A full ten minutes before her brother’s scheduled arrival time, she walked downstairs. The house she loved seemed so quiet, so big in the middle of the morning with no clients scheduled, no events demanding her time and attention. Emma’s flowers perfumed the air in massive arrangements or pretty little displays, and some of Mac’s photos mixed with the art on the walls.

Still, she’d changed little here, moving only the most personal items to her private quarters or into Laurel’s. But it remained very much a home, and a happy place, one that had witnessed hundreds of celebrations. And arguments, she thought as she adjusted the placement of a bowl. Laughter, tears, drama, and foolishness.

She couldn’t remember ever being lonely in this house, or wishing to be somewhere else.

She checked her watch, gauged her time, and decided to drop in on Laurel.

At the counter, Laurel kneaded a round of fondant. Nearby, six baked tiers sat waiting on their racks. Since she’d chosen a morning talk show instead of music, Parker understood Laurel was willing to be distracted.

“I’m heading out,” Parker announced. “Need anything?”

Laurel glanced over. “Great color on you.”

“Thanks. It makes me feel sunny.”

“And look the same. I could use about five pounds of strawberries,” she added. “Really fresh. I don’t want all of them completely red and ripe. Mix it up. It’ll save me from running out this afternoon.”

“No problem.” Parker took out her BlackBerry to key it into her list. “I’m going to the market anyway, after the lunch meeting. Jessica Seaman and her mother.”

“Right.” Laurel stopped kneading to cross the fingers of both hands.

“MOB wants to discuss menu and music. That one’s for tomorrow night?” she asked as Laurel dusted her work surface with cornstarch.

“Yeah. Six layers, fondant with a pleated skirt and gum paste orchids to match the bride’s signature flower.” She rolled out the first sheet of fondant. “Wait, I thought your car was in the shop.”

“It is, and it’s ready. Del’s going to drop me off at the mechanic’s.”

“Oh.” Frowning, either over Del or the air bubbles she spotted, Laurel pricked the tiny bubbles with a straight pin.

“Any message—for him or your shoes?”

“Funny.” Working quickly, Laurel lifted the fondant with both hands and laid it over the first tier. “You could tell him to stop being so asinine and give them back.”

“Okay.”

“No, don’t say anything.” She shrugged then smoothed the top and sides, pushing out more air bubbles as she worked. “I don’t need the shoes. I’ve already forgotten them.”

“Sure.”

Laurel picked up a pizza cutter, shook it at Parker. “I know your games, Brown. You’re trying to get me worked up so I’ll call him about it. It won’t work.”