Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea - Jane Linfoot Page 0,63

venue.’ For now I’ll keep quiet about his fixation with plunging necklines.

He’s already shaking his head. ‘Great, point taken on the dress, but I already know that place. We’ll pass on that one.’

No surprise there then. To be honest, it would have been more of a shock if he’d shown an interest. At least this way we’re travelling fewer miles as we rattle through the options. Next, he rejects a lovely harbourside house, then an old lighthouse station, a boutique hotel or three, and a fabulous walled garden which was so quirky and beautiful I really thought it would have been in with a shout. By which time we’re so virtually exhausted we break off for more tea and cake. Then we move swiftly on to an old printworks, an engine shed. Then more country barns than I have fingers, village halls, a marquee on a fake village green. Then a pub in a disused station, a handful of converted chapels and finally an aerodrome.

When Holly brings up a tipi resort with its own beach, it’s a given that he’s going to wave that away too. But he doesn’t. Instead he says, ‘Slow down a moment,’ and then as he pours over every picture there’s that little crease in the bit between his eyebrows and a concentration in his gaze I didn’t know he was capable of. By the time he’s scrutinising the inside of the reception tipi and murmuring about fairy lights, he’s shifted Merwyn so he can lean closer to the screen. And despite everything, I’m suddenly wildly optimistic.

Holly flicks onto the next picture. ‘And this is the bridal tipi.’

Nic’s nodding. ‘More of that consolidated gravel outside there too.’ Even Merwyn rolls his eyes at that comment. But Nic’s a guy, he’s bound to notice different things from the rest of us.

I let out a sigh because it’s so romantic. ‘That huge double bed is so much less obvious than a four poster.’ Then, probably due to the pressure on my leg, I carry on. ‘Look at those vintage prints on the eiderdown, and the gorgeous painted dressing table – that’s what glamping is all about.’

Holly nods. ‘And the bed looks out across a little private bay. Apparently, a lot of couples have an early morning swim next day.’

I hardly dare to breathe. ‘And it’s only twenty minutes along the coast from here, so that’s great too.’

Nic’s running his thumb across his jaw. ‘So are there any photos of the en suite?’

Holly’s frowning at him. ‘As far as I remember, the tipis don’t actually have bathrooms.’

He pulls a face. ‘So what about the shower and loo?’

Holly shrugs. ‘Those photos didn’t make the wedding album. They’re in a central block and the facilities are really lovely.’

Nic’s leans back against the sofa cushions. ‘What a shame, I thought we were onto a winner there.’ And now he’s rejecting it.

I’m not letting this go so easily. ‘No venue is a hundred percent perfect, Nic. There will be elements of compromise with all of them.’

Nic sniffs. ‘Without an en suite it definitely isn’t going to work for us.’

Says the guy who uses the harbour master’s showers and goes to the toilet on a bucket somewhere in the bilges. But he’s the client; it’s his call.

Holly’s pursing her lips. ‘I’m afraid that’s the last of the bunch today.’

Ivy’s trying to make up for the sense of disappointment. ‘It hasn’t been wasted. It’s great for me to see the places brides talk about.’

I’m looking for the silver lining. ‘And I’ve ticked at least another million places off the list and saved us a thousand miles of fruitless driving.’ I let out a sigh. ‘So it’s back to the drawing board for me. I’ll get my thinking cap on.’

As Nic moves to get up, he sends me a grin. ‘Great, I’ll see you in another three weeks then. Or maybe a month.’

My mouth drops open so far I’m almost hyperventilating. ‘But – but – but …’ How the hell does he think we can organise anything if he’s never here? I know it doesn’t matter a jot to me if the stupid man doesn’t get his wedding, but right now I’d like to push him in the harbour. And whatever happened to tomorrow?

As Merwyn jumps down and Nic stands up there’s a sudden cold streak on my thigh where his leg has been. Then as Nic spins around to look at me, he’s biting back his smile. ‘Got you there, Milla Vanilla. What do you