PROLOGUE
Grief came in waves, hard and choppy, buffeting and breaking the heart. Other days the waves were slow and swamping, threatening to drown the soul.
People—good, caring people—claimed time would heal. Parker hoped they were right, but as she stood on her bedroom terrace in the late-summer sun, months after the sudden, shocking deaths of her parents, those capricious waves continued to roll.
She had so much, she reminded herself. Her brother—and she didn't know if she'd have survived this grieving time without Del—had been a rock to cling to in that wide, wide ocean of shock and sorrow. Her friends Mac, Emma, Laurel, a part of her life, a part of her, since childhood. They'd been the glue mending and holding all the shattered pieces of her world. She had the constant, unshakable support of their longtime housekeeper, Mrs. Grady, her island of comfort.
She had her home. The beauty and elegance of the Brown Estate seemed deeper, sharper to her somehow, knowing she wouldn't see her parents strolling through the gardens. She'd never again run downstairs and find her mother laughing in the kitchen with Mrs. G, or hear her father wheeling a deal in his home office.
Instead of learning to ride those waves, she'd felt herself being swept deeper and deeper down into the dark.
Time, she'd determined, needed to be used and pushed and moved.
She thought—hoped—she'd found a way, not only to use that time, but to celebrate what her parents had given her, to unite those gifts with family and friendships.
To be productive, she mused as the first spicy scents of coming autumn stirred the air. The Browns worked. They built and they produced and they never, never sat back to laze on accomplishments.
Her parents would have expected her to do no less than those who'd come before her.
Her friends might think she'd lost her mind, but she'd researched, calculated, and outlined a solid business plan, a sturdy model. And with Del's help, a fair and reasonable legal contract.
Time to swim, she told herself.
She simply wouldn't sink.
She walked back into the bedroom, picked up the four thick packets she'd set on her dresser. One for each of them for the meeting—though she hadn't told her friends they were coming to a meeting.
She paused, took a moment to tie back her glossy brown hair in a tail, then simply stared into her own eyes, willing a spark to light in the deep blue.
She could make this work. No, no, they could make this work.
She just had to convince them first.
Downstairs, she found Mrs. Grady putting the finishing touches on the meal.
The sturdy woman turned from the stove, gave her a wink. "Ready?"
"Prepared anyway. I'm nervous. Is it silly to be nervous? They're my closest friends in the world."
"It's a big step you're looking to take, a big one you'll ask them to take. You'd be foolish if you weren't a bit nervous." She stepped over, took Parker's face in her hands. "My money's on you. Go on out. I've gone a little fancy, so you'll have hors d'oeuvres and wine on the terrace. My girls are all grown up."
She wanted to be, but God, there was a child inside her who wanted her mom and dad, the comfort, the love, the security.
Outside, she set the packets on a table, then crossed over to take the wine out of its cooler, pour herself a glass.
Then simply stood, holding the glass, looking out in the softening light over the gardens to the pretty little pond and the reflection of the willows mirrored on its surface.
"God! Do I want some of that."
Laurel bolted out, her sunny blond hair brutally short—a new look her friend already regretted. She hadn't changed out of her uniform from her position as dessert chef at an upscale local restaurant.
Her eyes, bright and blue, rolled as she poured her wine. "Who knew when I changed my schedule to make our Girl Night we'd get a last-minute lunch reservation for twenty? The kitchen was a madhouse all afternoon. Mrs. G's kitchen now…" She let out a huge groan as she dropped down to sit after hours on her feet. "It's an oasis of calm that smells like heaven. What's for dinner?"
"I didn't ask."
"Doesn't matter." Laurel waved it away. "But if Emma and Mac are late, I'm starting without them." She spotted the stack of packets. "What's all that?"
"Something that can't start without them. Laurel, do you want to go back to New York?"
Laurel eyed her over the rim of her glass. "Are you kicking me out?"
"I guess I want to know what you want. If you're satisfied with how things are. You moved back for me, after the accident, and—"
"I'm taking it a day at a time, and figure I'll figure it out. Right now, not having a plan's working for me. Okay?"
"Well…"
She broke off as Mac and Emma came out together, laughing.
Emma, she thought, so beautiful with her mass of hair curling madly, her dark, exotic eyes bright with fun. Mac, her bold red hair choppy in tufts, green eyes wickedly amused, lean and long in her jeans and black shirt.
"What's the joke?" Laurel demanded.
"Men." Mac set down the plates of brie en croute and spinach tartlets Mrs. Grady had shoved into her hands on the way through the kitchen. "The two of them who thought they could arm wrestle for Emma."
"It was kind of sweet," Emma insisted. "They were brothers and came into the shop for flowers for their mother's birthday. One thing led to the other."
"Guys come into the studio all the time." Mac popped a sugared red grape into her mouth from the bowl already on the table. "None of them ever arm wrestle each other for a date with me."
"Some things never change," Laurel said, raising her glass to Emma.
"Some things do," Parker spoke out. She had to start, had to move. "That's why I asked you all to come tonight."
Emma paused as she reached for the brie. "Is something wrong?"
"No. But I wanted to talk to you all, at once." Determined, Parker poured wine for Mac and Emma. "Let's sit down."
"Uh-oh," Mac warned.
"No uh-ohs," Parker insisted. "I want to say first, I love you all so much, and have forever. And will forever. We've shared so much, good and bad. And when things were at their worst, I knew you'd be there."
"We're all there for each other." Emma leaned over and laid a hand on Parker's. "That's what friends do."
"Yes, it is. I want you to know how much you mean to me, and want you to know that if any of you don't want to try what I'm about to propose, for any reason at all, it changes nothing between us."
She held up a hand before anyone could speak. "Let me start this way. Emma, you want your own florist business one day, right?"
"It's always been the dream. I mean I'm happy working in the shop, and the boss gives me a lot of leeway, but I hope, down the road, to have my own. But—"
"No buts yet. Mac, you've got too much talent, too much creativity to spend every day taking passport photos and posed kid shots."
"My talent knows no bounds," Mac said lightly, "but a girl's got to eat."
"You'd rather have your own photography studio."
"I'd rather have Justin Timberlake arm wrestling Ashton Kutcher for me, too—and it's just as likely."
"Laurel, you studied in New York and Paris with the aim of becoming a pastry chef."
"An international sensation of a pastry chef."
"And you've settled for working at the Willows."
She swallowed a bite of her spinach tart. "Well, hey—"
"Part of that settling was to be here for me after we lost Mom and Dad. I studied," Parker continued, "with the goal of starting my own business. I always had an idea of what it would be, but it seemed like a pipe dream. One I never shared with any of you. But over these last months, it's begun to feel more reachable, more right."
"For Christ's sake, Parker, what is it?" Laurel demanded.
"I want us to go into business together. The four of us, with each of us running our own end of it—according to our field of interest and expertise, while merging them together under one umbrella, so to speak."
"Go into business?" Emma echoed.
"You remember how we used to play Wedding Day? How we'd all take turns playing parts, and wearing costumes, planning the themes."
"I liked marrying Harold best." Mac smiled over the memory of the long-departed Brown family dog. "He was so handsome and loyal."
"We could do it for real, make a business out of Wedding Day."
"Providing costumes and cupcakes, and very patient dogs for little girls?" Laurel suggested.
"No, by providing a unique and amazing venue—this house, these grounds; spectacular cakes and pastries; heartbreaking bouquets and flowers; beautiful, creative photographs. And for my part—someone who'll oversee every detail to make a wedding, or other important event, the most perfect day of the clients' lives."
She barely took a breath. "I already have countless contacts through my parents. Caterers, wine merchants, limo services, salons—everything. And what I don't have, I'll get. A full-service wedding and event business, the four of us as equal partners."
"A wedding business." Emma's eyes went dreamy. "It sounds wonderful, but how could we—"
"I have a business model. I have figures and charts and answers to legal questions if you've got them. Del helped me work it out."
"He's okay with it?" Laurel asked. "Delaney's okay with you turning the estate, your home, into a business?"
"He's completely behind me on this. And his friend Jack's willing to help by redesigning the pool house into a photographer's studio, with living quarters above it, and the guest house into a flower shop with an apartment. We can turn the auxiliary kitchen here into your work space, Laurel."
"We'd live here, on the estate?"
"You'd have th...
