“I . . . I’d like that.”

“I’m no Maureen Grady in the kitchen, but I won’t poison you. Have some more pie.”

Parker picked up the fork again, and had some more pie.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AFTER THE EVENING CONSULT, LAUREL TUCKED HER FEET UP, stretched her arms. “I think this one’s in the running for Ditzy Bride status. Not only does she want her MOH to walk her two Siamese cats down the aisle rather than carry a bouquet, but wants to include them on the guest list.”

“Which means us providing, and her paying for, a meal—they’ll have the salmon—for each.” Mac rolled her eyes.

“Plus collar boutonnieres.” Emma only laughed. “And a cat sitter through the reception.Where are you going to get a cat sitter?” she asked Parker.

“I’ll talk to her vet. At least she didn’t insist on having them at the head table during dinner.”

“But it was close.Well, that’s a problem for another day,” Laurel decided. “What I want now is a nice glass of wine before I see what I can mooch from Mrs. G for dinner since Del called and has a late meeting.”

“Change of plans there,” Parker announced. “We have something to do upstairs.”

“Parker, I can’t possibly do a summit. My brain’s tired.”

“It’s not that kind of a summit.” Parker got to her feet. “And I think your brain will wake up for it.”

“I don’t see . . .” Realization dawned, clearly, in Laurel’s eyes. “You found a dress for me.”

“Let’s go see.”

Grinning at her friends, Laurel bounced in her seat. “It’s my turn! Is there champagne?”

“What do you think?” Mac demanded and hauled her up.

“Same rules as before,” Parker said as they all started up together. “If it’s not the one, it’s not the one. No hurt feelings.”

“I haven’t even decided on the style I want yet. I keep circling around. But I’m pretty sure I don’t want a veil, it’s so medieval. Apologies,” she said to Emma. “But maybe I’d just go for some sort of hair ornament or flowers, so I don’t think the dress should be too traditional. I don’t want to go ultracontemp either, so . . .”

“And so it begins.” Mac wrapped an arm around Laurel’s waist, hugged. “It’s Bride Fever, honey. Been there, done that.”

“I didn’t think I’d be here doing that, but I surrender. This is why Del said he’d be home late?”

“I called him when I found the dress.” Parker paused at the closed door of the Bride’s Suite. “He’s hanging out with Jack and Carter. Ready?”

Laurel pushed her swing of hair behind her ears, gave herself a quick shake. Laughed. “Absolutely ready.”

As had been done for Mac, then Emma, Laurel’s dress hung in full view. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket with a pretty tray of fruit and cheese beside it.

Mrs. Grady stood, pincushion and camera at the ready.

“It’s beautiful, Parker.” Eyes intent, Laurel stepped closer. “I haven’t been sure about strapless, but I love the way the neckline curves a little—softer—and the ruching and beadwork on the bodice adds that texture and sparkle.” Reaching out, she brushed the skirt—just fingertips. “I haven’t been sure about sparkle.”

“I like the way the material pulls in at the waist, soft gathers to that center silver work, then the drape down from there.” Mac angled her head, circled, nodded. “It’ll photograph beautifully.”

“The way it flows and folds down at the center of the skirt,” Emma added. “With the silver beadwork along the edges. More interest, but not fussy. And the way those lines and textures are mirrored in the back. It’s really lovely, Parker. Good work.”

“We’ll see about that once the girl’s in it.” Mrs. Grady waved a hand. “Get her going. I’ll pour the champagne.”

“No peeking,” Mac warned as she turned Laurel’s back to the mirror.

“Luckily it’s your size, so it shouldn’t need much fitting. So I picked up the underpinning. Even if you don’t like the dress, the underpinning will work with anything you end up with.”

Mac grabbed her own camera once they had Laurel covered up again, caught moments of Parker and Emma smoothing skirts, buttoning the back.

Mac clicked her glass to Mrs. Grady’s. “What do you think?”

“Lips zipped until the bride has her say.” But her eyes were damp.

“Okay, you can turn around, take a look.”

At Parker’s directive, Laurel turned. Her face stayed neutral as she studied herself. “Well . . .” Somber, she turned one way, then the other, with a slight shake of her head that had Parker’s heart dropping.

“It may not be what you had in mind,” Parker began. “What you’ve imagined wearing. It’s your day. It has to be exactly right.”

“Yeah, it does. I’m not sure . . .” Laurel turned her body so she could see, then study, the back.“I just don’t know . . . how you do it! Psych!” She laughed and threw her arms around Parker. “You should’ve seen your face. So damn stoic. I love you. I love you guys. Oh, it’s gorgeous. It’s so perfectly perfect. I have to look at me again.”

As she broke away to spin in front of the mirror, eyes sparkling, Parker just said, “Whew.”

“You’re three for three.” Emma tapped glasses. “And though I was going to make a pitch for one, you’re right about the veil, Laurel.”

“Thinking that, I picked these up.” Parker crossed over to open a box holding two jeweled combs.“I had this idea. If you can stop admiring yourself for a couple minutes, I want to try something.”

“Can’t I admire myself while you try it? Look at me.” Lifting her skirts, Laurel took another spin. “I’m a bride!”

“Then hold still. I was thinking if you swept your hair back from the temples with these, then we had the hairdresser do something fun in the back.”

“And we’d add some flowers—she might have enough for a French braid,” Emma calculated, “leaving the rest of her hair down.We have them wind some thin, beaded ribbon through the braid, and pin a small clip of flowers. Sweet peas, you said you wanted sweet peas and peonies primarily.”