“Maybe you need a booty buddy.” Sagely, Mac pointed with the remainder of the cookie. “Somebody who can just pop the cork every couple weeks.”

“That’s an idea.” Laurel tried a bright, eager smile. “Can I please have Carter?”

“No. Not even for cookies.”

“Selfish, that’s what you are.” She got to work cleaning up the baking area. Next on the list, she noted, were the crystallized flowers for Friday’s cake.

“We should go shopping,” Mac decided. “We should all go buy shoes.”

Laurel considered. “Yes. Shoes are a viable substitute for sex. Let’s schedule that. Soon. Ah, here’s just the woman who can schedule anything,” she said as Parker strode in. “But she’s got that work look on her face.”

“Good, Mac’s here, too. I’m going to make some tea.”

Laurel and Mac exchanged looks. “Uh-oh,” Mac murmured.

“It’s not uh-oh. Very much,” Parker qualified.

“I don’t have time for not very much. I have to make a zillion crystallized baby roses and Johnny-jump-ups.”

“You can get it set up while I’m dealing with the tea.”

Useless to protest, Laurel thought and got out her wire racks and baking pans, her bowls, her ingredients.

“Mia Stowe, January bride?” Parker began.

“Big, fat Greek wedding,” Mac commented. “The MOB’s Greek, and her parents still live there. They’re after a big, wild, traditional Greek deal.”

“Right, exactly. Good. It seems the grandparents have decided—impulsively—to visit. Grandmother wants to check on some of the wedding plans, since apparently she’s never completely forgiven her son-in-law for taking her daughter to the U.S., and lacks confidence that we—or anyone—can pull off the kind of wedding she wants.”

“The grandmother wants,” Laurel said as she got the edible flowers Emma had provided out of the cooler.

“Again, exactly. MOB is in a panic. Bride is scrambling. Grandmother is demanding an engagement party—and yes, they’ve been engaged for six months, but this doesn’t deter Grandmother.”

“So let them have a party.” Laurel shrugged and began trimming stems.

“She wants it here, so she can check us out, approve the location, our services, and so on. And she wants it here next week.”

“Next week?” Mac and Laurel sputtered in unison.

“We’re booked. Full slate,” Laurel pointed out.

“Not on Tuesday night. I know.” Parker held up both hands for peace. “Believe me, I know. I’ve just spent most of an hour on the phone between a hysterical MOB and a bride who feels caught in the middle.We can do this. I’ve checked with the caterer, managed to book a band. I called Emma and she’ll handle the flowers. They want some formal family portraits, and some candids. But the formals are the key,” she said to Mac. “And some traditional Greek desserts, along with a weddingish cake.”

“Weddingish?”

Parker merely spread her hands at the wasp on Laurel’s tone. “The bride is firmly against a reproduction of the design she’s picked for the actual event. And it’s a much smaller deal. About seventy-five people, but I’d plan for a hundred. She said she’d leave the design, the flavor completely up to you.”

“That’s considerate of her.”

“She’s really stuck, Laurel. I feel for her. I’ll handle the rest, but I need the two of you on board.” She set a cup of tea on the counter while Laurel dipped a flower into beaten egg whites and water. “I said I’d call her back one way or the other after I’d checked with my partners.”

Laurel shook off the excess egg wash, blotted the rosebud with a paper towel before sprinkling it with superfine sugar. “You booked the band.”

“I can unbook the band. All for one.”

Laurel laid the first flower on the wire rack. “I guess I’m making baklava.” She glanced at Mac. “You in?”

“We’ll make it work. I know all about crazy mothers. How much different is a crazy grandmother? I’ll go add it to my schedule, and talk to Emma about the flowers. Let me know the cake design when you decide on it.”

“Thanks, Mac.”

“It’s what we do,” she said to Parker. “I’ve got a shoot,” she added, and ducked out again.

Parker picked up her own cup of tea. “I’ll get someone in to help you if you need it. And I know you hate that, but if you need it.”

Laurel drizzled the next flower. “I can put something together. I’ve got emergency layers and fillings in the freezer for just such occasions. I think I’ll work up something to kick Greek Grandma’s ass—and shut her up. Maybe Primrose Waltz.”

“Oh, I love that one. But it’s a lot of work, as I remember.”

“It’ll be worth it. I’ve got the fondant, and I can make the primulas ahead of time. Mia’s got a couple younger sisters, right?”

“Two sisters and a brother.” Parker’s smile bloomed. “And, yes, we’re both thinking we’re planting fertile seeds for future business. If you make up a list, I’ll take care of the marketing.”

“That’s a deal. Go call the MOB and earn her grateful tears.”

“I will. Hey, how about pajama and movie night?”

“Best offer I’ve had all day. See you there.”

Laurel continued to coat the flowers, thinking the only dating she was doing these days was with her best pal Parker.


WITH THE LAYERS BAKED, WRAPPED, AND IN THE FREEZER TO SET THE crumb, the crystallized flowers drying on the rack, Laurel prepped for her tasting. In the lounge off her kitchen, she set out the albums of designs along with the flowers Emma had arranged for her. She fanned cocktail napkins with the Vows logo, stacked spreading knives, spoons, teacups, wineglasses, and champagne glasses.

Back in the kitchen she sliced a variety of cakes into slim rectangles and arranged them on a glass platter. In small glass dishes, she placed generous dollops of different frostings and fillings.

She slipped into the bathroom to freshen her makeup and hair, then buttoned on a cropped jacket, and changed out of her kitchen shoes into heels.

When her clients rang the buzzer, she was ready for them.

“Steph, Chuck, it’s good to see you again. How was the shoot?” she asked as she gestured them in.

“It was fun.” Stephanie, a cheerful brunette, hooked her arm with her fiance’s. “Wasn’t it fun?”

“It was. After I stopped being nervous.”

“He hates getting his picture taken.”

“I always feel goofy.” Chuck, sandy-haired and shy, ducked his head as he grinned. “I usually am.”

“Mac had me feed him a cookie because I’d told her we’d had cookies on our first date. When we were eight.”

“Only I didn’t know we were dating.”

“I did. Now, eighteen years later, I’ve got you.”

“Well, I hope you left room for cake. How about some champagne, or wine?”

“I’d love some champagne. God, I love this place,” Steph enthused. “I love everything about it. Oh, is this your kitchen? Where you bake?”

She made a point of bringing clients through her kitchen, so they could get a feel for it—and see it sparkle. “It is. It was originally used as a secondary or caterer’s kitchen. Now it’s all mine.”

“It really is beautiful. I like to cook, and I’m pretty good at it. But baking ...” Steph fluttered her hand side to side.

“It takes practice, and patience.”

“What are these? Oh, they’re so pretty!”

“Crystallized flowers. I just made them. They have to set several hours at room temperature.” Please don’t touch them, Laurel thought.

“You can eat them?”

“You sure can. It’s best not to use any flower or garnish on a cake, I think, unless it’s edible.”

“Maybe we should do something like that, Chuck. Real flowers.”

“I have a lot of designs that incorporate them. And I can customize for you. Why don’t you come in and sit? I’ll get you that champagne, and we’ll get started.”

It was easy when the clients were inclined to be pleased, as these were, Laurel decided. They seemed to love everything, including each other. Her hardest job, she realized after the first ten minutes, would be to steer them toward what made them the happiest.

“They’re all delicious.” Steph spread a bit of white chocolate mousse on vanilla bean. “How does anyone ever pick?”

“The best part is there’s no wrong choice. You like the mocha spice,” Laurel said to Chuck.

“What’s not to like?”

“It’s a good choice for a groom’s cake, and it’s fabulous with the chocolate ganache. Manly,” she said with a wink. “And in this design, it resembles a heart carved into a tree, with your names and the dates piped on.”

“Oh, I love it. Do you love it?” Steph asked him.

“It’s pretty cool.” Chuck angled the photo for a better look. “I didn’t know I got a cake.”

“It’s up to you. No wrong choices.”

“Let’s do it, Chuck. He can have the manly, and then I can go completely girly on the wedding cake.”

“That’s a deal. This is the ganache, right?” He sampled, grinned.

“Oh yeah. Sold.”

“Yay! This is fun, too. People keep telling us planning a wedding is a huge headache, and how we’ll fight and get edgy. But we’re having such a good time.”

“It’s our job to have the headaches and fight and get edgy.” Steph laughed, then lifted her hands. “Tell me what you think. You hit it dead-on with Chuck.”

“Okay. Valentine’s Day wedding. Why not go full-out romance? Now, you liked the idea of crystallized flowers, but this design uses sugar paste. Still, I think it’s romantic and fun and really, really girly.”

Laurel found the photograph in the album, turned it.

Steph slapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh, oh, wow!”

It was, Laurel thought, definitely a wow. “Five graduated tiers, separated by dowels to give it that open, airy look. And the dowels are covered with sugar paste petals, more petals and blossoms overlaying the top of the tiers and spilling over for abundance. These are hydrangea blossoms,” Laurel went on, “but I can do any kind. Rose petals, cherry blossoms, name it. Any colors or tones. I use royal icing on this, generally, piping it out on each tier to form the crown. But again, I can customize. Using fondant for a sleeker look, doing ribbons or pearls, in the white, or in the color of the flowers.”

“It’s my colors, the blue and that lavendery pink.You knew that. You knew that and showed me the perfect cake.” Steph let out a reverent sigh. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It is,” Chuck agreed. “But you know what else? It’s really charming. Like Steph.”

“Oh. Chuck.”

“I have to agree. If you like this direction, you could go with more than one flavor and filling.”

“I don’t like this direction. I love this cake. This is my cake. Can we still do a topper? The bride and groom topper.”

“Absolutely.”

“Perfect. Because I want us to be on top. Can I have another glass of champagne?”

“You bet.” Laurel rose to pour.

“Can’t you have one, too? Are you not allowed?”

Glancing back, Laurel smiled. “I’m the boss, and I’d love to have one.”

The champagne and the clients left her in an excellent mood. And since she was done for the day, she decided to pour herself a second glass and make herself a little fruit and cheese platter to go with it. Relaxed, she sat at her counter sipping, nibbling, and making a list of supplies for Parker to pick up.

Greek meant butter, butter, butter, and lots of nuts. She’d have to make phyllo sheets—a pain in the ass, but the job was the job. Honey, almonds, pistachios, walnuts, bread flour.

While she was at it, it wouldn’t hurt to list her staple bulk items, then the supplies she’d need to order soon from her wholesaler.

“Now this is the kind of work I want.”

She glanced up to see Del in the doorway. Full lawyer mode, she thought, with the tailored suit—charcoal with subtle pinstripes—the elegant tie in a precise Windsor knot, the serious leather briefcase.

“You can have it after you’ve been on your feet for ten hours.”

“Might be worth it. Is that coffee fresh?”

“Enough.”

He helped himself. “Parker said you should think sexy, weepy, or silly. Whatever that means.”

Movie night, Laurel concluded. “Okay. You want your cake?”

“No rush.” He stepped over, used her knife to spread some Camembert on a rosemary cracker. “Good. What’s for dinner?”

“You’re eating it.”

The faintest of disapproving frowns clouded his eyes. “You have to do better than this, especially after a ten-hour day.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Impervious to the sarcasm, he tried a slice of apple. “I could’ve brought you something since part of the ten’s on me.”