Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea - Jane Linfoot Page 0,109
soon – oh and that itinerary you’re sorting, Nic, make that shop my first stop when I get off the plane.’
‘Okay, bye-eeee.’ I’m waving madly, then the screen goes blank and I turn to Nic again. ‘The name Pixie really suits her.’
He’s blinking. ‘She’s always been the same – a total handful, making it up as she goes along.’
I can’t help smiling. ‘I can see she runs rings around you.’
He gives a hurt sniff. ‘And what the hell happened to sibling loyalty?’
‘I suspect sisterly solidarity won out.’ Then it hits me what I’ve just said – because if he takes that the wrong way, me implying I could ever be her sister-in-law is like the biggest gaffe ever. I’m so mortified I’m colouring up under my freckly wind tan and I’ve gone so sweaty my shirt is sticking to my spine. I’m blurting to cover my confusion. ‘I can tell she’s a woman without limits.’
Nic’s face falls. ‘You didn’t see her before. The world is a much smaller place for her since …’ He tails off, then he pushes his gimlet jar across the table and gets up. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do this now.’
It’s like a switch has flipped and I’m floundering to help, kicking myself for being so thoughtless. ‘How about we get fish and chips?’ I’m thinking of the hole in my stomach where I skipped lunch because I was too busy writing copy. But mostly I’m thinking that it’s comfort food for Nic. From the hunch of his back as I follow him towards the harbour, it’s going to take a lot more than cod in batter to fix this.
Chapter 30
Tuesday, a week later.
The beach, St Aidan.
Broken dreams and free lunches.
As the weeks go by and the sun climbs higher in the sky, there’s only a month to go until the wedding. The fresh spring days are turning warmer and St Aidan’s narrow winding streets are filling with visitors. On sunny weekends the beach is thronged, and the car parks are so full it’s only thanks to my beloved boat-owner parking permit that I’m saved from hiking for miles from the van to the shop.
We’ve got a few more wedding fairs under our belt now too. Sure, every one throws up unexpected challenges – but I’m learning to run with the problems rather than letting them trip me up. Instead of falling flat on my face, I’m slowly picking up the art of winging it. I’m still coming down from yesterday’s Bank Holiday Monday fair in a converted Lifeboat Station further to the north. The more I do, the more I find that instead of being wrung-out by the worry, by the end I’m flying with the adrenalin of giving the exhibitors and the customers a wonderful time.
At Brides by the Sea, as well as keeping on top of the details for Pixie’s day we’ve been working on other requests too. There’s a couple from London who want to marry with just the two of them, ideally on a cliff top in August. It was only after I’d been emailing them for a few days that I realised I’d originally planned to have moved on by then. If there’s a tiny whisper in my head telling me I’d hate to leave town while Snow Goose is bobbing up and down in the harbour, luckily there’s always a more sensible shout ready to drown it out.
As Jess said back in February, bespoke work comes in all shapes and sizes. Last week we had to drop everything and make a whole new four-tier cake when some poor bride’s dad didn’t know the cake was in boxes in the car boot, opened it, and let a Labrador the size of a tank jump in on top of the lot.
Once you listen to the stories, you’d be surprised how many wedding cakes come to grief somewhere between the cake maker’s kitchen and the cake cutting table. In fact, the more I’m around the live side of weddings rather than the supply side, the more I’m appreciating that a wedding plan is the starting point, not the blueprint. That the world is full of random hitches that will force you to rethink. But the key thing to remember is, in the face of disaster, the world is also full of other amazing options which let you carry on.
Looking down from the Style File terrace at lunchtime today I could see the beach was almost empty, so I’ve come out for a