The Little Wedding Shop by the Sea

As I peer past chimney pots and shiny slate roofs, the immense stretch of blue-black sea far below is scratched with dashes of white foam, and the layers of clouds above it are almost as dark. But if the outside seems so wild, the cosiness inside more than makes up for that. Like now, the delicious smell of coffee and vanilla drifting past my nose is so intense I could almost have my bed in the kitchen. I’m about to go and investigate when there’s a tap on the door.

Poppy’s head appears first, then a laden tray and her pink stripy apron. ‘I’ve got drinks and white chocolate muffins here if it’s not too early for breakfast?’

I can’t hold back my smile as I take in the size of the muffin stack. ‘You know I’m always ready for cake, but you don’t have to wait on me.’

Poppy’s nose wrinkles. ‘You’re technically still on holiday so being spoiled is fine. I’ve been here since six this morning doing final cupcake designs for a wedding reception next week, so I’m ready for a break.’ She grabs a mug, takes a sip of her drink, and her muffin is already peeled.

‘Go on, tell me every last drooly detail …’

She grins. ‘It’s a drive-in-movie 50s-themed wedding party in a school gym. Think red checked paper cupcake cases, pink, baby-blue, and mint-green icing piped to look like ice cream, all finished with tiny triangle wafers and luscious fresh black cherries with bendy stalks. The main food is hot dogs served from a van with real ice cream sundaes delivered by waitresses on roller skates.’

‘St Aidan brides know how to party!’ I take a slug of coffee and peel back my own muffin paper. ‘And when I finally get up, I promise I’ll be dedicating my entire day to uploading my pictures from Brides by the Sea to Pinterest and pimping the Insta account.’

As well as taking photos all around the shop, I’ve also spent a lot of the last week pulling together lists of wedding suppliers around St Aidan and contacting a long list of venues all around the south west as potential hosts for Jess’s special wedding fairs, so I reckon I’m due some playtime.

When Poppy looks over the top of her gold, spotty I’d-rather-be-drinking-prosecco mug she’s giving a sheepish shrug. ‘That’s my other good-morning news. Jess has another customer for the special request service, they’re popping in for a chat with you both later.’

‘Wow, that was quick.’ I’d counted on longer to work myself up to this.

Poppy glances at her phone and winks. ‘Once our Jess gets an idea, she doesn’t mess about. They’ll be here in forty minutes, that’s loads of time to get ready.’

As I close my teeth onto my first deliciously sweet mouthful of muffin, I’m kicking myself for not unpacking yet. But bringing in anything more than an overnight bag felt like too much of a commitment. ‘Damn. My smart clothes are still in the van by the harbour.’

I’m making them sound better than they are. They’re not beautifully laundered and pressed designer pieces, folded into matching suitcases of descending sizes, like Phoebe’s would be. They’re mostly strewn across the van floor and falling out of bin bags. And it’s pointless pretending this is all down to the move because I may as well come clean here – wardrobe chaos is a natural failing. And, incidentally, one of the long list of reasons Phoebe came up with for why Ben would prefer her to me. Sad to say, my slipping bow and broken Valentine’s arrows are pretty much how it is. And talking of quivers, as I’ve been around town all week without catching even the smallest glimpse of windcheater guy, I’m hoping he’s sailed off into the sunset and taken his perfect pecs and the very disturbing rest with him.

Poppy’s looking down at yesterday’s skirt and top, in a heap on the polished boards where they fell as I got into bed. ‘They’ll do fine, you know you always look fabulous.’

My lips spread into a grin. ‘Phoebe wouldn’t agree. She tells me off all the time for having creases in the wrong places.’

Poppy laughs. ‘Stop worrying about what Phoebe says! In sleepy St Aidan, a little bit of city style goes a long way.’ She pops the last bit of her muffin into her mouth and finishes her drink. ‘I’d better dash. If you need me, I’ll be up and down putting cake into the car. There’s loads of hot water for a shower.’

‘Brill.’

As Poppy backs out of the room, she slides my clothes onto a hanger and hooks it over the copper-pipe clothes rail. ‘The creases will have dropped out by the time you come out of the bathroom. I’ll tell Jess you’ll be down soon.’

As for St Aidan being sleepy, I’d say it’s wide awake this morning. By the time I’ve coiled up my hair and let the steaming shower spray pummel my back, I’m refreshed and ready to go too. A few minutes later I’m in my T-shirt and pants hurrying back to the kitchen for a last cup of coffee and the rest of the muffins before I get properly dressed. Let’s face it, this is my first face-to-face client meeting at the shop, I’m going to need all the calories I can get.

I’m halfway – well, two steps – back across the landing heading for a comfy seat when I hear a bump, which is strange as Poppy last clattered downstairs a while ago. As I nudge open the living room door, I’m looking at the usual – blue sofas, porthole windows, stripy rug – but what I see this side of the big vase of dusky blue anemones makes me freeze. When Poppy was running through the operating instructions for the flat she mentioned lots of things, but I swear a guy stripping off by the coffee table wasn’t one of them.

Excuse me …

His shirt has hit the floor, and he’s hopping around in his socks, getting out of his trousers too.

What the hell!

It hits me that I’m moving my mouth but there’s no actual sound coming out.

As he whips round to face me, my gaze locks on some rather fitted Calvin Klein undies and what Phoebe would have referred to – with very tight lips – as his lunchbox.

Denim blue has to be the sexiest colour of all in that it shows every line and contour. Which makes it even more embarrassing that my eyes are welded to that when there’s a whole six feet and more of guy I could be looking at.

When I finally manage to yank my eyes upwards, at first I’m held up by the line of hair running up a very flat stomach. Then I finally get past that, leapfrog his navel, and come to some super-tanned abs. I’m seeing if I can actually count six in this pack when my gaze slides sideways. As my eyes come to rest on a jagged red scar just below his ribs, my heart stops banging and contracts so hard it feels like it’s disappeared entirely.

Of all the lunchboxes in all the world, this one has to land here.

‘It is Milla, isn’t it?’ His mouth curves into a grin. ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding. I wondered where you’d gone.’

As my indignance rises, I finally get my act together ‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘I could ask you the same thing.’ This is windcheater guy; he’s not going to hold off on the backchat. ‘Oliver had a bit of a crush in Groomswear so he sent me up to the overspill attic changing area. He warned me Poppy was up here baking, but he didn’t mention there would be barely-dressed women up here too.’

Damn. This far I’ve been so bedazzled by his bare skin, I totally forgot about mine. ‘Sorry to disappoint you but there’s only me. And where I come from, a sleeping T-shirt and shorts counts as fully clothed, not undressed.’

In his anchor-print socks and Calvin’s he’s in no position to judge, even if my briefs are exactly what it says on the tin. No doubt they’d be huge on someone whose bottom was smaller, but on me they’re teeny. It’s also worth mentioning that they don’t go with my top either. The joy of mismatching pyjamas is one advantage I’ve totally rocked since being single. Ben getting picky about tops and bottoms and pairs going together is one bit of the relationship I was not sad to wave goodbye to.

But back in the attic, just to be on the safe side, I yank my top down, keep my eyes low, and definitely don’t dwell on how Nic’s got exactly the right amount of hair on his thighs to make your insides melt. I slam my eyes closed before I get to thinking how it would feel to run my fingernails over the pale strip of skin on the inside of his leg. If he’d be ticklish. Or just super-appreciative.

From his low laugh, I wonder if he’s read my mind. ‘There’s no need to stalk me, Milla. If you want me to take my shirt off, you only have to ask …’ The smile he’s holding back breaks free again.

‘Dream on, mate.’ There’s male beauty we don’t mind appreciating even when it takes us by surprise on Saturday morning. And then there’s knowing you’ve got a body to die for and assuming every girl wants a piece of it. Which is way less attractive.

‘If you’d like to see more of me this week, I’ll mostly be down at the harbour. Just ask for Nic Trendell.’ His eyes spark for a moment, then he looks away and snatches a glance at his watch. ‘And much as I’d love to stay, I’m due at my next appointment.’

‘Fabulous.’ It’s totally not. If my feet weren’t welded to the spot, there’s no way I’d be watching him pick up his denim shirt from the sofa. Or notice that as he takes an inordinate amount of time to do up the buttons, I’m back to letting out mental phwoars at how taut those thighs are. Or be picking my jaw off the floor as I watch him pull up his jeans and zip in.

If there’s an upside, it’s that you can’t feel guilty for mentally undressing a guy when he’s already stripped off in front of you. And if there’s a sense of anticlimax, not relief, as he finally buckles his belt and tucks in his shirt, there’s no way I thought that.

He’s picking some smart navy trousers off the floor and sliding a white shirt onto a hanger. Pulling a face at the jacket that follows. ‘I’d take ocean-going waterproofs over satin lapels every time myself, but at least the fit’s perfect.’ He dives past me towards the door. ‘Let’s make sure we have breakfast together very soon.’

I’m ignoring the butterfly storm in my chest that his offer unleashes. Instead I growl softly, ‘Over my dead body.’

He’s not the only person in the world with a busy Saturday morning. Below, the shop is buzzing. I’m in a hurry too, but before I open my mouth to say so, he’s already out of the door and bounding down the stairs. Hopefully to the other side of town. Or better still, a whole lot further.

As for me, I need to smooth out my skirt, paint on some eyebrows, then start hoping like hell that whatever request is coming my way, it’s something tiny that will be over very fast.

Chapter 5

Later the same Saturday.

The Style File, Brides by the Sea.

Special offers and discount codes.

‘Talk about a coup for our Special Request service, Milla! Even with the ten percent discount claim this one is huge!’

This is Jess a few minutes later. And as she marches me down the stairs and into the wonderful basement department known as The Style File, my stomach is quaking more with every exclamation.

I’ve lost count of the hours I’ve spent down here this last week. I’ve put my personal discomfort to one side and pointed my camera at everything from clusters of candles to flowers in pots, past vintage dressing tables reinvented as wedding cake stands and themed place settings, to light-up signs saying L-O-V-E. There’s so much bridal pretty crammed between the chalky lime-washed and bare brickwork walls my memory stick is bursting.

Jess steers me to a metal table by the big French doors and clinks down a bottle and three glasses. ‘No need to look so worried, Milla. Have a glass of fizz and relax.’

As we sit down in the warmth of a sun splash and I look past a tiny outside courtyard full of lanterns to a tiny patch of iron-grey sea beyond, I know it’ll take more than a few bubbles to calm me down.

‘A big job … in what way?’ In theory, I should be able to handle anything wedding-related, but there’s the pressure of doing it in a new setting. I’d assumed that being a bride’s right-hand woman was as big as the job was going to get. We’ve been emailing each other this week; Calista is super-friendly, extra pretty – judging by her Insta photos – and rocking the cool New Yorker thing, and the most she’s asked for so far is my dress size and that I carry her tissues for her.

It’s a measure of my state of high-alert and how anxious I am to make a good impression that I’m rubbing at a scuff on my kitten heels. Usually I wouldn’t give scruffy shoes a second thought, let alone try to hide them, but I’m desperate not to let Jess down here. And much as I’d rather not know the details of the upcoming job if it’s huge enough to put me outside my comfort zone, I’d rather find out the worst before the customer arrives.

When Jess lowers her voice so the others can’t hear, it’s breathy with excitement. ‘We have a very charming but clueless gentleman who’s wanting to put together his very own Don’t Tell the Bride! wedding.’ She pauses to pop the cork and passes me a full glass. ‘He needs you to hold his hand all the way from now until the big day in July.’

One partner taking sole charge may be great for shock-value TV, but in real life not so much. ‘It’ll be fine if he’s easy-going. If he’s in any way picky, early summer could prove pretty impossible.’

That’s the catch about the wedding world – the run-up times are traditionally very long because perfection can’t be hurried. Couples book venues as much as three years ahead and dresses are ordered in September for delivery the following spring. A fast-track wedding is fine for anyone happy to take what’s left over but you have to be prepared to compromise.

On the other hand, there can be advantages to fast-tracking. I can’t say I’d recommend the kind of endless engagement that Ben and I had, where years went by and he always found another excuse not to set a date. Looking back, I’m sure the only reason we bought the flat was so he had yet another reason to avoid the wedding.

‘Impossible’s not an attitude we ever have in this shop, Milla.’ Jess is snapping and wagging her finger, then she’s back to a purr. ‘It’s wonderful to have uptake for our Special Request service so soon. And better still, he’s willing to pay top money for a top job.’

‘It’s a big responsibility! I hadn’t planned on this length of commitment.’ The sound of my wail tells me how much I don’t want to be here for so long. As for working so closely on a real-life wedding, that’s another thing that has those horribly familiar, invisible steel fingers closing around my gut.

‘This would work wonders for putting you on the map, Milla. We both know you can deliver on this.’ She pulls a crystal-covered pen and pad out of her pocket, scribbles, and pushes the paper towards me. ‘See if this estimate of earnings sweetens it any.’

As I take in the long row of figures after the pound sign, my wide eyes stretch. ‘But that’s an enormous amount!’ Ridiculous even. The calculator in my brain is clicking. If I added in other jobs alongside, a lump like that would go a long way towards paying off my brothers. But cash isn’t everything.

She nods. ‘It’s only in line with the demands of the job. But just think, after this you’d be a fully proven solo wedding planner, and a lot less beholden to Phoebe. It’s worth taking on, if only for that.’ Her eyes are gleaming, then her face lights up even more. ‘And here he is now. Such a shame it turns out he’s spoken-for after all, but he’s going to be a dream for you to work with all the same.’

As I turn my jaw drops and my stomach follows it. The shirt and jeans coming towards me are very familiar, but at least the Calvin’s are covered this time around.

If there’s a stab in my chest as the implications hit me, I’m not admitting to it. It doesn’t matter a jot to me if he’s taken or not when I’ve got no interest in him or anyone else in a romantic way. In fact, him being off the market makes life a whole lot easier – at least it’ll get Poppy off my case.

At the same time, I want the ground to open up and swallow me, because if he’s this spoken-for I can’t imagine what Poppy can have said to bully him into that kiss last week. I mean, what kind of engaged guy gives out Valentine’s kisses to anyone who asks? Although I may have answered my own question earlier. Up in the flat he certainly acted like he was God’s gift to women. And I have to take some responsibility for how long that kiss went on; if I hadn’t had a year’s drought and pulled him in, it might have been over in a nanosecond.

And that’s before we get to all the over-exposure that just happened in the attic. As for Poppy and me crushing him onto the loveseat …! If the bride sees that photo of the three of us, the wedding could be over before it began. Then, as he walks the whole length of the room, I’m desperately trying to ditch the version of myself who just flashed him and find the one who’s up to the job.

‘Good morning, Mr Trendell … again.’ Apart from my strangled hedgehog impression, I just about nail it.

Jess ups her purr from kitten to tiger. ‘Come and sit down, Nic. We’ve found you the perfect person to guide you all the way from now until the big day.’ She nods at me. ‘You and Milla have already met, haven’t you?’

I’m straight in behind her to cover that one up. ‘And Don’t Tell the Bride! too … how much fun is that?’ My whoop is so loud, I’m definitely overcompensating. ‘Not much time, but don’t worry, we’ll nail it.’

Nic’s pulling a face. ‘I’d call it anything but fun myself.’ He shakes his head. ‘People entrust me with multi-million-pound vessels every day of the week at my boat piloting agency, but I have no idea where to start with this.’ It’s hard to believe that the long-faced groom who’s turned up here is the same jokey guy I saw way too much of barely ten minutes ago. He must have switched to his getting-married persona on his way down the stairs, because one thing’s for sure; this version of Mr Trendell wouldn’t have been dishing out snogs willy-nilly.

Jess’s nostrils flare. ‘I’m afraid it takes a lot more knowledge to put on a wedding than to drive a yacht, Nic!’ She’s looking at him as if she’d like to eat him. ‘But if you’re looking for expert help you won’t find better than Milla.’

I have zero idea about boats, but Jess is right about the size of this; more importantly, as it’s sinking in how much time I’ll have to spend with the groom, my body’s getting sweatier and my feet are getting colder.

Nic’s clearing his throat. ‘What I do know is, this is the most important day of two people’s lives. There’s absolutely no room for error.’

Last time he saw me in the shop I was pouring out love potions – or more probably spilling them. I’ve got ten seconds to convince him I can up my game from that. ‘Weddings are our business. I promise we’re trained to deliver excellence in high-stakes situations.’ At least that’s given me a few minutes’ leeway to decide if I can actually face this. And big mistake number one is that I didn’t even think about putting my Spanx on. If I’d known this was coming, I’d have trussed myself up to be more impressive and less wobbly.

As Jess narrows her eyes, I can see she’s as aware of Nic’s doubtful expression as I am. ‘And that’s exactly why we’ve chosen Milla for you. Her appreciation of the latest trends is second to none, she knows weddings and suppliers inside-out.’

It would be easier for Jess if she was pulling me out of a bag all fresh and new but Nic Trendell’s already seen a lot more of me than she realises. Begging for kisses in a car park. Prancing around in a mini-jumpsuit and wings. Stuffing my arm up his jumper after I accidentally stabbed him. I can hardly blame him for thinking twice – it’s a big ask for me to move on from that lot and reinvent myself as a shiny professional who commands shedloads of cash.

Nic’s wrinkling his nose. ‘I always employ top-flight personnel for the agency.’

Jess’s jaw is clenched. ‘As we do here.’

Sometimes it pays to get things out into the open rather than trying to hide them. As I turn to Nic, I make my smile extra bright. ‘I know I missed with my arrow, and my pyjama bottoms didn’t go with my top. And I appreciate fewer sequins and longer skirts would be classier on a daily basis …’

He stops to give a shrug. ‘If I’m being brutally honest, I’m worried about much bigger issues here than kittens chasing pompoms.’

So he did see my pants. Damn!

Which means he also saw my legs all the way up to my bottom and possibly beyond. And I know I didn’t stint on the similar view of him. But how can I ever come back from that? And that’s before we even get to the bit where I tried to eat his face off.

‘I fail to see the relevance of sleepwear!’ Jess’s eyebrows are somewhere around her hairline.

I’m almost squeaking. ‘On the upside, I’m really strong on the fun elements, which are the bits the guests will remember and talk about forever.’

Nic pulls in a breath. ‘Okay, let’s take this back to a more professional place. In the day job I employ hard-hitting, practical people, and I’d like to do the same here.’ The way he’s frowning at my feet it seems he’s not impressed by the lack of heels. ‘So how about courses or certificates? Put my mind at rest, Milla, tell me about those.’

My heart plummets because he couldn’t have asked me a worse question. As for my shoes, I knew I should have gone for the super-high ones that really make me look like I can kick ass as well as Phoebe does. If it hadn’t been for four flights of stairs I would have. I’m so totally sunk here that I’m opening and closing my mouth and nothing’s coming out. But Jess is staring at Nic like he’s about two inches tall.

‘With all due respect, Nic, we’re talking brides here, not harbour tugs. In this industry it’s experience, capability, and a huge capacity for hard work that are the keys to success. Paper rarely comes into it.’ Her sniff couldn’t be any more condescending. ‘I’m completely confident that Milla will deliver all the way from the save-the-date cards to the going-home taxis.’

Nic tilts his head. ‘Save the what?’

I jump in to explain to cover for Jess’s eye roll. ‘They’re cards you send to the guests in advance. But first you need a guest list. And with your tight schedule you’ll have to sort the dress and the caterers, like, yesterday.’

‘Okay.’ From Nic’s bemused stare it’s clear he has no idea about any of it. He swallows and as he speaks his voice is low and dry. ‘Getting this right is the biggest responsibility of my entire life. I can’t afford to gamble here.’

I have one chance to show him I’m up to this; if he’s this desperate for some super-executive I’ll have to haul out my most sophisticated side. I sit up really straight in my chair and take a huge breath to try to make myself as tall as Phoebe, but all that happens is my merino knit jumper gets really tight so my boobs stick so far out Mr Trendell’s eyes almost pop out.

So I abandon that and concentrate on my lower half. I try to cross and uncross my legs a couple of times like Phoebe does so effortlessly, but with shorter legs it’s a lot less elegant. In fact, it isn’t working at all. In the end, all that happens is my pencil skirt rides up really high and ends up like a tourniquet around my thighs, and worse still, I have a horrible feeling that Nic got yet another unscheduled view of my pants. By the time I’ve realigned the split in my pleather skirt, his face is fully buried in his hands.

After what feels like forever, he looks up and blows out a breath. ‘Cards on the table, my ideal person specification would be someone more like you, Jess.’

Jess looks as if she might explode. ‘However much you’re willing to throw at the problem, Nic, you couldn’t afford me.’

This is my time to bow out gracefully. ‘I know I could deliver you a wonderful day, Mr Trendell, but if you’ve set your heart on someone with a stack of certificates, that’s obviously not me.’

He pulls a face. ‘Thank you for your honesty, Milla.’

As I stand up and collect my squishy velvet bag from the floor, I’m kicking myself again. As two faces turn to me their mouths are hanging open.