. Grady curled a finger. “Food’s ready to be packed up for the park when you are. You’ll need to get the hampers out.”
“Packing, family kitchen at three thirty,” Parker announced. “I’ll hand out specific assignments after kitchen duty. Loading up the van at four, which includes food, folding chairs, blankets, any sports equipment, and people. I have your assigned seats for transportation,” she added and only inclined her head at the groans. “It’ll save arguing. I’m driving.” This time she held up a hand.“I alone among us am dateless, and as such am to be pitied, indulged, and obeyed.”
“You could’ve had a date,” Emma objected. “I can get you a date in five seconds.”
“That’s really sweet, but no. Big no.” Parker rose and began to stack dishes. “Let’s get this done because I have some relaxing and satisfying file purging to do.”
“That’s just really sad.”With a shake of her head, Mac grabbed a tray.
“Who could you get in five seconds?” Jack wondered. Emma shot him a laughing look over her shoulder as she carried in dishes.
“I’ll be right in,” Del told Laurel. “I just need to take care of something first.”
“If you’re more than five minutes, I’m sticking you with the pans.
When Del pulled out his phone, Mrs. Grady looked up from Laurel’s sketchbook. “What are you up to?”
“Just looking out for my sister.” He wandered off to make a call.
IT WASN’T EXACTLY LIKE HERDING CATS, LAUREL SUPPOSED, BUT IT was pretty damn close. Here were people who successfully ran their own businesses, who taught the youth of the country, who represented citizens in the court of law—and none of them could get to one place at one time.
A dozen essential items were remembered at the last minute, then retrieved. Debates broke out on the system of loading the van, then on Parker’s seat assignments.
Laurel dug a soft drink out of one of the coolers and, popping it open, walked over to sit on one of the low garden walls while chaos reigned.
“Why aren’t you over there fixing this?” she asked Parker when her friend sat down beside her.
“They’re having fun.” She held out a hand for the drink. “And I built an extra twenty minutes into the load time.”
“Naturally. Did you really purge files all afternoon?”
“Some people do crossword puzzles.”
“How many calls did you get?”
“Five.”
“Some holiday.”
“It works for me. Things seem to be working for you, too.”
Laurel followed Parker’s gaze and watched Del rearrange the placement of a hamper and a pair of folding chairs. “We haven’t had a fight. It’s kind of nerve-racking.”
“Oh, you’ll get back to that.” Parker patted Laurel’s knee, then rose. “All right, people, this bus is leaving the station. Everyone into their assigned seats.”
Del shut the back door of the van then walked over to take Laurel’s hand. “You get to sit beside me. My sister fixed it.”
“It’s going to be pretty crowded. I might have to sit on your lap.”
He grinned as she climbed in. “We can hope.”
CHAPTER NINE
THANKS TO PARKER’S SCHEDULE THEY ARRIVED EARLY ENOUGH TO claim a good location for what Laurel thought of as their camp. Folding chairs were unfolded, blankets spread, hampers and coolers hauled.
Del tossed a ball glove into Laurel’s lap. “Right field.”
“I always get stuck back in right field,” she complained. “I want to play first base.”
Dating status notwithstanding, he looked at her with pity. “Face it, McBane, you field like a girl. Most of the shots are going to stay in the infield, so I need Parker on first.”
&nbs
p; “Parker’s a girl.”
“But she doesn’t field like one.Jack’s got Emma and Mac, Carter’s going to ump so nobody gets hurt. Plus he’ll be fair. We’re filling in the rest with pickups, and some are unknown quantities, so until ... And here comes my ringer.”
Laurel looked over. “You drafted Malcolm Kavanaugh?”
The light of competition sparked in Del’s eyes. “He’s got serious skills, plus it evens things out.”
“The lineups?”
“No.You know, with Parker.”
“Parker?” Shock, then amusement, then her own dose of pity ran over her face. “You got Parker a date? Jesus, Del, she’s going to kill you.”
“Why?” Absently, he tossed a ball from hand to glove, hand to glove. “I’m not asking her to marry him. We’re just hanging out.”
“It’s your funeral.”
“Why?” he asked again. “Does she have some sort of problem with ... Hey, Mal.”
“Hey.” He caught the ball Del tossed him, winged it back. “How’s it going?” he said to Laurel.
“We’re going to find out.”
“Ball game, free food.” Mal, in worn jeans, a white tee, and dark sunglasses used the bat he’d brought with him to pop up a fungo. “Good deal. My mother’s hooked up with your Mrs. Grady and some of them.” He laid the bat on his shoulder. “So, what’s the lineup?”
“I’ve got you on third, batting cleanup.”
“That’ll work.”
“Laurel’s in right field, leading off. Her fielding’s crap, but she’s got a good bat.”
“My fielding is not crap.” She hit Del with the glove. “Keep it up and you’re not going to have any problem winning that bet, Brown.”
When she stalked off, Mal took an easy, testing swing. “What bet?”
Laurel strode straight up to Mac. “I want to switch with you. I want to play on Jack’s team.”
“Baseball slut. Okay by me, but you’d better tell Jack.”
She walked over to where Jack sat on the ground writing his lineup. “I switched with Mac. I’m on your team.”
“Trading the redhead for the blonde. Okay, let me figure ... You’re right field, leading off.”
