“Kavanaugh?” Since it was there, Laurel took a piece of toast out of the rack. “How did he get in on it?”

“Somebody told him, and he cornered me at the ball game. I said no, bets were closed, but he’s pushy and persistent. Plus he said he’d put two hundred in as a late fee, and he’d pick July fifth.”

“You mean he nailed it on the button?” Mac demanded. “Lucky guy.”

“Yeah, lucky guy. I figured he didn’t have a chance anyway, as we were all going out, all going together. I didn’t expect Laurel to jump out of the van and make a run for it.”

“It was romantic.” Emma smiled. “All rushed and flushed and urgent. What happened when you got there?”

“He opened the door.”

“Spill,” Mac insisted and pointed a finger.

“You can’t be uncomfortable because he’s my brother. You and I have been friends nearly as long as Del’s been my brother. So it’s a wash.”

“Eat,” Mrs. Grady ordered and served the omelettes.

Laurel obediently took a bite. “I’d worked out the math.”

“What math?” Emma asked.

“About what days didn’t count in the given thirty. It’s complicated. It’s a formula, but I’d worked it out. Once he caught up with me, logistically, he agreed it made sense, but thought we should just forfeit the bet. So we did.”

“Weekends, right?” Mac shoveled in some eggs. “I thought about that. Weekends don’t count.”

“Exactly. And the first and last days don’t count. It gets more complicated, but that’s the gist. But in all fairness, since we didn’t set those terms, we went with the forfeit. Then we ...”

Bizarre or not, these four women were her women. “It was wonderful. I had this place in my head that worried I’d be nervous, that we’d be awkward. But I wasn’t, and we weren’t. He wouldn’t rush, and wouldn’t let me rush, so it was slow and sweet. He was ...”

When she trailed off, Parker sighed. “If you think I’d squirm because you’d say my brother is a good lover, a considerate one, you’re wrong. It’s not just skill, you know. It’s also a sign of respect and affection for his partner.”

“He made me feel that there was nothing else that mattered but the two of us, then and there. That’s all there was. And after, I could sleep with him, feeling absolutely safe, absolutely natural. That’s always the hardest part for me. Trusting enough, I guess, to sleep.”

Emma rubbed Laurel’s thigh under the table. “That’s a really good sexy breakfast story.”

“We had a little tangle this morning.”

“A sexy tangle?”

“That, too, One-Track Mind,” she said to Mac. “I needed to find my clothes in the dark so I could call a cab and get back. Full day. But he woke up, which led to a sexy tangle even though I had bed hair.”

“I hate that,” Emma muttered. “There should be an instant cure for bed hair.”

“Then he insisted on driving me home.”

“Of course.”

Laurel rolled her eyes at Parker. “The two of you have this unshakable code of conduct. Why should he have to get up, dressed, drive me when I can get myself home?”

“Because you were in his home, that’s number one. Second, you were in his bed. Good manners are just that, and don’t threaten your independence.”

“Brown Rule of Thumb?”

Parker smiled a little. “I guess you could call it that.”

“He did. Well, that’s going to have to hold you, because I have to get to work.”

“Don’t we all? I have half a million lilies coming in this morning to be processed. And the crew’s starting today.”

“Here, too?” Laurel asked.

“Here, too, according to Jack.” Emma glanced at her watch. “Any minute.”

“You will now live in interesting times,” Mac told her. “And noisy ones.”

“It’ll be worth it. I’m going to keep telling myself it’ll be worth it. Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. G.”

“It was a good story, so paid in full.”

“If things get too crazy in my space, can I shift some of the work in here?”

“You can. Emmaline and Mackensie, you called for the story. You’re on dishes. I’m going to take a walk around the garden before the hammering starts.”

Parker walked out with Laurel. “Happy’s what counts. Remember I like seeing you and Del happy when you feel weird about it again.”

“I’m working on it. Tell me if I start screwing this up, okay?”

“Absolutely.” Her phone rang. “And there we have the opening bell. I’ll see you later. Good morning, Sarah. How’s the bride today?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EMMA’S LILIES SCENTED THE AIR AND BLOOMED IN SUMMER COLORS of brilliant scarlet and buttery yellow, bright, hard-candy pink and blinding white. The bride, who’d considered a mis-scheduled manicure a disaster on the morning of July fifth, posed radiantly for Mac while Parker dealt with a groomsman’s misplaced vest and tie.

After checking to see no emergencies required her attention or assistance, Laurel carried the cake’s centerpiece—a sugar vase she’d molded from a hexagon bowl and filled with miniature lilies.

Emma’s lilies had nothing on hers, Laurel thought—in execution or time spent. She’d embossed gum paste with a rolling pin covered with textured grosgrain ribbon, then meticulously cut out each individual petal. The result, once the stems had been wired and dipped in thinned royal icing, was both charming and elegant.

In the Ballroom, she ignored the buzz and hum of setup and studied the cake. More textured petals adorned each tier—a circular dance of those strong colors. More scattered over the cake board in what she considered a pretty and organic touch.

As she lifted the topper out of the box, someone knocked over a chair with a crash. She never blinked.

That’s what Del noticed. The noise, the shouts, the movement might not have existed. He watched her center the bowl of flowers on the top tier, step back to check the positioning, then take one of her tools out of the box to run a line—no, pipe, he corrected. He knew that much. She piped a couple of perfect lines, like a base on the bowl, around it with hands steady as a surgeon’s.