Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea - Jane Linfoot Page 0,84
for tomorrow? I thought breakfast pancakes on Snow Goose at ten, and we can talk about seating plans.’
‘Seating plans?’ That has to be the most random choice of topic.
He gives a shrug. ‘It’s in the file. We might as well do it sooner rather than later.’
We usually do that right at the end when the guest list is finalised, but after the way he’s pitched in today, if he’s showing willing, I’m hardly in a position to argue. But I may have to draw the line at breakfast.
I just hope he’s not picking up that he’s getting his own way, because if he senses he’s taking control, who knows where this will end.
Chapter 24
Monday, the next day.
On Snow Goose in St Aidan harbour.
Sea legs and butter fingers.
‘So that’s the batter done, and now it’s got to rest for five minutes.’
This is Nic at ten the next morning, and we’re in what he calls his galley and I’d call his floating kitchen diner. And I know I didn’t intend to have breakfast, but once he’d helped me cross the gap above the brown harbour water onto the bobbing deck of Snow Goose, I was already breathless. By the time he’d led me down some steep teak steps and I squeezed into a bench seat, I was so giddy all I could do was watch the puff of flour as he cracked eggs into a bowl and hang on to the table top so tightly my fingertips turned white.
Then, as he gently stirred the mixture, I made myself concentrate on the pale grey checks of the cushions, the dove grey paint on the walls, and the miniature size of the kitchen appliances. I manage to swallow down my sour saliva and croak. ‘Resting? What’s that about?’
He unfolds a clean black tea towel and spreads it over the bowl. ‘It’s the secret to light and fluffy pancakes – it helps the batter hydrate, smooths out the lumps, and lets the gluten relax.’
I’m rolling my eyes because only a guy would be that pedantic. Or Phoebe. When I think back to my mum in our tiny cottage kitchen in the years before she got ill, the butter sizzling in her age-blackened frying pan, slopping in the mixture and turning out pancakes by the dozen, there was no time to mess about with resting. What I remember is the air thick with the burning oil, my mum’s shouts of, ‘Pancakes up’. Me and my brothers diving across the red and black chequered quarry tile floor, falling over the dog, fighting to make sure ours was the empty plate under the pancake flopping off the slice. Then the grittiness of the sprinkled sugar. The tang of the puddling lemon juice. The golden syrup, sticky and melting on our chins, mopped away with squares of kitchen roll. The satisfaction of being so full you couldn’t eat another thing.
As Nic slides into the seat at right angles to me his brows knit. ‘Are you okay?’
‘To be honest …’ For once I’m going to say it how it is. ‘… I’ve felt less dizzy after ten straight gins.’ And even though he claimed the boat was big enough for entertaining a crowd, with my knees rammed up against his under the table it feels way too small for two of us.
He sends me a grin. ‘Don’t worry, the queasiness will pass. Let’s talk about something to take your mind off it – like how grateful the winery is that we accidentally highlighted the problem of their over-enthusiastic sprinkler system.’
It seems a bit ambitious, but I attempt a nod. ‘Imagine if that deluge had cascaded onto a wedding.’ It’s such an awful image I can’t actually make my mind flash it up. ‘And apart from some soggy stationery, and the dresses needing a trip to Iron Maiden’s cleaners, no one lost too much.’
He’s nodding. ‘All thanks to your quick thinking getting everyone to help with the evacuation. You definitely have a gift for averting crises.’
I manage a faint smile. ‘I’m not sure about that.’ I mean, I was the one who had the brilliant idea to site the ethical barbecue right next to the open door where the sprinkler smoke detector was.
‘Anyway, now we’re here there’s something more important I want to clear up.’ He lets out a breath. ‘This whole upcoming wedding of Pixie’s is so stressful, I can’t cope with you being distant too. I want to go back to how we were before.’