“I’m happy for them. Is it odd for you? I mean, Emma’s the next thing to a sister, and Jack’s your closest friend.”

“I had a moment or two,” he admitted. “But they’re good together. Tell me about Barcelona. I’ve never been there.”

“You need to go. The beaches, the food, the wine. The romance.” She smiled at him. “It’s in the air.”

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.