“Then there’s the one that smells like it’s going to be all strawberries but actually has a hint of rhubarb in it, which for one second makes you panic that it’s going to be sour but then the ice cream chimes in and everything’s lovely again.”

Asher shook his head. “That was my sister’s favorite, but not mine, so I don’t think that’s what she made.”

Polly grinned. “Then no, I guess not.”

Asher closed his eyes. “The chocolate sauce I hope she made reminds you of that birthday where you got everything you wanted, even the things you hadn’t dared ask for, and where the chocolate cake remains the cake you measure all other birthday cakes against.”

Polly laughed, while everyone else stared at them.

Laura leaned over to Bob and whispered, “Does everyone here talk like that?”

Bob grinned. “No, I would have said caramel, strawberry, and chocolate, but, you know, maybe they’re made for each other.” He sat back and gave a very subtle shrug at Polly and Asher, who were now recounting tales of best birthdays ever. It turned out that eight had been a high point for both of them.

•   •   •

Once dinner was over, Maggie started gathering plates, and they all leapt up to help her. She raised her hands. “Could you pick me some more roses, Bob?” she asked. “I want some for upstairs and I forgot to do it earlier.”

“Where did you get the ones on the counter?” he asked. “They’re not from the garden, and peonies aren’t even in season.”

Maggie clapped her hands to her mouth. “Oh my god, I am so sorry, I completely forgot in all the excitement.” She smiled at Laura. “Those are for you! They arrived today and I put the card somewhere . . .” She got up. “Hang on.” She went into the kitchen and came back out, holding a tiny square envelope. She handed it to Laura, who was blushing deeply. She was pretty sure who they were from.

She was right. Opening the card, she read the message and closed it. “Thanks, Maggie.”

There was an expectant silence.

Impatiently, Polly broke it: “Well, who are they from?”

“Nick,” said Laura. “A friend from home.”

“The brokenhearted ex-fiancé?” crowed Polly.

“No,” Laura replied firmly. “He’s not brokenhearted, he’s stubborn.” She turned to Maggie. “You’re welcome to break up the bouquet.”

Bob was already on his feet. “I’ll cut some more roses, we have plenty.” As he turned he added, “Those roses have no scent anyway.”

“Go off,” said Polly, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t hold back. Diss the roses.”

He pulled out his clippers, sauntering down the stairs to the rose garden. “I’m a rose snob.” He turned and looked at Laura. “Want to help me choose again?”