![]() ![]() Followinghabit, she’d clipped her sunny blond hair up and back out of herway. ![]() She got back to it, began to roll out the next panel. But the cakes stood as the crowningtouch. And the pastries,she thought, and the chocolates. Emma had the flowers, Mac the photography,Parker the details. In a handful of years, they’d turned an idea into a thriving enterprise.Sometimes just a little too thriving, she mused, which waswhy she was making fondant lace at nearly one in the morning. June at Vows, the weddinga nd event business she ran with her friends, was prime time. She had three more designs to complete: two for Saturday, onefor Sunday-but that was nothing new. She glanced toward the board where she’d pinned various samplesof antique lace, and the final sketched design for the cake Fridayevening’s bride had approved. Satisfied, she nodded, and picked up a bottle of water tosip while she stretched her back. She stepped back to eye the results, to circle, to search for flaws.Vows’ clients expected perfect, and that’s exactly what she intendedto deliver. ![]() She didn’t hear the music, used it more to fill the airthan as entertainment while she painstakingly pieced the completedpanel onto the second tier of four. Alone, with Norah Jones whispering through the iPod,Laurel transformed a panel of fondant into a swatch of elegant,edible lace. ![]()
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