He laid his hand on hers on the table. “I know who I’m looking at.”

Undone, she turned her hand over to link her fingers with his. “Thanks.”

Let them wonder, she thought. Let them talk. She had what she’d always wanted right in her hand.

They ate, sampling each other’s choices, sipping good wine, talking about whatever came to mind. They’d always been able to talk, Laurel mused, about anything and everything. She found herself able to put that glass wall around them, close everyone else out on the other side and savor the interlude as much as the meal.

Ben set a trio of mini soufflés on the table. “Compliments of Charles, the dessert chef. He heard you were here and wanted to do something special for you. He’s a little nervous,” Ben added, lowering his voice as he leaned down.

“Seriously?”

“You’re a tough act, Laurel. If you’d rather have something else—”

“No, this is great. They’re beautiful.” She sampled the chocolate first, with a dollop of whipped cream. And closing her eyes, smiled. “Gorgeous. Try it,” she told Del, then took a taste of the vanilla. “Really wonderful.”

“He’d love to come out and meet you.”

“Why don’t I go back? After we do justice to these.”

“You’d make his day Thanks, Laurel.”

She tried the last while Ben walked away. “Mmm, the lemon’s exquisite. Just the right blend of tart and sweet.”

“A Brown of the Connecticut Browns. That’s what you said before.” He shared the soufflés with Laurel. “But I’m with the Diva of Desserts.”

“Diva of Desserts.” A laugh bubbled out, then she paused and just grinned. “I like it. I may get a sign. God, I’m going to have to work out like a maniac tomorrow, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings,” she added and took another bite. “Listen, I’ll only be a few minutes in the back.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, and rose to take her hand.

“It’ll have calmed down by now,” she told him. “The dinner rush is well over. But don’t touch anything. Julio can be fairly insane. If he threatens to fillet you like a trout, don’t take it personally.”

“I know Julio. I’ve met him several times when he’s come out to the table.”

Laurel spared Del a glance as they approached the kitchen. “Then you don’t know Julio.”

She pushed open the door.

Calm, she’d said. They obviously had different definitions of the term. People moved everywhere at once, it seemed to Del, and the noise level—raised voices, the clatter of dishes, the hum of vents, the thwack of knives, and sizzle from the grill—was simply huge.

Steam rose in air thick with heat and tension.