“Yeah, but it’s added some stress—and she’s more emotional and a whole lot tired. She’s crying, then the two kids are trying to murder each other, the MOG worked herself up, plus the heat got to her. Probably because she was worked up. Add in a groomsman who started celebrating a bit early. Just another day on the job.”

Laurel put water on for the pasta, added olive oil to a skillet, then moved past Del to retrieve the salad makings she’d prepared with Mrs. Grady’s help. “It’s a good thing I did most of this ahead, because I’d hoped to duck out of the rehearsal, but no dice.Thanks,” she added when he handed her a glass.

After sipping it, she began to peel and dice garlic.

“I should feel guilty about you cooking after you’ve put in a full day. Want me to chop something? I’m a reasonably experienced chopper.”

“No, we’re under control.”

Content to do nothing, he watched her add the garlic and some red pepper flakes to the oil. “This is new.”

“Hmm?”

“Seeing you cook. This kind of cooking, that is.”

“Oh, I dip my hand in every once in a while. I picked up some of it from Mrs. G, and some from working in restaurants. It’s an interesting change of pace. When it works.”

“You always look in charge in the kitchen. That was supposed to be a compliment,” he said when she frowned at him.

“I guess it is, as long as it doesn’t put me in the same camp as Julio.”

“Completely different camp. A different camp in a different country.”

She added some butter to the oil, got out the shrimp. “Good. Because I don’t often have—or want—company when I’m in the kitchen, but I rarely throw knives.” She added the shrimp to the oil, then pasta to the boiling water.

“Do you just keep everything that goes in, when and how, in your head?”

“Sometimes. Do you want a lesson?”

“I absolutely don’t. Real men grill.”

She laughed, and with spoon in one hand, pasta fork in the other, stirred skillet and pot at the same time. “Hand me the wine, will you?”

“Lush.” But he held it out.

She set down the pasta fork, then dumped a good cup of wine on the shrimp. Del visibly winced.

“It’s really good wine.”

“So it’s really good wine for cooking, too.”

“No question.” Her hands, he thought, were so quick, so competent. Had he ever noticed that before? “What are we having?”

“For the main? Seafood linguini.” She paused, took a sip from her glass. “Field green salad, some herb bread I baked for dipping. Vanilla bean crème brûlée for dessert.”