“She and my grandfather only come to the States every year or two normally,” Nick told her. “Usually we’re required to go to them, so this trip is a major event for the family.”

“So I understand.”

“And I understand you and your partners managed to put all this together in under a week. Kudos—seriously. I help manage the family restaurants in New York, so I have a good idea what went into this.”

She flipped back mentally to Parker’s rundown of the family. “Papa’s. I’ve eaten at the one on the West Side.”

“You’ll have to come in again, and let me know. Dinner’s on me.Yaya, I’ve brought you Ms. McBane.”

The woman inclined her head with the slightest of regal tilts. “I see.”

“Ms. McBane, my grandmother, Maria Pelacinos.”

“Stephanos.” Maria tapped her hand on the arm of the man seated beside her. “Let the girl sit.”

“Please, don’t trouble—” Laurel began.

“Up, up.” She waved the man away, pointed to the chair. “Here, by me.”

Never argue with a client, Laurel reminded herself, and took the vacated seat.

“Ouzo,” the woman demanded, and almost instantly a glass was put in her hand. She set it down in front of Laurel.

“We toast to your baklava.” Lifting her own glass, she arched an imperial eyebrow at Laurel. With little choice, Laurel took up her own glass, braced herself, and drank. Then, knowing the routine, slapped the glass down again. “Opa.”

She got a round of applause and an approving nod from Maria. “You have a gift. It takes more than hands and ingredients to make food that matters. It takes a good head, and an open heart. Your family is Greek?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Ah.” She flicked that away. “Everyone’s family is Greek. I’m going to give you my own recipe for lathopita, and you’ll make it for my granddaughter’s wedding.”

“I’d love to have it, thank you.”

“I think you’re a good girl. So, dance with my grandson. Nick, dance with the girl.”

“Actually, I need to—”

“It’s a party. Dance! This is a good boy, handsome. He has a good job and no wife.”

“Well, in that case,” Laurel said and made Maria laugh.

“Dance, dance. Life is shorter than you think.”

“She won’t take no.” Nick held out a hand again.

One dance, Laurel thought. Her aching feet could handle one dance. And she really wanted that recipe.

She let Nick lead her to the dance floor as the band switched to slow and smooth.