“See you tonight. I’ll drop those revised plans by, Parker.”

“Anytime.”

“Should I get out of the way?” Carter asked when Jack left.

“You’re allowed to stay, and even comment.” Laurel scooted out for her sketchbook. “I had a brainstorm last night, so I worked up an idea for the wedding cake.”

“My cake? Our cake,” Mac corrected quickly with a grin for Carter. “I wanna see, I wanna see!”

“Presentation,” Laurel said sternly, “is a watchword of Icing at Vows. So, while the inspiration for this design primarily stems from the bride—”

“Me!”

“It also factors in what the designer sees as qualities that attract the groom to said bride, and vice versa. So we have, I think, a blending of the traditional and nontraditional in both form and flavor. Added to this, the designer has known the bride for more than two decades, and has developed a deep and sincere attachment to the groom—all of which play into the concept—but will ensure that any critiques of said concept will be gracefully accepted.”

“That’s bull.” Parker rolled her eyes. “You’ll be pissed off if she doesn’t like it.”

“That’s only true because if she doesn’t like it, she’s an idiot. Which means I’ve been friends with an idiot for over two decades.”

“Just let me see the damn design.”

“I can adjust the size once you’ve nailed down your guest list. The current concept’s good for two hundred.” Laurel flipped open the book, held up the sketch.

She didn’t have to hear Mac’s breath catch to know. She saw it in the stunned delight on her face.

“The colors are pretty true to what I’d do, and you can see I’d want to do a variety of cakes and fillings. Your Italian cream, and the chocolate with raspberry Carter favors, the yellow, maybe with pastry cream. It’s just one way to do your cake sampler fantasy.”

“If Mac doesn’t like it, I’ll take it,” Emma announced.

“It doesn’t suit you. It’s Mac’s if she wants it. The flowers can be changed,” Laurel added, “to whatever ones you and Emma decide on for your bouquets and arrangements—but I’d stick with the color palette. You’re not white icing, Mac.You’re color.”

“Please don’t hate it,” Mac murmured to Carter.

“How could I? It’s stunning.” He glanced over at Laurel, gave her a slow, sweet smile. “Plus, I heard chocolate with raspberry. If we’re voting, it gets mine.”

“Mine, too,” Emma said.

“I’m thinking you’d better hide that sketch.” Parker nodded at Laurel. “If our clients get a look at it, we’re going to have brides fighting for that cake. Nailed it in one, Laurel.”

Mac stood to step closer, to take the pad and study. “The shape, the textures, not to mention the colors. Oh, oh, the photographs we’ll get! Which you considered,” she added, shifting her gaze to Laurel’s.

“It’s hard to think about you without thinking photography.”

“I love it. You know I love it. You knew I’d love it. You know me.” She put her arms around Laurel, squeezed hard, then did a little dance. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Let me have a look at that.” Mrs. Grady took the book out of Mac’s hand and studied the sketch with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

Then she nodded, looked at Laurel. “Good girl. And now, all of you, out of my kitchen.”

CHAPTER THREE

BY WEDNESDAY, LAUREL JUGGLED BAKING, TASTINGS, MEETINGS, and design sessions. Her cooler and freezer bulged with a variety of fillings, frostings, and layers, precisely labeled, that she’d use to create the cakes and desserts for the weekend events. And she still had more to go.

With her kitchen TV tuned to The Philadelphia Story for the buzz and pop of the dialogue, she added egg yolks, one at a time, to the fluff of butter and sugar in her mixing bowl. Her board held sketches or photos of this week’s designs, and a printed schedule of tasks to be done.

Once each yolk was fully incorporated, she added the mixture of flour and baking powder she’d already sifted together three times, alternating it with the milk she’d measured out.

She was whisking egg whites and salt in a separate bowl when Mac came in.

“Working.”

“Sorry. I need cookies. Please, can I have cookies?”

“Doesn’t Mrs. G have any?”

“They’re not to eat. I mean not for me to eat. Although, cookies. I need some for a shoot I have in a couple hours. I got this idea, and cookies would work. Emma let me have flowers.”

Laurel arched her eyebrows at Mac’s pleading smile as she added a quarter of the stiffened egg whites to the batter. “What kind of cookies?”

“I won’t know until I see what you’ve got. You always have cookies.”

Resigned, Laurel gestured with her head. “In the cooler. Write down what you take on the inventory board.”

“There’s another board? A cookie board?”

Laurel began folding in the remaining whites. “We now have two men in our world. They’re known for mooching cookies.”

Mac angled her head, pouted a little. “You give Carter cookies?” “I’d give Carter my love and devotion if you hadn’t gotten there first, sister. So I give him cookies instead. He’s over here nearly every day since school let out, working on his book.”

“And eating cookies without bringing home any to share, apparently. Ah, the chocolate chunk,” Mac announced with her head and shoulders in the cooler. “Big as my hand, traditional, and will photograph nicely. I’m taking half a dozen, well, seven, because I’m eating one now.”

She took one of the small bakery boxes for transport while Laurel poured batter into prepared pans.

“Do you want one?” At Laurel’s head shake, Mac shrugged. “I’ve never known how you resist. My shoot’s your tasting today.”

“Right. I’ve got them on the list.”

“I love this movie.” Mac crunched into a cookie, then glanced away from the TV toward the display. “What’s this design? It’s not in my book.”

Laurel tapped the pans on the counter to break up any air bubbles. “It’s off book.” She transferred pans to the oven, set the timer. “For Del’s paralegal. She’s coming back from maternity leave, and he’s having a little cake and coffee thing for her.”