Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea - Jane Linfoot Page 0,14
at the camera with windcheater guy jammed between us. I let out a shudder. Barely two hours ago I was pashing his face off; I could do without the everlasting reminder.
‘The man from the loveseat wearing the Jean Paul Gaultier spray, remember? Not many guys can carry off the extreme version. Did you hear he sailed the Atlantic too?’ Jess beams as she pushes the photo into my palm. ‘I snapped an extra in case you wanted your own copy.’
It seems rude to say I’d be more likely to want to eat my own head, so I wrinkle my nose at Poppy, try not to think about the way my heart was clattering earlier in the van, and drop it in my bag. Then, to show I’m grateful I down my Prosecco in one, so I’m ready to run when the moment’s right. Which wasn’t a great idea because before my flute hits the coaster on the cutting table, Jess has it fully topped up again.
‘So that’s one Nic I definitely won’t be getting to know.’ Along with every other one in the world.
Jess lets out a chortle. ‘I doubt you’d be too comfortable stowing away on his yacht. If it fits in the harbour here, it can’t be that luxurious.’ She turns to me again. ‘So if all Poppy’s cottages are full for half-term, where are you staying?’
Like a lot of other things, I’m glossing over this. As comfy accommodation goes, it’s a total disaster. ‘It’s called The Loft.’ The reviews from last July were dazzling, but I totally missed the ones saying that in February the gale howls through it so hard you’d get less windburn sleeping on the beach. I was there for all of five minutes earlier and that was nearly enough to give me frostbite.
Jess half closes one eye. ‘That’s the place with the draughts, isn’t it?’ Her nostrils flare again. ‘When I first came here, I’d just split from my ex and I slept on the floor of the flower store. It wasn’t great, but at least it means I recognise a person in need when I see one.’ Jess pats my hand. ‘When times are really tough, it usually means they’re about to get better.’
My mum used to say something very similar. Always believe something wonderful is about to happen, Milla. Then it will.
I’m just glad she isn’t here to see what a mess I’ve made of everything. But her voice is so real in my head it has me biting my lip and swallowing hard. I’m used to holding it together, but Jess being kind is making me crumble. I can’t possibly start to cry now when I’m trying so hard to look serious and capable.
Poppy’s smiling too, and she comes close enough to give my hand a little squeeze. ‘What Jess wants to say is that she’s happy to let you use the little attic flat here whenever you need it. Starting now.’
At least the shock stops my tears. ‘Not the one with the sloping ceilings and the little round windows?’ It’s where Poppy stayed a few years ago, and I’ve often called in since when she’s been doing her baking there.
Poppy’s laughing. ‘You’d have to promise to work as a cupcake taster too.’
‘But that would be brilliant. Thank you so much.’ My smile widens as I think of the next couple of weeks curled up snug on a sofa, the scent of Poppy’s chocolate muffins wafting through from the kitchen, instead of freezing my bum off in The Loft.
Jess nods. ‘Why not have it for the next few months?’
My stomach has dropped. Running the fairs for the shop will mean I’ll be visiting more this year, but when I planned my trip I was thinking ten days was a long time to be away from the city. Much as I love the thought of St Aidan as a bolthole, it’s pretty much the end of my world, not the centre.
Poppy’s nudging me. ‘It’s only until you get back on your feet again. Weren’t we saying earlier how great new starts can be?’ Thankfully she doesn’t catch my eye.
Jess is beaming and seems to have missed that my cheeks have flushed beetroot red. ‘If you had the attic as a base, you’d be on the spot for the other consultancy work I had in mind too.’
‘Consultancy?’ If I’m repeating it in a really high voice, it’s only because it sounds more suited to Phoebe than me.