“Mom?” she asked, her voice faint. “That’s the one?”

“Yes.” Leigh passed it over. “What do you think?”

The dinner started with a soup-salad combination that included butternut squash soup with truffle oil. The main course selections were filet mignon, lamb or wild salmon. The vegetarian entrée was a portobello mushroom stuffed with cornbread and wild mushrooms. Dessert was a trio of a mini chocolate pot de crème, a chocolate cheesecake lollipop and a shot of Baileys Irish Cream in a chocolate cup.

“I think I’d want seconds of everything,” Reggie murmured, terrified to do the math of a hundred twenty guests at that price per person.

“Me, too,” Leigh said. “We’ll do that, plus some appetizers. I think a couple of stations is easier for everyone than having servers walk around.”

Paisley entered the information on her tablet, then discussed the wine selections. As Reggie didn’t know much about wine, she stayed out of that discussion, and for her own peace of mind, she didn’t look at the price of the various bottles.

An hour later, they were finished. Leigh handed over a check to cover the deposit on the food costs and thanked Paisley, and they were on their way. Once in the parking lot, Reggie turned to her mother.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked. “It’s a lot of money. Shouldn’t you and Dad be saving for your retirement or something?”

Her mother smiled at her. “Darling, we’re going to come live with you. Didn’t we tell you?” She laughed. “You’re a love to worry, but we can afford this. The business does very well, and we’ve never been extravagant. This is something I’ve wanted to do for years. Now that it’s happening, I’m going to make it as special as I can.”

“If you say so. Don’t get me wrong, everything is going to be incredible, but the prices.”

“I looked them up online, so I had an idea what I was getting into,” her mother admitted. “Otherwise, I would have fainted at the table.”

“I nearly did.”

Her mother laughed. “On the bright side, it’s going to be a night to remember.”

Reggie was sure she was right about that.

The wave of nausea came without warning. Dena struggled to press her fingers on her wrist and forearm, but it was too late. She barely made it to the B and B kitchen sink in time to throw up.

Ursula, her fortysomething chef, wrinkled her nose. “Really? You couldn’t run to the bathroom?”

Dena was still busy trying to catch her breath and decide if this was a onetime thing or she was going to barf again. She stayed where she was, breathing and willing herself to be calm. The sensation passed, leaving her only a little shaky.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t have any warning.”