Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea - Jane Linfoot Page 0,15

panic, Mills. It’s hard to find an actual job description for what Jess is thinking of.’ She sends me another wink.

Jess is purring. ‘Brides by the Sea is planning to offer a bespoke “go the extra mile” service to couples. And you’re our number one candidate for the work.’

I’m confused. ‘But what does it mean?’

Jess’s eyes are shining. ‘The whole point is that we’ll only know what’s needed when people actually ask. But it will be very exclusive, and it has the potential to super-charge our turnover.’

My insides are fluttering with the sudden uncertainty. ‘You mean exclusive as in … expensive?’

Jess nods. ‘Any service this tailored has to come at a price. Obviously we’ll take our cut, but you’ll be very well remunerated. And it’s supremely flexible too.’

Poppy’s nodding frantically now. ‘In other words, the pay will be fantastic, you’ll never be bored, and you can fit the jobs around your other commitments.’

When I think of being at the far end of Cornwall, hours from lovely, buzzing Bristol, light years from fabulous London, on a bit of land sticking out into the sea, there’s a shudder thudding down my spine – and not in a good way. But I’m also thinking about the money I borrowed from my brothers when we expanded Brides Go West. Even though they say they’re loaded and what does a few grand each matter anyway, it would be so great to pay that back. And even if it’s not where I’d ideally choose to be, if we’re talking about widening my wedding experience, this could be another huge opportunity. If I’m dreaming of flying away from weddings altogether, this could give me the wings I need. So long as I can stomach a double dose of weddings in the meantime, which I’m not sure I can.

Jess is holding my gaze. ‘As for upcoming jobs, they’re super-confidential – but we’ve got a bride whose best friends are across the world and unavailable. She simply wants a right-hand woman on the day.’

Poppy’s face is eager. ‘It’s like being head bridesmaid, but without the dress. You’ve done that before, haven’t you?’

I’m nodding. ‘Me being chief bridesmaid for Phoebe was the start of Brides Go West.’ It all grew from the blog I did called My Best Friend’s Wedding. We’d only met the year before at Costa, but by the time Phoebe said ‘I do’ we were both hooked on weddings. Growing the blog and running fairs was a great way to leave the coffee machines behind and do what we loved instead. Which is exactly the kind of lifestyle leap I’m looking for now. If I’ve done it once, it should be possible again.

Jess’s eyes are shining now. ‘How about you start there and we’ll take each new job as it comes after that?’

I’m thinking of that tiny kitchen in the sky with the bright blue cupboards. And the cash. But from somewhere else there’s a fantasy of a thought that if I take this offer, at some point down the line, I may never have to see Phoebe or Ben ever again. And if that’s the final clincher that pushes me over the edge, I’ll never know. But for some reason I’m hearing my own voice from a distance saying:

‘Great, I’ll take them both – the work, and the flat!’ Then my sensible self catches up. ‘At least until spring.’ A few weeks away from Bristol … even I should be able to manage that. As for the extra dose of all things bridal? Well, sometimes to get where you want, you have to suffer first. So long as I think of it like that, I can grit my teeth and put up with it.

‘So, welcome to Brides by the Sea, Milla. I promise you won’t regret this.’ Jess is sloshing more fizz into our glasses. ‘Didn’t I tell you you’d be leaving the bad times behind? And you know what else we need to work on? You feeling like you have to say yes to everyone, all the time!’

The irony isn’t lost on me. But as Sera appears to ask if we’re ready to join the party downstairs it feels like a done deal.

Chapter 4

Saturday, one week later.

The attic flat, Brides by the Sea.

Desert islands and muffin tops.

A whole week later, as I ease open my eyes and let in the pale light of another morning in the little attic flat, I’m listening to the cries of seagulls wheeling high above and the distant crash of