Laurel frowned after them until she realized Del was talking golf. With a shake of her head, she tossed more sugar. It wasn’t as if she’d wanted the moment to be awkward or tense. Jealousy was weak and self-absorbed and irritating.

But a little hint of it—like beeswax in spun sugar—couldn’t hurt.

Nick had asked her out, after all. He’d even left his number where she’d see it every time she took out the recipe for lathopita. Which had been very clever of him, now that she thought of it.

Of course, Del didn’t know that, but he could infer it, couldn’t he? And so inferring be just a little irked or something instead of all “how’s it going, how’s the golf game?”

Men, she thought—or rather, men like Del—just didn’t get the subtle nuances of a relationship.

He came back in a few moments later. “That’s great,” he said nodding toward the cake as he opened a cupboard. “Want a glass of wine? I want a glass of wine.”

When she shrugged, he opened a bottle of pinot and poured two.

“I didn’t know you were coming by” She ignored the wine for now as she added the dazzle of sugar fireworks to her cake.

“I’m staying over, since we’re all leaving from here tomorrow. Mrs. G’s going with some of her friends, but she’ll see us there. She’s bringing enough food to feed the village.”

“Yes, I know.”

He sipped his wine and watched her. “Flowers, huh?”

She shrugged and kept working.

Casually, and in long-standing habit, Del opened a canister for a cookie. “He’s not your type.”

She stopped long enough to arch her eyebrows. “Really? Attractive, considerate men who work in the food industry and love their grandmothers aren’t my type? I’m glad you let me know.”

Del crunched into the cookie. “He plays golf.”

“Good God! That was a lucky escape.”

“Twice a week. Every week.”

“Stop it. You’re scaring me.”

He pointed with the cookie, then took another bite. “And he likes art films.You know, the kind with subtitles and symbolism.”

She paused to take a sip of her wine. “Did you date him? Bad breakup?”

“Funny. I happen to know someone who did.”

“Is there anyone you don’t know?”

“I’m his cousin Theresa’s lawyer—and her husband’s. Anyway, Nick’s more Parker’s type, except his schedule’s nearly as insane as hers and they’d never manage to get together anyway.”

“Parker doesn’t like art films, especially.”

“No, but she gets them.”

“And I don’t because, what, I didn’t go to Yale?”

“No, because they’d annoy you.”