Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea - Jane Linfoot Page 0,113

maybe, I’ll be able to have quiet word.’

He comes in and gives me a squeeze. ‘Did I ever tell you how much I love you, Milla?’

‘No, but I told you that the day you pretended to be my fake fiancé and lent me a T-shirt.’ I force out a laugh, try to make it ironic. ‘Not long now.’

He grins. ‘When it’s over, I’m hoping I’ll know so much you’ll take me on as a wedding consultant.’

I laugh. ‘You’d have to get the right qualifications.’ Seeing as he was so generous to me earlier, I’m happy to return that. ‘Truly, Captain Kirk, you have to take the prize for the biggest turnaround in the history of weddings. In the end, you’ve astonished me with your aptitude for the business.’

‘Thanks for that. I have to say, I had the best teacher.’ He sends me a wink. ‘I’d better get on, I’ll leave you and Merwyn to your walk.’

And I’m left with yet another impossible job. And a bruise on my leg where I’ve been kicking myself for even imagining he’s looking at me. But most of all, I’m kicking myself for not holding on tightly enough to my heart. Me growing to like Nic so much? Of all my blunders so far, that has to be the worst. It’s just a good thing no one will ever find out about it. And hopefully, once I don’t have to see him every day, I’ll have time to come to my senses.

Chapter 31

Monday, three weeks later.

The White Room at Brides by the Sea.

Old and new.

‘So it’s between the diamanté strappy and the suede with feather tassels.’

It’s three weeks later, the white-painted wood plank floor of the White Room at Brides by the Sea is covered in open boxes, and Pixie is holding a shoe in each hand, frowning with the effort of deciding.

Pixie was as good as her word; with three days to go to the wedding we’re her first call after touching down from Glasgow. And as Monday’s a quiet day, I booked out the entire shop for the whole afternoon so the two of us could have a long, girly chat over the Jimmy Choos, totally undisturbed. Between us, that bit could have gone better.

‘Have another macaroon while you’re mulling it over.’ Poppy whooshes over with the biscuits, each topped with a butter-toasted almond. From the size of the platter and the six different pastel colours it’s no last-minute ambush; this one’s backed by Poppy’s usual flawless logistics and impeccable long-term strategic planning.

Jess follows her with a tray of Hendricks, ice, mini bottles of tonic and lemonade, and lime and lemon slices. ‘And I’ll top up everyone’s G&T’s.’ There are leaf sprigs too which is telling – if Jess reaches for the mint, it’s a serious occasion.

Sera’s sitting on the bottom step of the spiral staircase that leads up to the studio fiddling with the holes in her threadbare denim shorts. As she pushes back her mass of streaky blonde curls there’s a dreamy look in her eye. ‘It’s like me when I’m trying to decide between an exquisite tiny sequin, or a seed pearl. Sometimes it’s impossible.’

I mean, Sera? Sera always hides in her studio. Yet here she is, hanging out with a bride. Which is a measure of how special Pixie is and how much everyone wants to chip in with this. This last week I’ve talked to all of them individually, getting their take on how I might tackle this. And this is why I love it here. Because in St Aidan generally, and in Brides by the Sea in particular, every difficulty is faced together. So me suggesting Pixie might change her mind about her dress has become everyone’s challenge, not just mine. Which is why they’ve all turned out in force to support me now.

As for how Pixie looks in real life – beautiful and amazing don’t begin to cover it. She spun in here in her wheelchair, tossed back her nut-brown waves, and lit up the room with her wide, warm smile, the sparkle in her dark brown eyes, and her energy. Not that I’m an expert, but her chair’s not like any other wheelchair I’ve seen. This one has a tilt to the wheels, sparkly rims, apparently no sides and a tiny Gucci backpack hanging off the back. And even though you’d expect her to get her fingers caught in the wheel spokes, her polished nails put mine to shame.

Immie chomps on a macaroon and

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