“I’m not upset, not about that. I’m wondering how I could be so oblivious. I know you as well as I know anyone, so how could I not sense or see or know that you have feelings for Del?”

“I don’t. Okay, I do, but it’s not like I pine for him day and night. It comes and goes. Like an allergy. Only instead of making me sneeze, it makes me feel like an idiot.” Distress rolled up from her belly and into her voice. “I know how tight you are. It’s great how tight you are, but please don’t tell him I said any of this. I wasn’t going to say anything, but it just spilled out. Apparently I have an impulse-control problem.”

“I won’t say anything to him.”

“Good. Good. It was nothing, really. It was just lips.”

“No tongues?” Mac scooted out of Emma’s reach, then hunched down as she got hit with scowls instead. “What? I’m interested. We’re all interested or we wouldn’t be here at one in the morning, with five thousand in cash on the table, talking about it.”

“You’re right,” Laurel decided. “We shouldn’t be talking about it. I only brought it up in the interest of full disclosure. Now, we can all just put it aside, take our bonus money, and go to bed. In fact, now that I’ve disclosed, I don’t know why I was so twisted up about it. It was nothing.”

She gestured broadly—too broadly, she realized, and dropped her hands again. “Obviously it was nothing, and Del’s certainly not losing any sleep over it. He didn’t say anything to Jack or you. Right?” she asked Parker.

“I haven’t talked to him since early in the week, but no. No, he hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Listen to me.” She managed a weak laugh. “I’m making it like high school. I didn’t make it like high school when it was high school. Stopping now. I’m taking my money and going to bed.”

She scooped up one of the piles Parker had counted out. “So, let’s not think about this anymore, okay? Let’s just ... be normal. Everything’s ... normal. So, good night.”

At her hasty retreat, her three friends looked at one another.

“It’s so not normal,” Mac said.

“It’s not abnormal. It’s just different.” Emma put down her glass, picked up her money. “And she’s embarrassed. We should leave it alone so she isn’t embarrassed. Can we leave it alone?”

“It’s more a question of whether she can,” Parker said. “I guess we’ll find out.”

PARKER LET IT GO—FOR THE MOMENT. SHE LET IT RIDE THROUGH the Sunday event, and gave her friend space on Sunday evening. But Monday, she carved out an hour from her own schedule when she knew Laurel would be trapped in her kitchen preparing for the last-minute weekday party.

When she walked in to find Laurel rolling out phyllo dough, she knew she’d timed it perfectly.

“I brought you an extra pair of hands.”

“I’ve got it under control.”

“The bulk of this Greek extravaganza got dumped on you. Hands.” She held hers up. “They can clean up behind you.” She walked over to gather empty bowls. “We could get you a kitchen assistant.”

“I don’t want a kitchen assistant. Assistants get underfoot. Which is exactly why you don’t have one.”

“I’m toying with the idea.” Parker started loading the dishwasher. “Maybe finding someone to train, to take care of some of the legwork.”

“That’ll be the day.”

“We have to decide whether we want to go as we are, or consider expanding. Expanding means we’ll need assistants. We could offer more weekday events if we brought in more staff.”

Laurel paused. “Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know. It’s just something I think about now and then. Sometimes I think absolutely not. Others I think maybe. It’d be a big change, a shift. We’d have employees rather than just subs.We’re good as we are. In fact, we’re great. But sometimes a shift opens up other avenues.”

“I don’t know if we’re ...Wait a minute.” Laurel’s eyes narrowed on Parker’s back. “You’re using this as a metaphor, or a segue—or both—for the Del thing.”

They knew each other too well, Parker thought. “Maybe. I had to take time to think about it, then to obsess about what would happen if you and Del worked this out—then obsess about what would happen if you didn’t.”

“And?”

“Inconclusive.” Parker turned back. “I love you both, and that’s not changing. And, as much as I am the center of the universe, this isn’t—or wouldn’t be—about me. But it would be a shift.”

“I’m not shifting. See, I’m standing right in one place. Steady, no shifts.”

“Already done, Laurel.”

“And I shifted back,” Laurel insisted. “Right back to where I started. Jesus, Parks, it was only a kiss.”

“If it was only a kiss you’d have told me about it right away, and you’d have made a joke out of it.” She paused, just a beat, giving Laurel a chance to argue. Knowing she couldn’t. “It worried you, so that means it was more. Or you’re wondering if it was more. You care about him.”

“Of course I care about him.” Flustered, Laurel lifted the rolling pin, waved it. “We all care about Del. And okay, that’s part of the problem. Or the thing. It’s more a thing than a problem.” She continued to roll out the dough until it was thin as paper. “We all care about Del, Del cares about all of us. Sometimes he cares to the point I want to give him a shot right in the eye, particularly when he lumps us all together. Like we’re one body with four heads.”

“Sometimes ...”

“Yeah, I know, sometimes we are. But it’s frustrating to be part of the lump, and to know he thinks of me as somebody he has to look after. I don’t want to be looked after.”

“He can’t help that.”

“I know that, too.” She looked over, met Parker’s eyes. “Adds to the frustration. He’s wired, I’m wired, and the problem—the thing ... I prefer thing to problem.”

“Thing it is.”

“The thing is my deal entirely. And it has to be strange for you to have me talk like this.”