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Where the hell had all these cars come from? he wondered. It was Tuesday night, and he couldn’t remember anything on Vows’ slate. He swung off to park by Mac’s studio, got out, frowned at the house. No question an event was in progress. He could see Emma’s handiwork in lavish displays around the portico, and hear—even from the distance—the clatter and voices of a party going on.
For a moment, he simply stood where he was, watching. Lights glowed in the windows, turning the house into a welcoming celebration. Hospitality, with an elegant flair. It had always been. His parents had loved to entertain—small intimate gatherings, big flashy parties. He supposed Parker came by her skills there naturally. Yet when he came home unexpectedly—and it was still home—he’d feel that quick tug, that poignant sorrow for what he’d lost. For what they’d all lost.
He took the path, wound his way home, choosing the side door with its easy access to the family kitchen.
He’d hoped to find Mrs. Grady there, fussing at the stove, but a single light burned in the empty kitchen. He wandered to the window, watched some of the guests who’d gathered on the terrace, strolled the gardens.
Relaxed, at home, impressed, he judged. Infusing an event with those qualities was another Parker skill, or the blend the Quartet combined.
He caught sight of Emma and a few of the catering staff he recognized carrying linens, flowers. A last-minute adjustment, he assumed, then watched as they set up a table. Quick, efficient, he noted, with Emma chatting with some of the guests. All smiles and warmth—that was Emma. No one would know her mind was scrambling toward the next duty.
Emma and Jack, he mused. Now that was a last-minute adjustment for him. His closest friend and one of his girls. Even as he considered it, Jack came out carrying a tray of tea lights. Pitching in, Del thought, as they all pitched in from time to time. But it was different, he thought. And it occurred to him that this was the first time since Emma and Jack became ‘Emma and Jack’ that he’d observed them when they weren’t aware of him.
The look that passed between them, yes, that was different. The way Jack brushed a hand down her arm, casual and intimate, the way a man did when he simply needed to touch what he loved.
A good thing, he decided, what was between them. And he’d get used to it—eventually.
Meanwhile, he was here, there was a party. He might as well head up to the Ballroom and pitch in, too.
SHE’D BAKED LIKE A MANIAC, LAUREL THOUGHT, AND THERE WAS little more satisfying than seeing that work devoured. Now that the cake had been cut, dessert plates arranged, she left the serving to the caterers and took a minute to catch her breath. Music rolled, and those not swarming the dessert tables took advantage. Dozens more gathered at tables, most still tossing back ouzo.
Opa!
Happy, happy, she thought, everything under control. And the perfect time to slip away for five minutes and take off her shoes. She scanned for any potential problems as she moved to the door.
“Ms. McBane?”
Just this close, she thought, but turned and put on her professional smile. “Yes, what can I do for you?”
“Nick Pelacinos.” He offered a hand. “Cousin of the bride-to-be.”
And fairly gorgeous, she thought, shaking his hand. All bronzed Greek godlike with molten amber eyes and cleft chin. “It’s nice to meet you. I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I’d be a fool not to.You throw a hell of a party. I know you must be busy, but my grandmother would like a word with you. She’s holding court over there.”
He gestured to the head table, crowded with people, drinks, food, flowers—and unquestionably ruled over by the steel-haired, laser-eyed matriarch. The grandmother, Laurel thought.
“Sure.” She walked with him, wondering if she should signal Parker for backup.
“She and my grandfather only come to the States every year or two normally,” Nick told her. “Usually we’re required to go to them, so this trip is a major event for the family.”
“So I understand.”
“And I understand you and your partners managed to put all this together in under a week. Kudos—seriously. I help manage the family restaurants in New York, so I have a good idea what went into this.”
She flipped back mentally to Parker’s rundown of the family. “Papa’s. I’ve eaten at the one on the West Side.”
“You’ll have to come in again, and let me know. Dinner’s on me.Yaya, I’ve brought you Ms. McBane.”
The woman inclined her head with the slightest of regal tilts. “I see.”
“Ms. McBane, my grandmother, Maria Pelacinos.”
“Stephanos.” Maria tapped her hand on the arm of the man seated beside her. “Let the girl sit.”
“Please, don’t trouble—” Laurel began.
“Up, up.” She waved the man away, pointed to the chair. “Here, by me.”
Never argue with a client, Laurel reminded herself, and took the vacated seat.
“Ouzo,” the woman demanded, and almost instantly a glass was put in her hand. She set it down in front of Laurel.
“We toast to your baklava.” Lifting her own glass, she arched an imperial eyebrow at Laurel. With little choice, Laurel took up her own glass, braced herself, and drank. Then, knowing the routine, slapped the glass down again. “Opa.”
She got a round of applause and an approving nod from Maria. “You have a gift. It takes more than hands and ingredients to make food that matters. It takes a good head, and an open heart. Your family is Greek?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ah.” She flicked that away. “Everyone’s family is Greek. I’m going to give you my own recipe for lathopita, and you’ll make it for my granddaughter’s wedding.”
“I’d love to have it, thank you.”
“I think you’re a good girl. So, dance with my grandson. Nick, dance with the girl.”
“Actually, I need to—”
“It’s a party. Dance! This is a good boy, handsome. He has a good job and no wife.”
“Well, in that case,” Laurel said and made Maria laugh.
“Dance, dance. Life is shorter than you think.”
“She won’t take no.” Nick held out a hand again.
One dance, Laurel thought. Her aching feet could handle one dance. And she really wanted that recipe.
She let Nick lead her to the dance floor as the band switched to slow and smooth.
“It may not seem like it,” he began as he took her into his arms, “but my grandmother paid you a very high compliment. She sampled a bit of everything you made, and she’s convinced you’re Greek. You couldn’t have made traditional Greek desserts with such skill otherwise. And ...” He twirled her stylishly. “You and your partners have saved the family an enormous argument. Getting her approval for this venue wasn’t easy.”
“And if Yaya isn’t happy ...”
“Exactly. Do you get into New York often?”
“Now and then ...” Her heels lifted her to nearly his height. A nice balance for dancing, she decided. “The business keeps us pretty close to home. It must be the same for you. I worked restaurants while I was studying, and before we got the business off the ground. It’s a demanding field.”
“Crises followed by drama followed by chaos. Still,Yaya’s right. Life’s shorter than you think. If I called you sometime, maybe we could both get away from the job.”
Dating moratorium, she reminded herself. But ... It might be a good idea to end it so she’d stop obsessing about Del. “Maybe we could.”
The dance ended, and with fanfare and cheers, the band moved into the traditional Greek circle dance. Laurel started to back away, but Nick kept her hand in his.
“You can’t miss this.”
“I really shouldn’t. Plus I’ve only watched it at events, never done it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you through.”
Before she could come up with another excuse, someone else gripped her free hand, and she was linked in the
circle.
What the hell, she decided. It was a party.
Del came in during the slow dance, and automatically looked around for Parker. Or so he told himself. Almost instantly he saw Laurel.
Dancing. Who was she dancing with? She wasn’t supposed to be dancing with some guy he didn’t know ... She was supposed to be working.
Had she brought a date? They looked as if they knew each other when he considered how they moved together—and the way she smiled at whoever the hell he was.
“Del, I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” Parker strode over, kissed his cheek.
“I just dropped by to ...Who is that?”
“Who?”
“With Laurel. Dancing.”
Bemused, Parker glanced over, picked Laurel out of the crowd. “I’m not sure.”
“She didn’t bring him?”
“No. He’s one of the guests. We’re doing a kind of after-engagement, prewedding reception. Long story.”
“Since when do you dance at your events?”
“It depends on the circumstances.” She slid her eyes toward Del, said, “Hmm,” quietly under the sway of music and chattering voices. “They look good together.”
He only shrugged, slipped his hands into his pockets. “It’s not smart for you to encourage guests to hit on you.”
“Encourage is a debatable word. In any case, Laurel can handle herself. Oh, I love when they do the traditional dance,” she added when the music changed. “It’s so happy. Look at Laurel! She’s got it.”
“She’s always been good on her feet,” Del muttered.
