No awkwardness, she concluded, no smirkiness. She couldn’t decide whether to be insulted or relieved that Del hadn’t mentioned the incident to his closest friend.

“Here.” She handed him a generous slice of cake.

“Thanks.” He sampled. “You’re a genius.”

“Too true.” Satisfied she’d cut enough servings for now, she wound through wedding guests to check the dessert table and groom’s cake.

Music pumped, packed the dance floor. With the terrace doors wide open to the balmy night, guests danced or gathered outside as well.

Parker sidled up beside her. “The cake’s an enormous hit, FYI.”

“Good to know.” Laurel scanned the nearest dessert table and judged that supplies would probably last through the final dance. “Hey, is that the MOB?” She nodded toward the dance floor. “Girl’s got some moves.”

“She was a professional. Danced on Broadway.”

“I can see it.”

“That’s how she and the FOB met. He was a backer, came in to watch a rehearsal, and—he says—fell for her on the spot. She danced until after their second child was born, and a few years later started giving private lessons.”

“Sweet. But seriously, how do you remember all that?” Parker continued to scan the room, eagle-eyed, for any problem. “The same way you remember all the ingredients in that cake over there. The B and G requested an extra hour.”

“Ouch.”

“I know, but everyone’s having a great time. The band’s okay with it.We’ll transfer the gifts as scheduled, so that’ll be done. Then, hell, let them dance.”

“It’s going to be a long night.” She reassessed the desserts. “I’ll go get some more pastries.”

“Need help?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll beep Emma. She and Carter should be free. I’ll send them down.”

AT NEARLY ONE IN THE MORNING, WHILE THE CLEANING CREW massed over the Ballroom, Laurel completed her check of the Bride’s Suite. She gathered forgotten hair clips, a stray shoe, a pink leather makeup bag, and a lacy bra. The bra might be evidence of a quickie during the reception, or an attendant’s need to free her girls.

The items would go into Parker’s Lost and Found bin until claimed—with no questions asked.

As she carried them out, Parker swung by. “Looks like we’re clear. I’ll take those. Quick staff meeting.”

Every muscle in Laurel’s body whined in protest. “Tonight?”

“Quick one—I’ve got most of an open bottle of champagne to kill the pain.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Our parlor. Couple minutes.”

No use complaining, Laurel thought, and made her way down to the parlor to claim the sofa.

She stretched out. Groaned.

“I knew you’d get here first.” Since she couldn’t claim the sofa, Mac lay down on the floor. “The BM hit on me. Carter thought it was funny.”

“The sign of a confident man.”