They were laughing, leaning across the table toward each other when Laurel came in. It stopped her dead in her tracks, as if she’d walked into a glass wall—and she stood on the wrong side of it.

He looked so relaxed, she thought. No, they looked so relaxed, and gorgeous—both of them. If Mac had come in with her, she could have snapped a photo, captured that moment, that image of two beautiful people sharing wine and laughter over candlelight.

Anyone would think they were a couple, perfectly suited, absolutely in tune.

“Laurel, hi.”

“Hi, Maxie.” Laurel worked up a smile for the waitress who paused. “Busy night.”

“Tell me.” Maxie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know you were coming in. We’ll fix you up.”

“Actually I’m meeting someone.”

“Oh, okay. Don’t let Julio see you.” She winked as she talked of the chef. “He’d be tempted to drag you back into the kitchen on a night like this. We miss you around here.”

“Thanks.”

“Gotta keep it moving. I’ll talk to you later.”

She nodded, then slipped into the rest room to give herself a minute. Stupid, she told herself, stupid to lose her balance because Del was having a drink with a friend. Stupid to feel somehow less because a handful of years before she’d have been back in the kitchen hustling instead of sitting at a table. She’d have created some lovely dessert for a couple like Delaney Brown and Deborah Manning.

“Nothing wrong with that,” she muttered, and dug out her lip gloss as she scolded herself in the mirror. She was proud of the job she’d done here—and the money she’d earned to help launch Vows. She was proud of her talent, and proud that talent enabled her to have a business, earn her living, create something that made people happy.

She took care of herself, made her own way, and God, nothing was more important to her than that.

But it stung, she couldn’t help it, to remember that she’d always be, in some sense, on the wrong side of that glass wall.

“It doesn’t matter.” She replaced the lip gloss, took a breath. “It just doesn’t matter.”

Confidence, she reminded herself, was like lip gloss—all you had to do was put it on.

She stepped out of the rest room, turned toward the dining room, and started toward the table.

Okay, she mused, it helped considerably to see the way Del’s eyes warmed when he spotted her. He rose, held out a hand for hers as Deborah shifted and glanced up.

Laurel saw the momentary struggle to place the face with a name. She and Deborah didn’t run in the same circles, after all.

“Laurel, you remember Deborah Manning, don’t you?”

“Sure. Hello, Deborah.”

“Laurel. It’s good to see you again. Del just told me about Emma and Jack. You must be planning a spectacular cake.”

“I have some ideas.”

“I’d love to hear them. Weddings are so much fun. Can you sit down? Del, we need another glass.”

To her credit, Deborah caught on quickly, and her flawless redhead’s skin flushed at her bungle. “I’m an idiot.” She laughed as she got to her feet. “Del’s been waiting for you. He was sweet enough to keep me company.”

“That’s fine.” Look how mature I am, Laurel thought. “You should stay, finish your wine. We can get another chair.”

“No, no. I’ve been waiting for my mother and sister. I’m going to step out and give them a call, make sure I haven’t been stood up. Thanks for the wine, Del.”

“It was good seeing you, Deborah.”

“You, too. Enjoy your dinner.”

She strolled off, but not before Laurel caught the look of baffled speculation.

“I’m late,” Laurel said brightly. “Completely Mac’s fault.”

“It was worth the wait.” He held her chair. “You look beautiful.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you.”

With the smooth efficiency the restaurant was known for, a waiter removed Deborah’s glass, replaced it, and poured Laurel’s wine. She sipped, nodded. “Very nice.”

She took the menu the waiter offered, but didn’t open it.

“Hi, Ben.”

“Hi, Laurel. I heard you were here.”

“What’s good tonight?”

“The red snapper, topped with crab, sautéed in a white wine reduction, and served with jasmine rice and asparagus.”

“Sold. And a small side salad with the house to start.”

“I’ll play,” Del said. “What else is good?”

“You might like the pork tenderloin with honey-ginger sauce. We’re serving it with fingerling potatoes and roasted vegetables nicoise.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll have the salad as well.”

“Excellent choices.”

He’d barely stepped away when another server placed the restaurant’s signature olive bread and dipping sauce on the table.

“You know, the service is always good here,” Del commented. “It’s better with you.”

“We like to take care of our own.” She nibbled on some bread.

“I’d forgotten you used to work here—or didn’t think of it when I suggested we have dinner here. We’ll have to have dessert, so you can check out your replacement.”

“I think it’s my replacement’s replacement now.”

“Once you’ve had the best, it’s hard to settle for less. Do you miss it at all? Working with a team, I mean, the energy, the controlled chaos.”

“Not always so controlled. And not really. I like having my own space, and restaurant hours are brutal.”

“And you have so much time on your hands now.”

“Well, it’s my time, and that makes a difference. Ah, looks like Deborah’s mother and sister showed up.” She lifted her glass toward a nearby table, and Del glanced over to see the three women being seated.

“They probably weren’t late, or not by much. She tends to be early.”

“That’s right.” Casually, easy, mature, Laurel congratulated herself. “You dated her.”

“Briefly, and long ago. Before she was married.”

“I hope you didn’t date her while she was married. After her divorce?”