Vision in White (Bride Quartet #1)(113)

"I'm not finished," Laurel said between her teeth. "Now, at the eleventh hour, it seems her brilliant cousin has run off with with one of her-the cousin's-clients. Scandal, scandal, as said client met brilliant cousin when he commissioned her to design a cake for his engagement party. Now they're MIA and the bride wants me to step in and save her day."

"Which is what we do here. Laurel-"



       
         
       
        

"I'm not asking you." She flicked her fingers at Parker, zeroed in on Mac and Emma. "I'm asking them."

"What? Did you say something?" Mac offered a toothy smile.

"Sorry, I must've gotten water in my ears from the shower. Can't hear a thing."

"Coward. Em?"

"Ah . . ."

"Breakfast!" Mrs. Grady circled a finger in the air. "Everybody sit down. Egg white omelettes on toasted brown bread. Sit, sit. Eat."

"I'm not eating until-"

"Let's just sit." Interrupting Laurel's next tirade, Emma tried a soothing tone. "Give me a minute to think. Let's just all sit down and . . . Oh, Mrs. G., that looks fabulous." She grabbed two plates, thinking of them as shields as she crossed to the breakfast nook and scooted in. "Let's remember we're a team," she began.

"You're not the one being insulted and overworked."

"Actually, I am. Or have been. Whitney Folk puts the Zilla in Bridezilla. I could relay my personal nightmares with her, but that's a story for another day."

"I've got some of my own," Mac put in.

"So your hearing's back," Laurel muttered.

"She's rude, demanding, spoiled, difficult, and unpleasant," Emma continued. "Usually when we plan the event, even with the problems that can come up and the general weirdness of some couples, I like to think we're helping them showcase a day that begins their happy ever after. With this one? I'd be surprised if they make it two years. She was rude to you, and I don't think it was a sneer, I think it was a smirk. I don't like her."

Obviously pleased with the support, Laurel sent her own smirk toward Parker, then began to eat.

"That being said, we're a team. And clients, even smirky bitch clients, have to be served. Those are good reasons to do this," Emma said while Laurel scowled at her. "But there's a better one. You'll show her rude, smirky, flat, bony ass what a really brilliant pastry chef can do, and under pressure."

"Parker already tried that one on me."

"Oh." Emma sampled a skinny sliver of her omelette. "Well, it's true."

"I could bake her man-stealing cousin into the ground."

"No question. Personally, I think she should grovel, at least a little."

"I like groveling." Laurel considered it. "And begging."

"I might be able to arrange for some of each." Parker lifted her coffee. "I also informed her that in order to accommodate her on such short notice we would require an additional fee. I added twenty-five percent. She grabbed it like a lifeline, and actually wept in gratitude." 

A new light beamed in Laurel's bluebell eyes. "She cried?"

Parker inclined her head, and cocked an eyebrow at Laurel. "So?"

"While the crying part warms me inside, she'll still have to take what I give her, and like it."

"Absolutely."

"You just let me know what you decide on when you decide on it," Emma told her. "I'll work in the flowers and decor for the table." She sent a sympathetic smile at Parker. "What time did she call you with all this?"

"Three twenty A.M."

Laurel reached over, gave Parker's hand a pat. "Sorry."

"That's my part of the deal. We'll get through it. We always do."





THEY ALWAYS DID, EMMA THOUGHT AS SHE REFRESHED HER living room arrangements. She trusted they always would. She glanced at the photograph she kept in a simple white frame, one of three young girls playing Wedding Day in a summer garden. She'd been bride that day, and had held the bouquet of weeds and wildflowers, had worn the lace veil. And had been just as charmed and delighted as her friends when the blue butterfly landed on the dandelion in her bouquet.

Mac had been there, too, of course. Behind the camera, capturing the moment. She considered it a not-so-small miracle that they'd turned what had been a favored childhood game of make-believe into a thriving business.

No dandelions these days, she thought as she fluffed pillows. But how many times had she seen that same delighted, dazzled look on a bride's face when she'd offered them a bouquet she'd made for them. Just for them.