“Yeah. Does it ever strike you as weird?”
“What?”
“You and Jack. Does it ever sneak up and strike you as weird, the way you knew each other for years, and hung out as friends, then took that one-eighty?”
Emma stepped back, then forward again to slide a rose over a quarter of an inch. “It strikes me as surprising sometimes, but more, scary when I think what wouldn’t have happened if we’d kept going straight ahead instead of taking that turn.” She shoved at one of the pins trying to keep her mass of curls restrained. “It’s not weird to you, is it?”
“No. I sort of wonder if it’s weird that it’s not weird.” Laurel stopped, shook her head. “Ignore me. My head’s in a strange place.” With some relief, she heard Parker’s signal in her earbud. “Two-minute warning. If you’re good here, I’ll go down and help with the lineup.”
“I’m good. I’ll be right behind you.”
Shedding her apron, unclipping her hair as she went, Laurel hurried down and arrived at the checkpoint with thirty seconds to spare. Not her taste, she thought again, but she had to admit the bride knew what she was doing. A half dozen attendants lined up under Parker’s orders, glittering in their bell-skirted gold gowns with the striking bouquets Emma had created of blue dahlias offset with white roses. The bride herself, a regal vision in lustrous silk, pearls gleaming, sequins sparkling on her formal train, stood radiant beside her father—and he was damn dashing in white tie and tails.
“MOG’s in place,” Parker murmured to Laurel. “MOB’s being escorted now. Ladies! Remember to smile. Caroline, you look spectacular.”
“I feel spectacular. This is it, Daddy,” she said.
“Don’t get me started.” He took his daughter’s hand, pressed it to his lips.
Parker cued the music change so the string orchestra the bride had chosen segued into the entrance music. “Number one, go. Head up! Smile!You’re gorgeous. And ... number two. Heads up, ladies.”
Laurel smoothed skirts, adjusted headpieces, and finally stood with Parker to watch the bride take her walk on the flower-strewn path.
“Spectacular’s the word,” Laurel decided. “I thought it might be too much, just tipping over into gaudy. But it stops just an elegant inch short.”
“Yeah, but I can tell you I’ll be happy not to see gold or gilt for a month. We’ve got twenty minutes before we need to move the guests into the Great Hall.”
“I’m stealing ten and taking a walk. I need a break.”
Instantly Parker turned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just need a break.”
Head-clearing time, Laurel thought as she circled around. Away-from-people time. The valet team would be in the kitchen now, getting fed before they went back on duty, so she took the long way around, past the side terraces and gardens to where she could enjoy the quiet, and the abundance of summer flowers.
Emma had set urns and pots here and there to add to that abundance, with wildly blue lobelia spilling or sweetly pink impatiens dancing. The beautiful old Victorian stood dressed for the wedding with the bride’s favored blue dahlias and white roses rioting around the entrance portico, swags of tulle and lace adding romance.
Even without them, the house was romantic, to her mind. The soft, quiet blue trimmed with cream and pale gold. All the rooflines, the pretty bits of gingerbread brought that romance, and a touch of fancy, to dignity. It had been a second home to her as long as she could remember. Now, of course, it was home. And that lovely house stood only a quick call from the pool house and guest house where her friends lived and worked.
She couldn’t imagine it any differently, even with Carter and Jack now in residence, even with the addition nearly complete on Mac’s studio to make it a home for two.
No, she couldn’t imagine her life without the estate, the house, the business she’d built with her friends and, well, the community they’d made here among them.
She had to think about that, Laurel admitted, about why she had what she had.
Her own hard work, certainly, and the hard work of her friends. Parker’s vision. The check Mrs. G had handed her that day, so many years ago—and the faith that had been as valued as the money—had thrown open the door.
But that wasn’t all.
The house, the estate, everything on and in it had gone to Parker and Del when their parents died. Del had taken a leap of faith, too, every bit as vital and essential as Mrs. G had when she’d written that check.
This was his home, Laurel mused, standing back, studying the lines, the grace, the beauty of it. But he’d signed it over to Parker. There were legal ins and outs, business models, projections, percentages, contracts—but the bottom line remained.
His sister—no, all four of them, what he liked to call the Quartet—had wanted something, had asked, and he’d given. He’d believed in them, and he’d helped them make a dream a reality. It hadn’t been for percentages or with projections in mind. He’d done it because he loved them.
“Damn it.” Irritated with herself, she dragged a hand through her hair. She hated knowing she’d been unfair and bitchy and just plain stupid.
Del hadn’t deserved the things she said to him—and she’d said them because it was easier to be pissed at him than attracted to him. And finally, kissing him? Stupid wasn’t even close.
Now she had to make amends, cover her ass, and save face. That sort of hat trick wouldn’t be a snap.
But she was the one who’d crossed the line, and she was the one with feelings that had to be resolved. So she was the one who had to fix it.
She heard Parker cue the lighting of the unity candle and the vocal solo.Time’s up, she told herself. She’d figure out how to work the fix later.
SINCE SHE DIDN’T TRUST ANYONE ELSE TO PROPERLY CUT THE complicated design, Laurel stationed herself by the cake table. She waited while the bride and groom made the ceremonial first slice—where she’d instructed—and fed each other while Mac memorialized the moment. Then, while the music and dancing continued, she took over.
With a chef’s knife, she broke away the side decorations.
“Damn, that seems wrong.”
She glanced at Jack as she began to slice and transfer cake to serving plates. “It’s meant to be eaten.”
“I look at something like this and think, if I’d built it, I’d have to be far away when it was demolished. And I might still have to dab at a few tears.”
“It hurts the first few times, but then it’s not like building a house.You don’t do that knowing a wrecking ball’s going to swing into it eventually. Want a piece?”
“Damn right.”
“Hang on until we get the first couple of server trays filled.” Which, she concluded, would give her an opening to pump him for information. “So, Del’s not coming over to play with you tonight?”
“I think he’s got something going.”
Something female, she supposed. But that was none of her business, and not to the point.
“I guess you’re both too busy to hang out much these days.”
“Actually, we caught dinner Thursday night.”
After “The Kiss,” she thought. “So, what’s the news, what’s the gossip?” She slanted up a quick smile, trying to read his face.
“The Yankees are having a good month,” he said, and smiled back.
No awkwardness, she concluded, no smirkiness. She couldn’t decide whether to be insulted or relieved that Del hadn’t mentioned the incident to his closest friend.
“Here.” She handed him a generous slice of cake.
“Thanks.” He sampled. “You’re a genius.”
“Too true.” Satisfied she’d cut enough servings for now, she wound through wedding guests to check the dessert table and groom’s cake.