Savour the Moment: Now the Big Day Has Finally Arrived, It's Time To... (32 page)

As he watched they started back, the boy looking up at her, Laurel looking down at him.

“Hey, Del.”

He pulled himself out of that odd, dreamy picture and turned to Carter. “Hi. How’s it going?”

“Okay now, I’d say.Ten minutes ago, it was touch and go. We’re about to get started. Again.”

“One of those.”

“Oh yeah. I think Laurel ...There she is.”

Laurel stopped by a woman with a little girl on her hip, shared a quick word, an easy laugh with her. Then bent to the boy and murmured in his ear. He grinned as if she’d promised him a lifetime supply of cookies.

Del walked over to meet her halfway. “Make a new friend?” “Looks like. We’re running behind.”

“So I hear.”

“Parker’ll get it back on track,” she said even as Parker called for everyone to take their places.

Del stepped out of the way with Carter as Parker called out instructions, and the other three women guided and aligned.

It looked smooth as silk to him, with everyone smiling. He saw the boy and Laurel exchange a quick grin as he walked toward the pergola.

Moments later, she signaled to Del and slipped into the house.

H
E FOUND HER IN THE MAIN KITCHEN, MOVING FAST.

“I’m a little behind,” she began. “It’s not like a Parker schedule, but—”

He stopped her by getting in her way, moving in, drawing her into a long, warm, indulgent kiss. And when he felt her go under, just a little, just enough, he eased back.

“Hi.”

“Well, hi. Was I saying something before all my brain cells went gooey?”

“Something about schedules.”

“Oh, yeah. That. Okay. I have a nice sauvignon blanc chilling. Why don’t you open it so we can try it out while I get things going.”

“I like when my main chore is opening the wine. What was the problem with the rehearsal?” he asked as he moved to oblige.

“What wasn’t, is more like it.” She shot him a look over her shoulder with those bluebell eyes. “The bride learned just this week she’s pregnant.”

“Uh-oh.”

“They’re good with it. In fact, they’ve turned the unexpected expecting into a surprise instead of a problem.”

“That’s good for everybody”

“Yeah, but it’s added some stress—and she’s more emotional and a whole lot tired. She’s crying, then the two kids are trying to murder each other, the MOG worked herself up, plus the heat got to her. Probably because she was worked up. Add in a groomsman who started celebrating a bit early. Just another day on the job.”

Laurel put water on for the pasta, added olive oil to a skillet, then moved past Del to retrieve the salad makings she’d prepared with Mrs. Grady’s help. “It’s a good thing I did most of this ahead, because I’d hoped to duck out of the rehearsal, but no dice.Thanks,” she added when he handed her a glass.

After sipping it, she began to peel and dice garlic.

“I should feel guilty about you cooking after you’ve put in a full day. Want me to chop something? I’m a reasonably experienced chopper.”

“No, we’re under control.”

Content to do nothing, he watched her add the garlic and some red pepper flakes to the oil. “This is new.”

“Hmm?”

“Seeing you cook. This kind of cooking, that is.”

“Oh, I dip my hand in every once in a while. I picked up some of it from Mrs. G, and some from working in restaurants. It’s an interesting change of pace. When it works.”

“You always look in charge in the kitchen. That was supposed to be a compliment,” he said when she frowned at him.

“I guess it is, as long as it doesn’t put me in the same camp as Julio.”

“Completely different camp. A different camp in a different country.”

She added some butter to the oil, got out the shrimp. “Good. Because I don’t often have—or want—company when I’m in the kitchen, but I rarely throw knives.” She added the shrimp to the oil, then pasta to the boiling water.

“Do you just keep everything that goes in, when and how, in your head?”

“Sometimes. Do you want a lesson?”

“I absolutely don’t. Real men grill.”

She laughed, and with spoon in one hand, pasta fork in the other, stirred skillet and pot at the same time. “Hand me the wine, will you?”

“Lush.” But he held it out.

She set down the pasta fork, then dumped a good cup of wine on the shrimp. Del visibly winced.

“It’s really good wine.”

“So it’s really good wine for cooking, too.”

“No question.” Her hands, he thought, were so quick, so competent. Had he ever noticed that before? “What are we having?”

“For the main? Seafood linguini.” She paused, took a sip from her glass. “Field green salad, some herb bread I baked for dipping. Vanilla bean crème brûlée for dessert.”

He lowered his glass to stare at her—his Laurel, with her hair clipped up as always when she worked, her quick, competent hands busy. “You’re kidding.”

“I know you’re partial to crème brûlée.” She lifted one shoulder in an easy shrug as the kitchen filled with scent. “If I’m going to cook, I might as well cook what you like.”

It occurred to him he should have brought her flowers or wine or ... something. And realized it hadn’t occurred to him because he was so used to coming here, coming home, to seeing her in his home.

Next time he wouldn’t forget.

When the wine came to a boil, she lowered the heat, covered it. Then tested the pasta, deemed it done, drained it.

She got a dish of olives out of the fridge. “To hold you off,” she said, then turned her attention to the salad.

“You know what I said about being in charge when you’re in the kitchen?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Something about being in charge makes you just stunning.” She looked up, blinked in such obvious surprise he regretted not thinking of flowers even more.

“You’re already getting crème brûlée,” she managed.

“You’re beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful.” Had he never told her that before, in just that way? “Cooking just spotlights it, the way dancing spotlights a dancer, or a sport spotlights an athlete. It just never struck me until now, I think because I’ve gotten used to seeing you at some stage or other of baking. It’s a kind of taking for granted. I need to be careful not to do that with you.”

“We don’t have to be careful with each other.”

“I think we do. Even more because we’re so used to each other.”

Maybe taking care was more accurate, he thought. Wasn’t she doing just that now? Taking care by making him a meal she knew he’d like particularly, and doing it because she knew he’d had a difficult day? This
newness
between them wasn’t just about dating or sex. Or it shouldn’t be.

He didn’t know, couldn’t know, where they were going, but he could start paying more attention to how they got there.

“Do you want me to set the table?” he asked her.

“It’s done.” The fact that she was a little flustered, and it showed, delighted him. “In the dining room. I thought, since—”

“That’s nice. Parker?”

“Is doing what any good friend does and making herself scarce tonight.”

“Very nice.”

She walked over, checked her skillet, then added more butter, some scallops before briskly zesting a lemon into the mix.

“That smells amazing.”

“Not bad.” She added some fresh herbs, salt, pepper, stirred. “Couple minutes to cook through, then we’ll let it sit for a few more. Fairly easy-peasy.”

“Not from where I’m standing.”

“I probably couldn’t write a brief—especially since I’m not sure exactly what one is. I guess we both picked careers with job security.” Her eyes met his as she tossed the salad. “People are always going to need to eat, and they’re always going to need lawyers.”

“Whether they want to or not on the lawyer front.”

She laughed. “I didn’t say that.” She took a lighter out of a drawer. “For the candles,” she told him. “You can take the salad in, and take care of that.”

She’d fussed, he noted, when he carried the bowl into the dining room. She probably didn’t think of it that way, he mused as he studied the pretty plates, the candles in slim holders, the bright-faced sunflowers in a blue glass vase. The women in his life had a talent and a vocation, he supposed, for making things pretty and comfortable, for seeing to tiny details that always melded together into a perfect picture.

That made him a lucky man.

Very lucky, he thought moments later when they sat with the salad, the warmed bread, the wine.

“When we get to the beach—” He broke off when she groaned. “What?”

“Sorry, I always have a little orgasm when I think of vacation.”

“Really?” Amused he watched her eyes sparkle as she took a bite of salad. “I’ll mention it more often. Anyway, when we’re there, I’m going to grill you such a steak. In fact, my pact now is for the men to put on a serious meal—just the guys. All you have to do is eat.”

“I’m in. I actually have a calendar going in my office where I mark off the days until. Like I did when I was a kid for the end of the school year. I feel like that. Like a kid coming up on summer.”

“Most kids don’t get orgasms when they think of summer vacation. Not in my experience anyway.”

“You liked school more than I did.” When he laughed, she sipped her wine. “I like my work a lot more than I did school, and still, I’m really ready to step away from it for a couple weeks. I want to sleep until the sun’s actually up, and stretch out and read a book without thinking I really should be doing something else. No suit, no heels, no meetings. How about you?”

“The last part’s a match—except for the heels. Not having to make a decision about more than whether to have a beer or a nap. That’ll be good.”

“Naps.” She sighed and closed her eyes.

“Another orgasm?”

“No, just a quiet little tingle. I can’t wait. The rest of us were so surprised—and happy—when Parker told us the two of you bought the place. Is it wonderful?”

“I like it. She’s taken it on faith, as she’s never seen it except in pictures. It’s a good investment, especially considering the economy right now. We got a good deal.”

“That’s the lawyer speaking. Is it wonderful?”

“You can hear the ocean from the bedrooms, see it from every window that faces oceanside. There’s a pond and a wonderful sense of seclusion.”

“Okay, no more. I can’t take it.” She shivered, then rose to remove the salad plates. “Be right back.”

“I can—”

“No, I’ll take care of it. In charge, remember?”

He topped off her wine, and had sat back with his own when she came in with the main. She’d garnished the pasta with sprigs of rosemary and basil.

“Laurel, that looks seriously amazing.”

“Never underestimate the power of presentation.” She served him, then herself.

“Wow,” he said after the first bite. “It’s great. And impossible to feel guilty now. Maybe a little since Parker’s missing out.”

“I left her a serving in the kitchen. She’s sneaking down for it.”

“Guilt assuaged.” He took another bite. “Of course, now you’ve done it, and I’m going to want to do this more often.”

“We might be able to work a deal, if you fire up the grill now and then.”

“Works for me.”

“You know, I nearly called you last night. I was in the mood for a cookout, then I had the run-in with Linda and—”

“What run-in?”

“Oh, Parker had just left for a meeting, and I was done for the day and walking down to Emma’s to see if she wanted a swim. And there’s Linda at Mac’s door. Going in, too, even though they weren’t home. Pissed me off.”

His eyes narrowed, heated. “Parker told her not to come here again.”

“Yeah, and Linda listens so well. Anyway, after an ugly scene I ran her off.”

“What kind of a scene?” He saw her start to speak, then catch herself and shrug.

“A Linda sort of scene. I won, which is the important thing.”

“What did she say to you?”

“That I didn’t have the authority to run her off, that sort of thing. I’m always amazed someone like her could’ve had any part in creating someone like Mac. I don’t know if she’ll ever understand that Mac’s not going to drop everything and do her bidding anymore.”

She wasn’t changing the subject so much as shifting it, Del thought. He laid a hand over hers as if to hold her in place. “She upset you.”

“Sure, she’s Linda. She upsets just by existing. Hey, can we get a restraining order? On the basis that she’s a major pain in the ass?”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“For what? I got her gone.”

“Not before she upset you.”

“Del, if I called you every time somebody upset me, we’d never be off the phone. She went, and Emma and I took a swim. She did spoil my mood for a cookout though. Let’s not let her spoil the linguine.”