Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea - Jane Linfoot Page 0,50

the time we move through to the ballroom to cut the cake, it’s already been dark for a couple of hours. There are doors right along the seaward side of the room leading to an illuminated terrace with views out to the inky darkness of the water beyond, and the distant trail of lights out along the nearby headland.

I look at my phone as we make our way under a ceiling made out of hundreds of draped gold ribbons and smile at Cally. ‘Four hours on the dance floor, then you’ll have cracked it!’ We’re coasting nicely towards the end of a very successful and sober day.

‘Thanks to your chocolate puddings, I’ve had my best day yet.’ Her face softens into a grimace. ‘I just hope you aren’t counting.’

I laugh. ‘As if I’d do that.’ I thought twelve would be way more than we’d need. The way she’s powering through them, I only hope we’ve got enough to last the night.

Then, as we collect around the snowdrop-white tower of Poppy’s cake, champagne glasses in hand again, waiting to toast the same miniature bride and groom Nigel’s parents had on their cake, I hit my first big problem. I drop my bag on a nearby chair, but the next thing I know the gap between me and it is filled with a crush of excited guests, all pushing to get a better view. Even if I could reach my bag, without the yards of damask table cloths to hide under my hands are in full view. If I start throwing drinks into my bag here, even the drunkest people are going to notice.

Cally turns to me with a full glass. ‘Could you possibly hold this for me, Milla?’

It’s approximately the twentieth time today, but I give her the same beam I have every other time I’ve taken her drink from her. ‘Of course.’

There’s only one thing for it. I take one look at my own full flute, turn towards the wall, and down the contents in one. I’m retching at how sour it is, but I brace myself and as Cally hands me hers I down that too, and pass her my empty one. I’m so busy giving a silent cheer for how easily we got over that hurdle I miss that there’s a waiter leaning in from across the cake table. Before I know it, both the damn glasses are full again.

Cally’s staring at hers. ‘Oops. Same again, Milla?’

‘Absolutely.’ I fire them down, and this time I keep the empties firmly out of sight behind my back. Four glasses of fizz in as many seconds? It’s a good thing champagne doesn’t go to my head. But there’s a catch, because suddenly Holly’s here, sliding her shoulder bag onto the floor.

A moment later she’s springing forward, camera in hand. ‘Okay, grab your glasses guys! Let’s take a few shots of you toasting this glorious cake before you cut it.’

And five minutes later, that makes six. Which only goes to prove how well we did earlier; if I’d been doing this all day I’d be legless by now. As it is, I’m solid as a rock. Barely feeling dizzy at all. Except when I dip down to get my bag when the cake is cut and the crowds have moved away, the room sways a bit.

I make my way to an open door to assess the damage, hoping the fresh air will help ease the vague spin in my head when Nic arrives at my elbow.

‘You might want to go easy on the fizz there, Milla. Happy Hour’s coming up next.’

Damn that he saw. And damn again that he’s right, though for once I couldn’t agree more – I’d much rather not have all that fizz onboard. ‘Where does Happy Hour come in? It’s the first dance, then a dancing free-for-all?’ At least it was the last time I sat on the loo and consulted the running order I’ve felt-tipped on my leg. It’s so useful, I’ve barely used the list in my bag.

He shrugs. ‘Dancing for whoever wants it and cocktails for the rest of us.’ He’s nodding at a guy with a violin flicking through the music on his stand. ‘Can you honestly see people making shapes on the dance floor if the orchestra sticks to Stravinsky?’

I’m opening my mouth to protest that Cally definitely wants a disco, when Nic’s hand lands on my arm and his eyebrows go into overdrive. When I look over my shoulder and follow his