Her friends were the brides now, and she couldn’t wait to dig deeper into those fine details.

Mac and Carter—traditional with artistic twists. Emma and Jack—romance, romance, romance. Laurel and Del (God, her brother was marrying her best friend!)—elegant yet streamlined.

Oh, she had ideas.

She’d hit mile two when Laurel came in.

“Fairy lights. Acres and miles and rivers of tiny white fairy lights, all through the gardens, in the willows, on the arbors, the pergola.”

Laurel blinked, yawned. “Huh?”

“Your wedding. Romantic, elegant, abundance without fuss.”

“Huh.” Laurel, her swing of blond hair clipped up, stepped on the machine next to Parker’s. “I’m just getting used to being engaged.”

“I know what you like. I’ve worked up a basic overview.”

“Of course you have.” But Laurel smiled. “Where are you?” She craned her head, scanned the read-out on Parker’s machine. “Shit! Who called and when?”

“Crazy Bride. Just shy of five-thirty She had a dream.”

“If you tell me she dreamed a new design for the cake, I’m going to—”

“Not to worry. I fixed it.”

“How could I have doubted you?” Laurel eased through her warm-up, then kicked in. “Del’s going to put his house on the market.”

“What? When?”

“Well, after he talks to you about it, but I’m here, you’re here, so I’m talking to you first. We talked about it last night. He’ll be back from Chicago tonight, by the way. So ... he’d move back in here, if that’s okay with you.”

“First, it’s his house as much as mine. Second, you’re staying.” Her eyes stung, shined. “You’re staying,” Parker repeated. “I didn’t want to push, and I know Del’s got a great house, but—Oh God, Laurel, I didn’t want you to move out. Now you won’t.”

“I love him so much I may be the next crazy bride, but I didn’t want to move out either. My wing’s more than big enough, it practically is a house. And he loves this place as much as you, as much as all of us.”

“Del’s coming home,” Parker murmured.

Her family, she thought, everyone she loved and cherished would soon be together. And that, she realized, was what made a home.

BY EIGHT-FIFTY-NINE, PARKER WAS DRESSED IN A SHARPLY TAILORED suit the color of ripe eggplants with a hint of frill on her crisp white shirt. She spent precisely fifty-five minutes answering e-mails, texts, and phone calls, refreshing notes in various client files, confirming deliveries, and checking with subcontractors on upcoming events.

At the stroke of ten she walked down from her third-floor office for her first on-site appointment of the day.