“Next week?” Mac and Laurel sputtered in unison.
“We’re booked. Full slate,” Laurel pointed out.
“Not on Tuesday night. I know.” Parker held up both hands for peace. “Believe me, I know. I’ve just spent most of an hour on the phone between a hysterical MOB and a bride who feels caught in the middle.We can do this. I’ve checked with the caterer, managed to book a band. I called Emma and she’ll handle the flowers. They want some formal family portraits, and some candids. But the formals are the key,” she said to Mac. “And some traditional Greek desserts, along with a weddingish cake.”
“Weddingish?”
Parker merely spread her hands at the wasp on Laurel’s tone. “The bride is firmly against a reproduction of the design she’s picked for the actual event. And it’s a much smaller deal. About seventy-five people, but I’d plan for a hundred. She said she’d leave the design, the flavor completely up to you.”
“That’s considerate of her.”