“What book?” Emma demanded as Laurel carried the pastries out of the kitchen. “What infomercial?”

“Flowers,” Parker said, then carted off the coffee setup.

“Damn it. Don’t talk about anything good until I get back. In fact, you have to help me haul in the flowers.”

“But I want to—”

Emma just made a cut-off sound, held up a finger at Mac.

“Okay, okay.”

In the parlor, Laurel and Parker set up the refreshments. “So, is it later?”

“Later than what?” Laurel responded.

“Later than it was earlier when you said later.”

“Yeah, it’s later.” Laurel fussed with the fan of napkins. “How many clients?”

“Bride, MOB, FOB, Groom, SMOG. Five.”

“Right. FOG was a widower. He’s not coming?”

“Out of town. You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay. Of course, it’s not okay. I’m saying that because you’re my friend, and I don’t want you to feel bad.”

“You’re such a bitch.” Laurel had to laugh. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. It’s just that I feel stupid about it. Especially now, after the hot jungle sex.”

“It was hot jungle sex?” Emma demanded as she came in with a box exploded with star lilies. “What kind of workout was it? How long? Be specific. Parker, take notes.”

“Five miles on the elliptical.”

“Well, God.” Heaving a sigh, Emma began taking out the vases, placing them. “Forget it. I’d be dead after five miles of anything, then Jack would have hot jungle sex with someone else. It’d just piss me off. There are easier ways to HJS.”

“I wonder,” Parker began, “is it possible, is it perhaps conceivable, we’re all a little obsessed with sex at the moment?”

“It’s her fault.” Mac helped Emma with the flowers. “You’d understand if you’d been in the gym with all those sex vibes dancing around.”

“We’re not talking about sex,” Laurel said.

“When did we stop?” Emma wondered.

“Before you came in. We’re talking about something else.”

“Just as well since I’m not doing five miles on some machine. What something else?”

“It’s about dinner last night. Or before dinner. I was late. It’s your fault.” She pointed at Mac.

“What? I couldn’t help it. The studio shoot ran over, and I couldn’t find my shoes. The ones I needed. Besides, you were hardly late. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Long enough for Deborah Manning to sit down with Del at our table and have a glass of our wine.”

“I thought Deborah Manning was in Spain.”

“So you don’t know everything.” Laurel smiled thinly at Parker. “She’s obviously not in Spain as she was drinking wine with Del.”

“He’s not interested in Deborah.”

“He used to be.”

“That was years ago, and they only dated a couple of times.”