Savour the Moment: Now the Big Day Has Finally Arrived, It's Time To...

by Nora Roberts

  “You earned it.”

  “Damn well did. Thanks. Where’s Parker?”

  “Something to do.” Mac stretched out her legs, curled her tired toes. “She’ll be right down. Sorry I missed the Battle of the Mothers. I heard it was worth the price of admission.”

  “Brief but brutal.” Laurel yawned and thought of fluffy pillows and cool, cool sheets.

  “Do you have many wrestling matches?” Mal wondered.

  “I got punched in the face once.” Carter wiggled his jaw.

  “It adds an element,” Mal decided. “Good food. Great cake.” He lifted his beer in toast to Laurel, then watched Parker come out looking as if she’d spent the day sipping tea rather than riding herd on a couple hundred people.

  “Your winnings,” she said and handed him an envelope.

  “Thanks.” He hiked up a hip to stuff it in his pocket. “So you do all this again tomorrow?”

  “Hugely.” Emma groaned. “We usually have smaller events on Sundays, but this time of year we have plenty of big ones. And with that in mind, I’m going to bed.”

  “Better walk my girl home.” Jack stood to take Emma’s hand. “I’ll drop the truck off on Monday, Mal.”

  “Got it. Better get going myself.”

  “Thanks for pitching in.” Mac stretched. “Come on, Professor. Let’s go home and kick the cat out of bed.”

  “Can’t move yet.” Pleased it was close, Laurel dropped her head on Del’s shoulder. “Need a minute. Bye, Mal,” she added. And closed her eyes.

  “I’ll walk you out. See the rest of you tomorrow,” Parker added as she turned to lead Mal around the house.

  With her head still on Del’s shoulder Laurel opened her eyes. “I knew breeding would do it.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Parker’d be obliged to walk Malcolm out if I stuck here with you. They look good together.”

  “What? Come on.”

  She made an effort to clear her fuzzy brain, then gave up and closed her eyes again. “Sorry. I forgot who I was talking to. Of course there are no sexual sparks there, nothing smoldering beneath the surface. Nope, nothing there at all.”

  “He’s not her type.”

  “Exactly. No obsessing unless it’s about me. Haul me up, will you?”

  “If he’s not her type, why the talk about sparking and smoldering?”

  “It was probably me.” She laughed as he pulled her to her feet. “I get sparky and smoldery when you’re around.”

  “Good one. Excellent way to shift my attention.”

  “And true.” She felt wobbly, and half drunk with fatigue. “Are you staying the night?”

  “That was the plan.”

  He glanced toward the door as they approached the stairs, and Laurel knew damn well he considered strolling out just to ... be Del, she decided, when it came to Parker.

  “See, I’m sparking and smoldering again.” She nudged ahead of him, stepped up to bring their mouths on level for a kiss.

  “Sweetie, you’re all but asleep on your feet.”

  “True, which makes me a lousy Saturday night date.”

  “I like to look ahead, to Sunday morning.”

  “A Sunday morning date sounds perfect,” she said as they walked upstairs. “Especially since it’s an evening event, and I don’t have to be up at dawn. How about eight o’clock?”

  “Eight works.”

  “How about meeting me in the shower?”

  “A Sunday morning shower date? Even better.”

  She drew him into the bedroom, then remembered to shut the door—something she rarely if ever did. Something she rarely had reason to do. She walked over to the terrace doors. “I like these open on summer nights. Does that bother you?”

  “No. I didn’t hear Parker come in yet. Is she still out there?”

  Laurel rolled her eyes, considered the options. Turning she shed her suit jacket, slowly unzipped her skirt. “Maybe I’m not so tired after all.” She stepped out of the skirt so she wore only a chemise, panties and heels. “Unless you are.”

  “I’m getting an unexpected second wind.”

  “Must be the fresh air.” And moving to him she put a great deal of effort into distracting him. It was the least she could do, she thought as his hands went to work. For friendship.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  PARKER POKED HER HEAD INTO LAUREL’S KITCHEN. “GOT A minute?”

  “Yeah. I thought you had a consult and a tour.”

  “Had both, did both.”

  Laurel scraped vanilla beans into the mixture of milk and sugar in her saucepan, added the pods. “How’d we do?”

  “The consult nailed down several details, and added more. The tour booked the last Sunday we had available next May.” She glanced toward the mudroom, and the sheet of plywood blocking it off from the space and the banging and buzzing beyond it. “It’s not as noisy as I thought it might be.”

  “Not if I keep the TV or radio on, and pretend it’s background noise at an event. Could be worse. Well, it was worse during the demo, so this is almost tranquil.”

  “And it’ll be worth it, right? With all the extra space.”

  “So I keep telling myself.”

  “What are you making?”

  “Pastry cream.”

  “Want something cold?”

  “Wouldn’t mind.” Laurel prepared an ice water bath for the last stage as Parker fixed two glasses of lemonade.

  “No date tonight, right?”

  “No date. The guys are off to cheer the Yankees and eat hot dogs.” Laurel glanced up, arched her eyebrows. “Girl night?”

  “I’m thinking. Especially as I think I found Emma’s wedding dress.”

  Laurel paused. “Seriously?”

  “Well, I know what she’s after, and it feels like I started a tradition with Mac’s. I’d like us to surprise her tonight, so she can try it on, see if it works.”

  “I’m in.”

  “There’s something else I’d like to talk about.”

  “Talk.” Laurel gave the mixture a stir as it came to a boil.

  “I’m told Jack asked Malcolm Kavanaugh to join us at the beach house in August.”

  “Oh?”While she turned that over in her head, Laurel removed the saucepan from heat, covered it. In one of the bowls on her counter she broke four eggs, then broke another four, separating them and adding the egg yolks to the bowl. “I guess they’ve gotten to be pretty good friends. Plus, there’s plenty of room, right? I can’t wait to see the place myself. To wallow in the place,” she continued as she began to whisk. “To bury myself in the glory of vacation until I—Sorry,” she said when Parker held up a hand. “I get carried away with the idea of doing whatever the hell I want to do for days and nights at a time.”

  “To continue. I just got off the phone with Del, who called to swear to me on his life that he had nothing to do with the invite.”

  “Well, you punished him over the Fourth of July deal.”

  “I did. I may have to punish Jack.”

  “Aww.” Amused at the thought, Laurel added the sugar and cornstarch she’d already mixed together to the eggs, kept whisking.

  “Doesn’t your arm get tired?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jack’s fate hangs—Damn it.” She broke off as her phone rang. “Give me a minute.”

  Used to interrupted conversations, Laurel judged the egg and sugar mixture ready, so took the vanilla pod out of the milk, and put it back on the stove. While she waited for it to return to a boil, she drank some lemonade and listened to Parker solve a problem for an upcoming bride.

  Several problems, she decided as her milk had time to boil. She ladled half of it into the egg-yolk mix and went back to whisking.

  “You just leave that to me,” Parker said. “Absolutely. Consider it done. I’ll see you and your mother on the twenty-first. Two o’clock. No problem at all. Bye.” She finished the call. “Don’t ask,” she told Laurel.

  “Wasn’t going to.”
Laurel poured the mixture from the bowl to the saucepan. Whisked, whisked, whisked. “Can’t stop now. Critical, but I’m listening.”

  “Where was I?”

  “Jack’s fate.”

  “Right. Whether or not I have to hurt our beloved Jack depends on if this is a setup.”

  “Do you really believe our beloved Jack would even think about setting you up with Malcolm?”

  “No, but Emma might.”

  “If she did, she’d tell me.” Laurel thought about it for a moment. “Yes, she’d tell me. She couldn’t help herself. She’d probably swear me to secrecy, which I’d honor. But there’d be the lie escape clause. I’d have to tell you the truth if you asked.”

  “I’m asking.”

  “Then no. Emma hasn’t said anything to me, so I therefore declare both her and Jack innocent of all charges.You don’t have a problem with Mal, do you?”

  “Not especially. I just don’t like setups.”

  “None of us does, which is why none of us ever attempts one for any of the rest of us. You know that, Parker.”

  Parker’s fingers tapped the glass as she rose and wandered to the window and back again to sit. “There are always exceptions, especially when some of us are blinded by love and wedding plans.”

  Fidgeting, Laurel thought. Parker rarely if ever fidgeted. “This isn’t one, to the best of my knowledge. You’ll have to imagine me lifting my hand to cross my heart because I can’t stop whisking yet.”

  “All right. Jack’s spared. And I suppose there’s even more room since you and Del will be sharing a bedroom.”

  She frowned into her lemonade as Laurel finally stopped whisking and took the pan off the burner. “Next problem?” Laurel asked.

  “I have to decide whether to make sure Malcolm doesn’t have or get the wrong impression about this, or wait to make that clear if and when he does.”

  Laurel strained the cream through a sieve over the bowl she’d set on the ice water bath. “Do you want my take?”

  “I do.”

  “It seems to me if you said anything about wrong impressions ahead of time, you’d invite them and/or irritate him into making a move anyway. He strikes me as the type who takes a dare. I’d leave it alone.”

  “Sensible.”

  “I can be.” Laurel took the small pieces of butter she’d already set out, and whisking yet again, added them one at a time to the cream.

  “All right. I’ll just consider Malcolm a playmate for the other boys, and let it go.”

  “Wise.” At last, Laurel put down her whisk and rubbed her arm. “I like him. Mal. I know I don’t know him all that well, but I like him.”

  “He seems likeable enough.”

  “Plus sexy.”

  “Excuse me, aren’t you currently sleeping with my brother?”

  “I am, and really hope to continue that. But one must notice sexy men. And if you tell me you haven’t noticed, I’m going to have to use this ice bath to put out the fire in your pants.”

  “He’s not my type. And what are you grinning about?”

  “Del said the same thing.”

  Challenge and irritation ran over Parker’s face. “Oh, really?”

  “Just the way Del does—because really, nobody’s his sister’s type in Del’s overprotective mind. But when he said it, I thought, yeah, exactly. Which is why I like him.”

  Parker took a slow sip of lemonade. “You don’t like my type?” “Don’t be dense, Parker. He’s sexy, interesting, and different from your usual—and that could be fun for you. Maybe you should let him get the wrong impression.”

  “Blinded by love.”

  “I guess I am.”

  “And why does that worry you?”

  Laurel stopped massaging her fingers to point one at Parker. “You’re changing the subject.”

  “I am, but it’s still a good question.”

  “I guess it is,” Laurel admitted. “I’ve never loved anyone but him. Knowing I’ve got all this in me for him, and only being sure he cares. Cares a lot, but there’s such a big difference between cares a lot and loves. It’s scary, which is the way I’m told it’s supposed to be, but that doesn’t make it less scary.”

  “He’d never hurt you. And that’s the wrong thing to say,” Parker realized immediately. “Don’t you want him to know you’ve got all that in you for him?”

  “Can’t. Because he’d never hurt me, and he’d try so hard not to.”

  “Which would hurt more.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m doing my best to just stay in the moment. I think it’s working. Most of the time. Still, I can’t help looking for the trapdoors and trip wires.” And pianos over my head, she thought.

  “Sensible advice back at you. Sometimes you look for the trapdoor and run into a wall instead.”

  “I wish I didn’t know you were right. Okay.” Laurel waved her hands as if clearing a board. “I’m in the moment. I’m practically Zen.”

  “Stay that way I’m going to call Mac and get things set up for later. Six okay?”

  “Six is perfect.”

  Parker stood up, then blew out a breath. “Give me just a taste of that, will you? It’s cruelty otherwise.”

  Laurel got a spoon, dipped it into the warm cream, then offered.

  “Oh God.” Parker closed her eyes. “It was worth every whisk. Shit!” she muttered as her phone rang.

  “Do you ever think about just not answering?”

  “Yes, but I’m not a coward.” She checked the readout as she walked out of the kitchen. “This is Parker at Vows. How are you, Mrs. Winthrop?”

  Parker’s voice had barely faded away when Del came in from the other direction.

  “Well, this is a popular spot today.”

  “Why have I never noticed how sexy you look in an apron?” He leaned down to kiss her—but she saw his move toward the bowl of cream and slapped his hand away.

  “Do you want to get me in trouble with the board of health?”

  “I don’t see any agents around here.”

  She got out a spoon, gave him the same taste as she’d given Parker.

  “Good. Really good.You taste better.”

  “Very smooth, but that’s all you get.” She moved the bowl out of reach. “I thought you were going to the game with your little pals.”

  “I am. I’m meeting up with Jack and Carter here, then we’re swinging by to pick up Mal.”

  “You’re taking a limo to the ball game again.” It was, she thought, so absolutely Del.

  “What’s wrong with taking a limo to the game? That way you can have beer, not worry about parking or the frustration of traffic. It’s a pure win.”

  “I should’ve made this a silver spoon,” she said, and took the spoon from him to put it in the sink.

  “Just for that I might not give you your present.”

  Both intrigued and suspicious, she turned. “What present?” He opened his briefcase, took out a box. “This present. But you may be too much of a smart-ass to deserve it.”

  “Smart-asses need presents, too. Why did you get me a present?”

  “Because you need it, smart-ass.” He handed it to her. “Open it.”

  She admired the Wonder Woman wrapping and big red bow before ruthlessly tearing them off. Then she frowned at the picture on the box. It looked like some sort of handheld computer or oversized recorder. “What is it?”

  “A time-saver. Here. I set it up already.” He opened the box, took out the device with a gleam in his eye that told her the gift was something he wanted for himself.

  “Instead of writing out lists,” he told her, “you do this. Push Record.” He did so, then said eggs. “See?” He turned it around to show her the word eggs on a little display screen. “Then you push the Select button, and it’s on the list.”

  Okay, she thought, he’d caught her interest. “What list?”

  “The list you’ll have when you’re finished and push this.” He tapped another button. “It prints it out, and b
etter yet, arranges the items in categories. Like, you know, dairy or condiments, whatever.”

  Her serious interest. “Get out. How?”

  “I don’t know how. Maybe there’s someone in there arranging. And it has this library feature, so you can add specialized items it wouldn’t have in there already. You use a lot of unusual ingredients.”

  “Let me try it.” She took it, pressed Record. “Vanilla beans.” Her lips pursed as she read the display. “It says vanilla pudding.”

  “It probably doesn’t have vanilla beans in the library because most people just buy the bottled stuff.”

  “True. But I can put it in?”

  “Yeah, then it’ll get it next time. And you can put in the quantities. Like three dozen eggs, or however many vanilla beans you’d buy. Are they actual beans?”

  “They come in a pod,” she murmured, studying her gift. “You bought me a kitchen recorder lister thing.”

  “I did. It’s magnetic, so you can put it up on the side of one of your coolers, or wherever it works for you.”

  “Most guys go with flowers.”

  She clearly saw the hitch that put in his stride.

  “Do you want flowers?”

  “No. I want this. A whole bunch. It’s a really great present.” She looked up at him. “It’s a really great present, Del.”

  “Good. Don’t be jealous, but I bought one for Mrs. G, too.”

  “That slut.”

  He grinned, kissed her again. “I need to run over and give it to her, then get going or I’m going to be late.”

  “Del,” she said before he got to the door. He’d bought her a kitchen gadget, one both practical and fun. All that was in her for him wanted to say it, just tell him. I love you. Only three words, she thought, all just one syllable. But she couldn’t.

  “Have a good time at the game.”

  “Planning on it. Talk to you later.”

  Sighing a little, she sat down to wait for the cream to cool, and played with her present.

  GIRL NIGHT WAS A FAVORITE EVENT. IT OFTEN INVOLVED DINNER and DVDs, popcorn, gossip, and always just the ease and comfort of friends in a tradition that went back to childhood. The addition of Emma’s possible wedding dress was, well, the icing on the cake. Anticipating an indulgent evening, Laurel ended the workday by setting her kitchen to rights as Emma came in.