Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea
JANE LINFOOT

One More Chapter

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Jane Linfoot 2020

Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Jane Linfoot asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This is a work of fiction. Every reasonable attempt to verify the facts against available documentation has been made.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008408091

Ebook Edition © 2020 ISBN: 9780008408107

Version: 2020-09-28

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

February

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

March

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

April

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

May

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

July

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

August

Chapter 39

P.S.

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Jane Linfoot

About the Publisher

For Yoyo, my wonderful Old English Sheepdog, beside me all day, every day.

25.3.2004 – 26.5.2020

Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.

—Marilyn Monroe

FEBRUARY

Chapter 1
Friday, Valentine’s Day.
The Harbourside, St Aidan, Cornwall.
Early birds and aftershocks.

It’s a boy!

There are certain significant moments in life you know you’re going to relive again and again. As those three small words bounce off my phone screen and resonate around inside my skull, I’m on the edge of a huge crowd of people with one of my oldest friends, Poppy, at my elbow, but I couldn’t feel any more alone. It’s the sting of the salty wind on my cheeks that’s being etched on my memory, the blackness of the water lapping against the quay, the dark lines of boat masts etched against the sky. The curve of lights out around the bay edge.

Even when you know a metaphorical tidal wave is coming your way, it’s still hard to predict how it will demolish you. I expected this would blow my heart apart, but it actually hits way lower. It’s nothing like the thousand tiny glass shards in my chest I was braced for, more a boot in my bowel.

All the same, I’d still rather know than not.

When your closest friend and business partner accidentally hooks up with your fiancé – well, my fiancé – then they decide that’s how it should have been all along. And then seal the deal with a baby.

This baby.

Let’s just say, this text from Lucy, our maternity-cover office assistant, is the latest in a year of seismic shocks.

In case you hadn’t already guessed, this is all playing out in tiny St Aidan on the furthest edge of Cornwall where the land meets the sea. Where the higgledy-piggledy cottages that start at the edge of the cobbles stack up the hillside in shadowy lines behind me. It’s somehow ironic that we’re out on this freezing February night waiting for a firework display to begin; that this tiny baby who’s turned my life upside down for the last few months has now claimed the Brides by the Sea Valentine’s Day celebrations as his own too.

Poppy is next to me, pulling her Barbour jacket closed against the slice of the wind, stamping her feet as we wait. ‘Everything okay, Milla? You’re lucky to find a signal down here.’

I’m watching the strings of lights in the distance along the prom being lashed by a gale. Pushing my phone back into my pocket, I say, ‘Phoebe’s had a boy.’

‘The baby’s here already?’ Poppy’s eyebrows shoot upwards in horror the same way they have ever since we played together as kids growing up in Rose Hill village, a few miles inland from here. ‘But first babies never arrive on time! The last two weeks waiting like a beached whale are what prepares you for everything ahead.’ She had her son Gabe two years ago, so she’s an expert. She’s also enjoying a rare night out on her own, but seeing as she’s Brides by the Sea’s cake baker, this counts as work rather than pleasure.

‘Phoebe won’t put up with lateness, especially not from a baby.’ Realistically she was never going to let herself get to the size of an elephant. Even with something as unpredictable as childbirth, she’s the kind of person who plans scrupulously and always comes up smelling of roses. And she’s good at it too. Like popping her baby out on Valentine’s Day, exactly a year to the day after she and my ex, Ben, got together – it takes a special kind of very dedicated control-freak to pull that off.

‘Christmas effing crackers, that wasn’t in the plan was it?’

I’m shaking my head at Poppy. ‘I haven’t even turned the bed down at my Airbnb yet.’ Okay, admittedly I’ve been at the wedding shop catching up with everyone since I arrived earlier this afternoon. But somehow, I’d counted on having more time to settle in. Get myself ready. Put my hard hat on.

It’s odd to think that this time last year I still had a fiancé and the flat we shared. Then, somewhere around midnight, my whole life plummeted to oblivion – in a Titanic-hits-the-iceberg kind of way. I’ll save the goriest details for later. But, just like the iceberg, I did not see this one coming. I’d been Phoebe’s head bridesmaid when she’d got married six years earlier and our business had sprung from us organising her wedding, so it was natural that I’d support her when her husband Harry walked out. And when she was suddenly left without a partner for the black-tie Valentine’s ball we’d paid a fortune for her to go to, I didn’t think twice about lending her my fiancé Ben. They were my two most trusted people, in business and in life. The last thing I imagined was them ending up in bed together when she’d been so meticulous about showing me the separate rooms on the booking.

What’s the old saying? One kiss is all it takes. Admittedly it was a bit more than that. A lot more. Enough to throw a wrecking ball through my relationship with Ben. But we were all very adult about it. Or at least, they were. However much I kicked and yelled, it wasn’t going to help – the damage was done, what I’d had was already gone. He moved his stuff around the corner into her place. And we went on from there.

But after those long years literally spending all my waking hours scrambling to make a go of our Brides Go West wedding company, and borrowing to the hilt, I couldn’t afford to let the business slide and lose that as well. But it was more than that. As my life imploded and my self-esteem went with it, Brides Go West became my one refuge. I might feel like a worm in every other area, but an award-winning business lets me hold my head high. Phoebe and Ben might have whipped every other metaphorical carpet out from under me, but I refuse to let them run away with the business too.

So, for the last nine months I’ve watched Phoebe’s bump growing across the office desk like a slow-motion horror movie. In the end I decided if I actually had to be there for the birth, my screams were going to be louder than the ones coming from the labour ward. So after a whole year of gritting my teeth so hard they’re stumps of their former selves, I left town for a couple of weeks around the baby’s due date.

Poppy’s arm slides around my shoulder. ‘You do know you are worth more than this?’ Her voice is low in my ear. ‘It might feel like the end of the world now …’

I’ve heard it so many times I can finish it myself. ‘… but it will get better.’ The problem is, deep down, I can’t imagine ever getting to a place where there isn’t a stone in my gut and my chest isn’t aching. When I can look at a wedding dress and not have my mouth fill with the taste of sour lemons. Which isn’t the most practical thing to happen when I write about the damn things most days on our blog.

Poppy lets out a groan. ‘Sorry, it’s not the best timing, but you’re about to meet Gary and Ken. They’re doing a great job giving out flyers for our Brides by the Sea cocktail event later, but they’re insatiably curious too.’ She pulls a face. ‘Remember what it’s like in small-town St Aidan?’

I grimace. ‘Where everybody knows, and everybody cares?’ It’s very different from Bristol where I’ve been happily anonymous for the last twelve years. As a teenager growing up here, I dodged the worst of the spotlight because my mum was ill and I was her carer. When you barely leave the house, you become pretty invisible. But even if I don’t recognise many of the faces in the crowd here tonight, the reason I’ve run back here now is to be with my oldest friends.

As Poppy and I are both in the wedding business, we’re often in touch. And as my life unravelled, Poppy’s the one who’s been there for me, texting and messaging. And she was the one who literally saved my sanity when she suggested I take this working holiday. I know if Ben were the last guy in the world on a desert island, I’d actually have to make a boat and leave. And that’s saying a lot from me, who came bottom of the class in woodwork. But however much I don’t want Ben anymore, this baby moment is still so monumental it’s a relief to be three hours down the road.

‘So who are Ken and Gary?’ So far as I can see they have great taste in tight, spangly shorts and are experts at elbowing their way through a crowd while rocking their Cupid costumes.

‘They run a highly decorated local B&B, and they’re also stars of the Hungry Shark’s karaoke nights and the Chamber of Commerce.’

I shake my head. ‘They were never going to let a fancy-dress Valentine’s pub crawl pass quietly.’

Poppy calls to them as they wriggle into our space on the cobbles. ‘Hello, you two, you’re the only men I know who can wear so little red lamé and make it work.’

The smaller, portlier one fans his fingers in front of his face. ‘Thanks, Poppy, you’re a sweetheart, as ever.’ He turns to me and flutters eyelashes so long they have to be fake. ‘You’re from Brides Go West, aren’t you? We saw you getting out of your van earlier.’

‘Also known as Milla Fenton.’ This is where I have to admit I’ve half borrowed/half absconded with the works vehicle, although it was actually mine to start with. As it’s got two-foot-high light-up letters on the top, it’s not exactly subtle.

‘Lovely to meet you, Milla, there’s a lot of vintage camper envy going on here. We’ve always wanted pink paintwork and our names in lights, haven’t we, Ken?’ He turns to Poppy. ‘So, do tell, is this another of Jess’s protégés coming to sprinkle her fairy dust on Brides by the Sea?’

As if he hasn’t got enough of my attention already with his all-over sequined T-shirt and matching wings, Ken grabs my arm. ‘It’s the most wonderful shop Jess has created here, four floors of bridal gorgeousness overlooking the sea!’

I’m about to tell him the shop’s a big favourite of our Brides Go West blog followers too, but Gary carries on seamlessly. ‘Poppy’s the cake maker there. The five-tier confection she made for us was Cornwall’s first EVER naked wedding cake. But you probably know that?’

Ken and Gary seem to ask non-stop questions with no space for answers, but Poppy finally dives in. ‘Milla’s here for a couple of weeks to help with social media and to set up some special wedding fairs for the Brides by the Sea anniversary.’

Gary’s eyes are popping. ‘Fabulous and even more fabulous! Ten years since Jess took over the whole building, how amazing is that?’

Ken’s carrying on. ‘And a whole year of birthday celebrations starting with tonight’s fireworks … did you know they’re actually Jess’s Valentine’s present from her fiancé Bart?’

Gary gives a sigh. ‘He’s our favourite pirate – handsome and loaded, she can’t go wrong there. We wouldn’t have thrown him out of our bed would we, Ken?’

Ken gives a shudder. ‘Speak for yourself, Gaz, he’s years too old for me. But who’d have thought? He offers her diamonds, and she asks for fireworks instead …’

As if on cue, a huge boom echoes across the bay, and a cascade of multi-coloured stars arches up, then shimmers down the sky and falls into the sea.

Poppy’s murmuring in my ear. ‘They’re letting them off from pontoons anchored out beyond the harbour. Watch out for the Valentine-themed ones too.’ Her smile widens. ‘Jess and Bart are down the front, if she chose this over a Tiffany necklace, we should be in for a spectacular display.’

As the explosions rock through my body and the wind splits the coloured reflections on the water into a thousand mirrored fragments, the people around me huddling deep into their padded jackets are letting out gasps and wows. Again and again the starbursts rip through the blue velvet sky above the bay. And as I listen to the swish of the waves rushing up the beach underneath the fireworks’ bangs, I’m remembering how final it felt as I pushed the keys of our flat through the estate agent’s letterbox earlier this morning. It’s as if I’m watching my old life disintegrating into pieces high above me. I couldn’t cry then, but now, in the dark, my tears are flowing too fast to wipe them away.

As I take a moment to dip in my bag for a dry hanky and look back at the boats on the harbour, there’s a lone figure leaning against a mast. So maybe I’m not the only person in the world on their own tonight. It just feels that way.

Poppy nudges me. ‘We must be close to the end, don’t miss the best bit.’

As I look back up at the sky, there’s a volley of booms above the waves and the heavens fill with red heart-shaped outlines that sparkle and crackle. Then there’s a final rattle of explosions and they all drift downwards. As they sink behind the line where the sky meets the water and everyone starts to cheer, it feels a lot more bitter than sweet for me.

My phone beeps and this time Poppy’s watching me. ‘More news?’

I nod. Then, as I read, my saliva turns sour again. ‘Hunter Benedict, 2.8kg.’

Poppy’s brow furrows. ‘If it’s upsetting you, why not switch it off?’

I push my phone away and pull out another tissue. Ugly nose-blowing is one of Phoebe’s worst hates but right now I’m past caring. I can’t help my wail either. ‘Hunter was my name, I bagged it first. I know I found it on her wellies, but it still feels like she’s stolen it.’ Baby names are a whole minefield of rules I’ve only dipped my toe into since I turned thirty and it seems like our entire friendship group apart from me suddenly got pregnant. You can’t call a baby the same name as any other child you’ve ever heard of, but at least for people like me where children are lightyears away, it’s still possible to stake an advance claim. Or it should be if your friends aren’t completely disrespectful. This feels like Phoebe’s final wave of the finger.

Poppy’s hugging me again. ‘Pinching your name is outrageous.’

‘It bloody is.’ I’m staring at the black smudges on the hanky, knowing there’s worse on my face. ‘I might go back to the van for a moment.’

Poppy links arms with me. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve got a few minutes before we need to be back at the shop. I’m in charge of cocktails so the bar will open when we get there.’ We break away from the crowd and hurry to where the van is tucked away beyond a line of fishermen’s cottages at the end of the quay.

‘Okay, time for repairs.’ I open the door and heave myself into the driver’s seat, and peer into the rearview mirror.

As Poppy joins me from the passenger side, she’s staring around the inside of the van. ‘Even though it’s dark, how cool is this interior?’

As I scrub away my panda eyes and dab at the blotches on my cheeks, I’m already feeling calmer. ‘I still love the pink-and-white-checked seats.’

Poppy passes me a lippy from her pocket. ‘Here, try this – fuchsia gives you a lift every time.’ She’s biting her lip as she watches me put it on. ‘I know today’s been the crappest, with handing in your keys and the baby coming. But at least that’s the worst over.’

I look sideways at her in the half light. ‘You’re going to tell me it’s time for a new start?’

‘Well isn’t it? St Aidan is heaving, the singles club is out there running wild.’ Her face twists into a grin. ‘It would be a shame to waste the opportunity.’

As I let out a breath, I’m sorry to flatten the mood. ‘The last thing I want is another boyfriend.’

She laughs. ‘Who said anything about committing? It just feels like it’s time for you to stop being sad and get back to having a good time.’

I blow. ‘We both know Ben is a tosser and I’m better off without him. But am I ready to hit the world and party?’ I really don’t think so.

Her eyebrows edge upwards. ‘How about your challenge for this evening is to collect five kisses?’

I can’t believe how impossible that sounds. ‘When I was twenty-one and first went to Bristol I’d have done it in five seconds. Now I feel I’d struggle if I had five years.’

Poppy’s eyes are wide. ‘This is so much worse than I thought. Let’s set a more achievable target – how about one kiss, and all evening to claim it?’ She sends me a wink. ‘It’s dark, you’ll never see them again. And it’s a watershed – once you’ve crossed the making-out bridge you’ll be able to get on with the rest of your life.’

‘I—I—I …’ It’s all sounding very ‘old-style hen party’. Someone should tell her, hens have moved on, these days they don’t get smashed, they do self-care. If she’d suggested kick-starting my new life with a massage therapy afternoon at The Harbourside Hotel, I’d be so much more up for it.

She’s wiggling her eyebrows, which is never a good sign. ‘Hunk coming our way now, he looks like he’ll do nicely. Get your window down and shout him over.’ She’s sitting up straighter. ‘In fact, no need, he’s coming straight for us!’

As he saunters our way, what I’m getting is dark hair blowing in the gale. Shadowy cheekbones. A chunky sweater inside an open windcheater jacket.

I’m muttering. ‘Considering the weather, it seems like someone’s completely missed the point of wind wear.’

Poppy’s hissing back. ‘You can’t write him off because he hasn’t done up his coat, I need a better excuse than that.’

I reach for the window winder. Being vintage, they’re the keep-fit, do-it-yourself version. By the time the glass slides down far enough for me to speak, I’m breathless from the exertion. ‘Anything we can do to help you?’ However much he’s making a beeline towards us, I’m confident there won’t be.

Poppy lets out a low laugh behind me. ‘You’ll have to be more direct than that to score.’

He clears his throat. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help noticing your van when you parked it earlier.’

I’m used to comments, we get them all the time. ‘The pink was deliberate. Hopefully it sidesteps dirty white and dated cream but still shouts bride really tastefully.’

He’s blinking at me. ‘Sorry, I’m not talking about the colour. You’ve parked in the boat owners’ area – if you don’t display a permit the wardens will ticket you.’

Poppy gives a low laugh. ‘Bribing traffic wardens by snogging their faces off? It might sound desperate, but I wouldn’t disallow it.’

I shut out Poppy and concentrate on the guy. I was up at six this morning, taking the last of my stuff out of the flat and putting it into storage. It’s been a hell of a day. All topped off with Phoebe stealing my effing baby name. I’m just not ready for another argument. ‘Well, if you’d like to step a yard to your right, I’ll get the hell out of your precious owners’ area and find somewhere else to park.’ I haven’t got the first idea where, it’s a surprise it’s this crowded.

He’s shaking his head. ‘You don’t have to move. I’ve brought you a visitor parking pass. So long as you bring it back to Snow Goose before you leave town, you’re welcome to use it.’

‘You’re offering to lend me a permit?’ I’m picking my jaw up off the car mats.

He gives a small cough. ‘It’s us against the wardens down here, I’m happy to help out.’ The permit’s already so far through the window that all I can do is grasp it and drop it on the dash.

‘Thanks a lot. I’ll be sure to return it.’ My voice jolts as Poppy jabs me in the side.

She’s hissing in my ear. ‘Go on, ask him – if you don’t, I will …’

‘Great, well, thanks again. Snow Goose, got it, I’ll drop it back.’ This is me dismissing him and it’s worked because he’s waving and backing away.

But Poppy’s like lightning. She’s already out, across the cobbles, and murmuring in his ear. Talk about sitting targets – as he turns around to the open window there’s literally nowhere for me to go.

This time he’s laughing. ‘Someone in need of a Valentine’s kiss? I’m sure I can help out with that too.’

It’s one of those instant decisions. I could make a dash for the crowd, but if I escape this time, I’ll only get ambushed later. At least here there’s only Poppy to see it. So long as she takes the permit back for me, I’ll never have to set eyes on him again. So I make my spine rigid, screw my eyes closed. Pinch my lips together for the quickest of pecks.

But somehow his hand is behind my head, and as he comes in sideways through the open window his delicious scent is a split second ahead of him. And when his lips hit mine they’re not hard and cold, they’re soft and persuasive, like warm chocolate. As I give in and go with him, it’s like there’s a super-heated tornado rushing through my body. It can’t be more than thirty seconds – thirty seconds of what? Pure, undiluted, liquid pleasure. With an overtone of lust that leaves me clutching the steering wheel to steady myself. Enough to say, when he pulls away he leaves me breathless and open-mouthed.

‘Wow!’ That’s every last molecule of Poppy’s lippy demolished. And for anyone wanting marks out of ten – I’d have to go with a straight fifteen.

‘Thanks for that.’ He lets out a low laugh as he backs across the cobbles. ‘Anything else I can help with, you know where to find me.’

‘You’ve already done more than enough.’

But Poppy’s hopping up and down, her eyes popping. ‘We’re serving free cakes and cocktails at Brides by the Sea …’ she glances at her watch ‘… any time around now. Up the hill, and turn right into the mews. If you’d like to come you’re very welcome?’

‘The wedding shop?’ For a moment his eyes light up, but then he shakes his head. ‘Sorry, there’s somewhere else I need to be.’

‘But – but – but …’

I can see Poppy’s going to push this, so I jump in. ‘We totally understand. Fireworks and cheating the parking wardens, that’s more than enough excitement for one day.’ Quite apart from never wanting to see him again, there’s no way I want to have to stare across a room at him knocking back pitchers of Sex on the Beach. In the same way that both Chris Hemsworth or Hugh Jackman are sizzling but you might not necessarily want them dangled in front of you in the same room, especially if you weren’t in the best place in your life to take advantage. I mean, every woman has her limits. And I think I’ve found mine.

His lips are curving into a smile. ‘In that case, I won’t say see you later.’

That’s good for me. I call after him, ‘In that case, neither will I.’

Poppy’s leaning her bum on the end of the van, watching him disappear into the shadows. ‘From the grin on your face, we can safely say that was instant gratification?’

I’m laughing. ‘Hell yes. Those permits are like gold dust. Mr Snow Goose just saved me from two weeks of parking nightmares.’

Poppy’s shouting. ‘That’s not what I mean, and you know it!’ She lowers her voice again. ‘But you do feel like you made that whole new “somewhere over the rainbow” start?’

I’m shaking my head now too. ‘Pops, it was twenty seconds …’

She’s not letting this go. ‘It was SO closer to a minute!’

‘As if a few seconds could change anything.’

‘But it has, hasn’t it?’ Her stare is so intense it’s like she’s peering into my head. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking!’

Phoebe stole my fiancé, and now they have a baby. Sure, my heart was banging so hard the van was shaking just before, but it’s going to take more than one kiss to mend my broken life. Not that I want to go back to serving coffee. It’s just that now weddings are trigger points for me rather than my destination happy place. In the long term, for the sake of my sanity, I could do with a change of direction. Ideally, I need a career change.

But I’m staying totally quiet on all of that for now. ‘I’m thinking, if we don’t leave in the next ten seconds, you’re going to have some very impatient cocktail customers.’

She’s laughing. ‘And I’m thinking some time in St Aidan is exactly what you need to shake you up and turn you around.’

I have to say, as we hurry up the steep, winding street towards the shop, my heart is pounding in a way that has to be down to more than us racing up a killer of a hill. I can’t remember when I last felt this alive.

Chapter 2
Friday, Valentine’s Day.
Brides by the Sea, St Aidan.
Cranberries and camper vans.

‘So what can I tempt you with? Tie-me-up-tie-me-down? Hanky-panky? A Kiss on the Lips?’

Half an hour after Poppy and I arrive at the shop and I slosh drinks into glasses from tall glass jugs, any inner howling in my head is being drowned out by a room full of revellers. And in case anyone thinks this is me channelling my inner sex-goddess, I’m shouting about the delights of the Valentine’s cocktails on offer.

With every group of guests who push their way in from the cobbled mews outside, the salt-laden gusts are blowing in straight off the sea, catching the chandeliers, making their crystals flash, ruffling the chiffon on the snowy dresses beneath the hanging strings of paper hearts and tiny studded fairy lights in the window. At one time this would have had my heart racing too, now it just gives me an ache in the pit of my stomach. But obviously I do my best to hide that.

As another wave of people unwrapping their scarves walks in, I turn to Poppy who’s next to me behind the drinks table. ‘Where are they all coming from?’

Poppy laughs. ‘I told you, St Aidan Singles Club events are huge. And we’re dishing out free stuff so everyone will call in here. As Jess says, it’s never too early to bring a single person aspiring to be part of a couple to a wedding shop.’

It’s no surprise. This is the kind of long, hard-nosed game Jess plays. In her eyes every unattached adult downing Poppy’s complimentary cocktails and cupcakes tonight is a potential bride or groom down the line. It’s the same determination Jess had when she came here fourteen years ago with a divorce settlement and an idea to sell flowers from one tiny room in the basement. And we can all see how well that turned out.

Poppy laughs again. ‘The customers are only meant to be here for long enough to get a glimpse inside the shop. Don’t worry, they’ll be off to the next stop at the Hungry Shark before you can say Love on the Rocks.’

I don’t need to worry too much about what I’m shouting from the chalkboard menu either, because I’m only doing this for two minutes while Jess grabs some more mint sprigs and whooshes some potential husbands-to-be upstairs for a quick look at the Groom Room. My real allocated job here is much more my thing – taking Polaroid pictures of happy couples on the loveseat that’s nestled in the corner by the fitting room. This is so when the customers sober up tomorrow, they’ve got something to remind them to shop at Brides by the Sea when the time comes. And so when they write their names and emails on the back of the pictures we keep, the shop gets to grow the customer contacts list.

This is how it always is with Phoebe and our wedding fairs too. She’s our queenly front-of-house figurehead, like the swan gliding above the water. Meanwhile, I’m the frantic swan feet, rushing around out of sight making things work. But, as Phoebe’s fond of saying, that way we both play to our strengths.

Poppy’s swishing her blonde ponytail, ramming cherries onto sticks like there’s no tomorrow. ‘Blame Jess for the cocktails, she got a bit carried away. Any other day, it’s Prosecco all the way, so the spills don’t show.’ As Poppy’s been the shop’s wedding cake maker for ten years, the whole town knows how delicious her baking is. It’s no surprise there’s a scramble for her cupcake towers with their mouthwatering swirls of pastel buttercream and heart-shaped sprinkles.

I nod at her as I brush the cupcake crumbs off my boob shelf. ‘You can spill anything you like on me. These sequins are very forgiving – I’ll just wipe them clean.’

Poppy laughs. ‘You make a very cute cherub, even though I say it myself.’

I’m smoothing down the pale apricot mini-jumpsuit I borrowed from the bridesmaids’ sale rail this afternoon. Dressing me as a cherub was Poppy’s attempt to cheer me up, and as the baby news hadn’t hit then, I was happy to go along with it. As for the rest of what I’m wearing, it goes downhill from the all-over sequins. Looking back, it was one of those times when going wild got the better of us. I’ve got an oversized cupid’s bow wedged across my boobs. I also have wings, a sling full of arrows, and laurel leaves stuck in my hair. Truly, don’t ask me where the laurel comes in.

I pick up another two jugs and wave them at the sea of padded jackets in front of us. ‘Anyone for a Screw on the Drive or a Heart Attack? And the cupcakes are lavender, white chocolate, and vanilla buttercream.’ I grab another two for myself and mumble at Poppy as I pop one in my mouth. ‘Bite-sized cakes are so practical when you’re serving.’

As she leans towards me, she’s waving a tissue. ‘Two things – first, there’s lipstick in your ear.’

I let out a groan as she wipes it off. ‘How the hell did that get there?’

‘We both know the answer to that.’ She lets her grin go. ‘And second – on the same subject – the guy from Snow Goose just walked in.’

‘WHAT?!’ My gulp is big enough to suck in the whole cupcake I’m holding. Then the paper case hits the back of my throat and next thing I know I’m choking then sneezing the whole lot into Poppy’s well-placed tissue. She hands me a second one so I can wipe the last of the crumbs off my eyebrows. On Phoebe’s scale of misdemeanours, this would get a similar score to vomming on my feet. I swear, I only did that twice, and never in front of our bridal customers.

The good bit tonight is that at the crucial moment I managed to drop to my knees so the worst has been hidden behind the bar table. But it leaves me looking up at Poppy.

She’s talking down to me through clenched teeth. ‘Don’t look now …’ which is completely unnecessary as I’ve no chance of a view ‘… but he’s flying this way …’ her eyes are as big as flower buckets ‘… and the eagle – er, goose – has landed …’

I can keep quiet and let Poppy do her worst up above, or I can stand up and do this for myself. I shake my fingers through the dangly bits of my hair in the hope of a bit of volume to hide behind and pop my head up over the table edge.

‘Hey! I thought you were going elsewhere?’ Listen to me! I sound as up-myself as Phoebe.

The guy pulls a face. ‘Luckily for you, I met two men who wouldn’t take no for an answer.’ In the light he’s even more beautiful than in the dark, in a lived-in kind of a way. His face is lean with the sort of bone structure and stubble shadows you mainly see on Vogue models. And somehow I just know that there’s a body to match underneath the effortlessly stylish denim jeans and dark hand-knitted sweater.

I shoot Poppy a sideways glance as I finally stagger to my feet. ‘Just checking stock levels down there.’

As he moves forward, his eyes lock with mine. ‘And I came to say how much I enjoyed the fireworks.’

As the words sink in, I’m staring at his lips. Thinking about catching my fingers in those tawny-brown tousled waves. Remembering how I slid my tongue over his teeth. Thinking of the explosions in my gut, and how he must have felt them too. My mouth is dropping open but nothing’s coming out.

Poppy stands on my toe. ‘Weren’t the rockets amazing?’

Rockets? Those fireworks … Of course, that’s what he’s talking about. ‘Yay to the amazing bangs – and those hearts floating down the sky!’ I’m frantically wiping my hands on my backside, moving this on before I make any more of a tool of myself. ‘What can I pour you? Anything on the chalkboard, we’ve got it all.’

There’s a definite spark in his eye. ‘I was wondering what would have happened earlier if I’d passed over a full resident’s parking permit rather than a visitor’s one.’ His lips are twisting as he scans the handwriting. ‘If this is what’s on offer, I think I got my answer.’

I don’t flinch. Instead, I fix my eyes on the Diesel logo on the front of his coat. ‘So what’s it to be, an Unleash Your Libido or a Lovebite?’

‘What do you recommend?’ As his sooty lashes lift there’s a flash of dark grey iris softened by the glint of a tease.

‘Er …’ As our eyes lock again, my heart thuds to a halt and a shiver zips down my spine as I remember the rush as our mouths collided. I catch a waft of his scent across the table and I’m thanking my lucky stars for the sequin shield covering my boobs. However thick the padding on my T-shirt bra is, it’s no match for a dark gaze like that. And I’m only opening and closing my mouth because no one’s asked me that yet.

Poppy comes to my rescue. ‘We’re drinking non-alcoholic Rhubarb and Rose.’

‘But that’s for wimps.’ My voice jumps into action, spurred on by the spark in his eye and the need to get this over fast. ‘I reckon you should try the Love Potion No. 9.’

Poppy turns on me. ‘Is that even a thing?’

I hitch my cupid bow back into place on my shoulder, fill up a jam jar, toss in a cucumber slice and a spoonful of berries, push in a striped paper straw and push it towards him. ‘It is now. There you go! Enjoy!’ Then get the hell out of here.

This time his lips curve all the way to a smile. And of course the teeth are going to match the rest of the package. Why wouldn’t they? In the same way that dark chocolate voice of his sounds exactly as he tasted. ‘So is this the bit where I give you my heart?’

‘Excuse me?’

Poppy’s nudge lands in my ribs as she hisses. ‘The drinks voucher he’s holding – take it off him, Milla.’

I swallow hard, curse silently at how much I’m showing myself up, and make my beam really, really bright. ‘Great.’ But as my fingers reach the paper he whips it away.

There’s a low laugh. ‘One more strawberry then I promise, it’s all yours.’

I’m shaking my head. In the wedding business you have to be super-polite, every second. As Phoebe has reminded me most days for the last six years, you need to look like you’re having the most fun, but there’s simply no place for messing about. As this evening is more of a random free-for-all, just this once I let myself go. ‘Another strawberry? Talk about demanding customers!’

He’s properly laughing now and turning the twinkle in his eyes up to max. ‘I just sailed in after a month at sea, I need all the nutrients I can get.’

Unbelievable. Just my luck to hit on a superman. ‘And I just drove all the way from Gloucestershire, but I’m not about to inhale all the fruit.’

He’s still grinning, but this time he’s looking straight at me with the kind of smile that turns your insides to molten toffee. ‘Which saves me asking. I thought I recognised a Bristol burr.’

My eyes snap open. ‘I so don’t have one of those, thanks all the same.’ I’m so desperate to move him on I push the whole bowl of strawberries at him. ‘Take as much fruit as you need. And if you’re going to collapse due to vitamin deficiency, please don’t mess up the displays.’

He scoops a strawberry into his drink and pushes another into his mouth – ah, those teeth again. Then he hands me his heart and his face splits into a grin. ‘One heart, be sure you look after it. And watch you don’t drop your quiver.’

The best I can do is widen my eyes as I try to work out what the hell he’s talking about.

He’s raised an eyebrow now. ‘Your arrow pouch – it’s called a quiver. And I’m no archery expert, but it looks like yours is about to fall off.’ His grin splits even further. ‘If cupid loses his ammunition, you’re not going to have many takers for your pictures.’

Don’t you just hate it when guys come over like they know so much more than you?

I roll my eyes upwards to the chandelier. ‘I wasn’t planning on taking aim, my bow is purely decorative.’

‘In which case I’ll leave you to dish out your Lovebites.’ There’s one cocked eyebrow and he might be laughing. ‘I’ll catch you later.’

As he saunters off into the crush of brightly coloured padded jackets and flushed cheeks, I turn to Poppy. ‘He took his time.’

Poppy’s grin is wider still. ‘And you don’t think he hung around because there was so much flirting going on?’

‘What? With me?!’ Surely, she can’t be serious? ‘Whatever happened before, you know I’m done with men.’

She’s biting her lip. ‘He liked the starter so much he came straight back for more.’ The way she peers into my eyes, it’s like she’s trying to look inside my soul. ‘If you wanted to take things further there, I guarantee he wouldn’t refuse.’

For a second the pit of my stomach turns to syrup. Then I land right back in the real world and come to my senses. Of course I bloody wouldn’t be up for anything of the kind. What is my body thinking? But before I can let out my full scream of protest Jess comes into view, her wide-leg linen trousers flapping as her loafers clip clop on the floorboards.

Her eyes are shining as she comes towards us. ‘However much Ken and Gary are stretching it with those hot pants, they’re excelling themselves at getting the crowds in.’ As she smooths her aqua chiffon blouse, her laser gaze is directed straight at me. ‘Here, take some mint to your lovely friend over there. Four weeks at sea, he must be in need of some greens.’

That’s the funny thing about Jess – wherever she is in the building, she still knows what’s going on. Who else would pick up on windcheater guy from two floors away?

But luckily I’m spared that, because Jess starts clinking a spoon very loudly on a cocktail jug. The moment the buzz in the room dies down she clears her throat. ‘So, a very big welcome to the first of our anniversary celebrations and our first ever joint event with the singles club. As most of you know, here at Brides by the Sea we’ve always waved the flag for solo flyers …’ She pauses to beam around at everyone.

This isn’t just a sales pitch, it’s actually true. For years after the shop opened the team here were all single, independent, and happy to stay that way. It’s only in the last couple of years that one by one, despite not looking, they’ve unexpectedly found their happy-ever-after partners – even her.

Jess’s grin moves seamlessly into an eye roll at her roguish and rather crumpled fiancé, Bart, who is leaning a shoulder on the whisper-grey wall. Not only did he give her the fireworks, he also happens to own a fabulous stately home in Rose Hill.

She carries on. ‘Lately, Brides by the Sea has been like cupid dust for couples. So make the most of that while you’re here this Valentine’s Day! Take a leaf out of my book – be brave and give love a chance!’

There’s cheering and clapping around the room. Jess is a pro when to comes to working a crowd. She knows exactly the right moment to start again. ‘At Brides by the Sea we always like to offer you something special …’ She waits to get everyone’s attention. ‘Anyone who has their photo taken by Milla tonight and put up on our Valentine’s Day board can come and claim a ten percent discount …’ she pauses for effect, ‘… at any point in the future. Regardless of who you’re getting married to.’

As Poppy grins at me she’s shaking her head. ‘That’s Jess for you, she wouldn’t let a tiny detail like someone being with a different partner down the line get in the way of a sale.’

Jess is gazing around the room like an empress surveying her subjects. ‘So there’s no time to lose! Get those bottoms on the loveseat and your photos on the board!’ She whips around and fixes me with her gaze. ‘What are you waiting for, Milla? Grab that camera and get snapping!’

I’d be more pleased about this if I hadn’t just glimpsed the back of a Diesel windcheater still in the room.

By the time the crowd thins out a lot later, I’ve lost count of how many Polaroid film packs I’ve got through and the corkboard hanging on the shop wall is covered in cute retro-tint photos. Poppy came to help too, which was great, all the way to the last customer. But truly, I could do without the eyebrow action she’s giving me as she ushers windcheater guy into the corner. By the time he finally sidles towards the curve of the white-painted seat, his coat is over his arm. I’m staring at a dark, hand-knitted jumper and frantically checking around to see if he’s got anyone with him.

‘So is it …’ not meaning to discriminate against people on their own, but for the sake of the picture I need to check ‘… just you?’ Behind him Poppy’s eyebrows have switched into overdrive.

He pulls a face. ‘It was, last time I checked. That’s still good for the discount?’

Poppy jumps in. ‘No worries there.’

He laughs. ‘If I’m planning a big spend, I can’t say no to an offer like that.’

Poppy’s eyes widen. ‘Maybe you should be having a chat with Jess?’

His nose wrinkles. ‘I do have quite a few weddings on the horizon. But there’s no rush.’

I can’t ignore a boast that’s even bigger than his yacht one. ‘Well, let’s hope all your wives will be very happy.’ As for where the hell that came from, I’m as shocked as anyone. I don’t wait for a reaction, instead, I nod at the loveseat and lift the camera. ‘Well, make yourself comfortable for now, I’m ready when you are.’ I’m just lining up the angle when there’s a whoosh from across the room and the camera is wrenched out of my hands.

As Jess shoulders me out of the way, she’s beaming down at windcheater man. ‘It’ll spoil the composition if we don’t use the whole seat. Why don’t you pop on there too, Milla?’

If I wasn’t so surprised, I’d already have given her a thousand very good reasons. As it is, the best I can do is to grab hold of Poppy and drag her down with me. ‘One of us either side of you, how’s that?’ I flash a smile at Jess. ‘Three for the price of two. What’s not to like?’

It’s only as we wedge our hips down between the chair arms that I realise my big mistake. With two on the seat there’d have been space for a gap between us. As three of us crash down there’s a muffled crack somewhere under my bottom, but so long as the seat’s holding up I’m not mentioning it. As I aim for my best selfie face I’m rammed so hard against a certain woolly jumper that I’m not only getting the pattern of the stitches printed on my skin through my playsuit, I can also feel every single torso muscle underneath it.

‘Big smiles all round!’ Jess is properly purring. ‘Then hold that for a couple more clicks. Okay, it’s in the can. You can relax!’

All I can say is, it’s good that I’ve spent the last year perfecting smiling when I’m hating every second. A guy’s arm extending around my waist isn’t what I’d meant to allow in my life again, even if does ease the crush. And I hadn’t planned to have stubble pressing against my cheek either. As for his delicious scent, with a lungful instead of my earlier noseful I’m practically passing out. I’m also close enough to see I wasn’t the only one with pink smudges on my ear.

Poppy is first to unwedge herself. ‘Hey, nice aftershave. Is that Paco Rabanne?’

As I try to stand up, there’s a resistance that’s a lot more than my hair wisps catching in his beard. Then, instead of an answer to Poppy’s fragrance question, there’s a loud squawk. Windcheater guy yelps and clutches his side as I’m finally on my feet.

His voice rises in protest as he points at a stick that’s appearing from the loose knit of his jumper. ‘Hey, Cupid, I thought you said you weren’t firing? You just scored a bull’s-eye!’

Oh crap. My stomach drops so fast I feel sick. When I look down at my pouch my arrows are splintered and I’m definitely one short. At least that clears up what the cracking sound was. On balance, the seat collapsing under our weight might have been better. ‘I’m so, so sorry! Have I impaled you? Are you hurt?’

He lifts his sweater and stares at his ribs. ‘No worries, it’s only a scratch.’

There’s the six pack I already knew about. As for the bronzed stomach I get an eyeful of as well, that’s just another given that goes with the territory. Then I take in a slick of red sliding downwards, huge and bright against his tan. ‘Shit, you’re bleeding!’

You know that thing with emergencies? Sometimes you freeze. And sometimes you leap into action but it’s like someone else is moving your limbs. That’s what happens to me now. Before I know it, I’ve jumped up and snatched a handful of tissues from the mother-of-the-bride decorated hanky box. By the time I’m back my hand is already so far up his jumper to mop up the blood that most of my arm’s disappeared too.

I’m not sure if it’s due to the warmth inside his sweater or the flush of embarrassment, but, whatever, I’m super-heated, puce, and there are sweat rivers trickling down inside my sequins.

Sera, the dress designer, wanders over, her thumbs through the belt loops of the ripped denim shorts she always wears. She pushes back an armful of sun-streaked curls and laughs as she starts to gather up the blood-streaked hankies. ‘What’s going on here? It looks like something out of Call the Midwife. Hang on, I’ll get the first-aid box.’

Windcheater guy’s shaking his head. ‘I just sailed the Atlantic single-handed, I think I can manage without the paramedics.’ As he turns to look up at me, he’s grinning. ‘In any case, I’m being very well looked after here.’

Don’t ask me how, but I manage to grab more tissues with my spare hand, and ram them into his. But in the end it’s just easier to let him lean back and pull up his top, while I take the largest plaster in the box from Sera and stick it into place.

He lets his top drop again and passes me a piece of splintered stick. ‘You were firing with a broken arrow, no wonder you were six inches too low. If you’re aiming for my heart, you’ll have to try again.’

I’m smiling like a crazy person despite wishing I could crawl into a hole. ‘Maybe next year?’ Like I’ll be around – of course I damn well won’t.

It’s definitely not that he’s smouldering – that’s just the colour of his eyes. ‘I might have sailed off into the sunset by then.’ As he stands and squares up to me, I can’t be the only one to have noticed the width of his shoulders. His low-slung jeans. The bulge below that scuffed leather belt. ‘One last chance to take aim while I’m stationary … It’s a lot harder to hit a moving target.’

I snap my eyes shut to close out the view, then flash back at him. ‘And it’s even more impossible if I’m driving at top speed in the opposite direction.’ Hashtag, camper van in a hurry, me getting the hell out of here. Just saying.

Jess is beaming. ‘Except you might not be, Milla.’

‘Cupid’s honour, I will.’ That’s one thing I’m certain of.

She narrows one eye. ‘I’m pretty confident I may be changing your mind on that very soon.’

Windcheater guy chimes in too. ‘If you’re sticking around then keep the permit as long as you want.’

Jess spins round to windcheater guy. ‘So if you’re all plastered up, unless you’d like to propose to anyone here right now and get the bridal ball rolling, we’ll look forward to seeing you again when you’re back to claim your discount. Anything and everything to do with weddings, we take it on. Remember, no job too large or too small!’

He ignores her immediate challenge, but his lips twist again. ‘I’ll see you very soon then.’ He hesitates. ‘Unless I can tempt you to carry on at mine? It’s not my yacht, but it’s big enough for all of us. I can soon whip up some rum and banana pancakes with cream and toffee sauce. You’re very welcome to come aboard.’

I watch Jess weighing it up. Even though she’s with Bart, she’s never one to turn down offers from dreamboats, especially ones with their own sea-going transport.

She sounds a lot more decided than I expected. ‘We’re actually having a small private function here later, so sadly we’ll have to pass on that one.’

That’s Jess speaking for herself but using the royal “we”. In my head I’m already digging into a stack of pancakes with lashings of whipped cream. ‘Well maybe I could …’

Jess lets out a cry. ‘A private party with you as guest of honour, Milla.’ She lets out a husky laugh. ‘Be in the studio in half an hour’s time, I’ve a proposition for you.’

We all know that’s not a tone you argue with. And I’m bracing myself for what she’s going to hit me with. Because however much I dislike what she might suggest, I’m not sure I’ll be strong enough to resist.

But on the plus side, I’ve got through tonight without too much wailing in public. I have slightly impaled a customer, but I’ve managed not to spill drinks on anyone. And even though I’m a crappy cupid, it’s probably better that my arrow didn’t score a direct hit on windcheater guy’s heart. I’m in enough trouble with that one as it is.

Chapter 3
Friday, Valentine’s Day.
The Studio, Brides by the Sea, St Aidan.
Bubbles and big bangs.

‘I’d love to be heading into our anniversary year with business looking up not down, Milla, but like everyone else, we’ve felt the squeeze lately.’

Poppy, Jess, and I have climbed the narrow winding stairs leading from the downstairs showroom to the studio, crossed the creaking waxed-wood floor, and now we’re peering out of the small square panes of the sash window at the far end of the room. Far below, the dark ripples of the water are giving way to pale lines of breakers as they slide backwards and forwards up the beach. And after the upbeat whoosh of free cocktails, the truth feels like a chilly wind. I know the fun has gone out of weddings for me for a totally different reason but where the industry was seriously overheating seven years ago, now it’s entering an ice age. I’m just surprised a rock-solid outfit like Jess’s is feeling the effects.

‘You’re surely not telling me Brides by the Sea is in trouble?’

Jess raises an eyebrow. ‘We never use the “t” word here, Milla. Even when a mother-of-the-groom chopped too much off the bottom of a beautiful bridal dress the night before the wedding, we called it an issue not a disaster.’

Poppy’s face crumples. ‘Truly, that must have been the worst night, but I missed it because I was in hospital with fake contractions.’ She turns to me. ‘Didn’t you do a blog piece about it afterwards?’

I’m nodding. ‘It did feature in my tips for taking care with dress alterations. It would be less of a problem now since the most forward-thinking Bristol brides are showing ankles.’

Poppy blows out a breath. ‘The point was, everyone pulled together and by morning they came through smiling.’

Jess nods. ‘Just as we will this time.’

As I look around the white-painted walls of the studio, the half-finished dresses hanging on rails are silky in the pools of light from hanging shades. There are fragments of lace scattered across the work area, and sketches and scraps of pictures covering the pinboard and I’m already thinking what a gift of a piece the studio will make for my Brides Go West wedding blog. It was Poppy who gave me a scoop introduction for a blog piece a few years ago when celebrity Josie Redman chose Sera, Jess’s main designer, to make her wedding dress. It’s always been one of my favourite bridal shops to visit.

Better still, the shop is the perfect inspiration for copy in winter when there are fewer real weddings to feature. I write all the Brides Go West social media content, so I’m always on the lookout for pretty things to photograph and new angles for pieces. By the time I’ve trawled every corner here I’ll have inspiration to keep our followers clicking through until more weddings start up again in the spring.

Jess may have put a flute of Prosecco in my hand, but we’re in the same business. She watches the bubbles rising in her glass and the bow on the low neck of her chiffon blouse heaves as she takes a breath. ‘It’s no secret – in a global economic slowdown, weddings are the first casualty.’

I usually leave conversations like this to Phoebe. Talking about anything global makes me feel like someone else is moving my mouth. ‘Most people just don’t have the cash to splash anymore.’

‘In a nutshell, Milla, that’s my point exactly.’ Jess taps a pale russet nail on the windowsill. ‘Weddings without limits took the shop to fabulous places but we have to face it – those heady days are over.’

I know exactly what she means. ‘Suppliers used to fight to get a place at our wedding fairs, but lately a lot of them can’t afford it. In the city now it’s more about budgets than blow-outs. And being kind to the planet, of course.’

Jess’s stare is intense. ‘This is why you’re invaluable, Milla. Whatever the cosmopolitan brides are embracing will be trending here next season.’

I smile. ‘Meghan certainly turned the bridal mindset upside down when she walked down the aisle in that classically simple dress of hers. And more and more brides are going for gowns like Ellie Goulding’s, with high necks and statement sleeves.’ Sensing Jess nodding, I’m throwing it all in. ‘But today’s couples think about every penny before they spend it. And when they do, vegan menus are big, silent discos are popping up everywhere, and some couples are even going alcohol-free.’

Poppy’s nodding in agreement. ‘That’s true. We had one of those over Christmas at Daisy Hill Farm. They had afternoon tea, then it was berry cordial all the way until home time.’

Jess has her disgusted-of-St-Aidan face on and her voice rises to a rant. ‘This is what we’re up against – pinching the pennies, lace-free and no booze! How bloody boring is that?’ She blows out a breath. ‘The good part is, people will always get married. We’ve always offered our brides amazing value and the most startlingly beautiful, exquisite products. If there are fewer brides per square mile, we’ll simply have to expand our reach.’ She pauses to give me a piercing stare ‘Which is where you and your alchemy come in, Milla.’

‘My what?’ Just when I’m giving myself silent cheers for keeping up, my patchy education comes back to haunt me. I’ve never quite got over being the only person in any room without a single exam under their belt. The thing is, back then, missing the exams happened without me noticing. But there are big gaps in my knowledge. It’s the strangest thing – when you do know something, it’s often no big deal; when you don’t, the chasm between you and everyone else is huge.

As a teenager, when Mum was ill, she never actually asked me to stay home. Her illness started as a tingle in her fingers and ended in total paralysis. At first, all we noticed was her stumbling. But as her condition got worse, she needed me there to look after her and I couldn’t do anything else. So long as my younger brothers went to school, that was all that mattered to me.

If it happened now, I’m sure there would be social workers chasing me down. But back then the teachers understood we were struggling and were kind enough not to cause us any more grief. I was a write-off. The important thing was that my mum saw my brothers come through with straight A’s before we lost her.

Looking after my mum certainly gave me a strong stomach for the grittier side of life. Her illness was always two jumps ahead of us; as she was able to do less and less, I always felt like I was failing. And when it was all over, everyone assumed it would be a relief. But the only way I can describe it is that it felt like someone had split my chest open with an axe, then wrenched my heart out.

Somehow I stumbled my way to Bristol, and when all I had to do was work forty-five hours a week, and I could sleep whenever I wasn’t clubbing, it felt like a part-time job. But gradually it dawned on me that there’s a lot more to life than being capable. Being able to balance a bed pan and a breakfast tray while sticking on morphine patches and sorting out hospital transport only takes you so far.

But that’s why it was so great for me when I accidentally hit on the wedding promotion business. My only claims to self-taught fame are knowing Photoshop inside out and being able to build a webpage in my sleep, and both of those were invaluable for the blog side of the work. With the wedding knowledge I’ve gathered along the way, I’ve somehow become an accidental expert in an area I adore. When it comes to weddings, I can hold my own with anyone, and I can’t tell you how great that feels. As for discussions like this one, I’d usually have Phoebe around for backup. We might have been in an equal partnership, but we both know she’s the one in charge. And that’s why, in spite of everything, a part of me is still wishing she were here now – simply because she’d smooth through a meeting like this standing on her head.

‘Hard times call for an inventive approach, Milla.’ Jess is tapping her nail on her glass. ‘This is why we’re desperate for your input with the Faceplant side.’

Poppy stifles a smile. ‘That’s Jess’s affectionate name for Facebook.’

I catch Poppy’s wink from behind a dressmaker’s dummy and take my chance to slide back into the conversation. ‘I can certainly do a lot with your social media.’ It’s barely there, so it won’t be hard.

Jess is nodding back. ‘And the anniversary wedding fairs you’re helping us organise will boost business too.’

‘Absolutely.’ That’s one of Phoebe’s favourite words; she says it all the time. It seems to be working for me here, even though I can’t quite make myself smooth through to the snorty bah she always does after it.

But doing the fairs for Jess is another of my comfort zones, thanks to my long lists of fabulous suppliers and exhibitors all over the south west, built up over the years since Phoebe got married. Messaging them and signing enough of them up for the shows shouldn’t be too difficult. Until I find a new career, I’m going all-out with the blog and adding in some fairs for Jess.

Jess is giving me a searching stare. ‘Poppy tells me Phoebe is usually the frontwoman for the fairs you do.’

I’m nodding. ‘And obviously you and the shop staff will be fronting these ones.’

Jess’s nostrils are flaring. ‘We’re very keen on professional development here. It’ll be good for you to try that role too.’ She obviously has no idea about my total inability to look impressive or tidy, or she wouldn’t be suggesting this.

I’m not actually sure I could stay straight-faced for an entire day either, but I’m too professional to mention that now. ‘Brill. Anything to do with weddings, I’m always up for a challenge.’ I’d never get a chance like that with Phoebe, that’s for sure. And if I think of it as a possible launchpad to a new career, I can put up with the pain.

As I glance at my phone, I see this has taken all of two minutes. Not that I’ve got any particular reason to go, because however many pictures of whipped cream and pancakes there are flashing through my head, I won’t be heading for the harbourside. But I might persuade Poppy to nip down to the Hungry Shark with me after all. ‘So if that’s everything …?’

Jess is laughing. ‘I’m sorry if you’re anxious to finish what you started with Nic Trendell, but I allocated us half an hour. That means there’s twenty-three minutes of talking left to do.’

I’m frowning. ‘I’m not sure I know anyone called Nic Trendell.’

As Jess flips a Polaroid photo out of her trouser pocket, I see Poppy and me laughing at the camera with windcheater guy jammed between us. I let out a shudder. Barely two hours ago I was pashing his face off; I could do without the everlasting reminder.

‘The man from the loveseat wearing the Jean Paul Gaultier spray, remember? Not many guys can carry off the extreme version. Did you hear he sailed the Atlantic too?’ Jess beams as she pushes the photo into my palm. ‘I snapped an extra in case you wanted your own copy.’

It seems rude to say I’d be more likely to want to eat my own head, so I wrinkle my nose at Poppy, try not to think about the way my heart was clattering earlier in the van, and drop it in my bag. Then, to show I’m grateful I down my Prosecco in one, so I’m ready to run when the moment’s right. Which wasn’t a great idea because before my flute hits the coaster on the cutting table, Jess has it fully topped up again.

‘So that’s one Nic I definitely won’t be getting to know.’ Along with every other one in the world.

Jess lets out a chortle. ‘I doubt you’d be too comfortable stowing away on his yacht. If it fits in the harbour here, it can’t be that luxurious.’ She turns to me again. ‘So if all Poppy’s cottages are full for half-term, where are you staying?’

Like a lot of other things, I’m glossing over this. As comfy accommodation goes, it’s a total disaster. ‘It’s called The Loft.’ The reviews from last July were dazzling, but I totally missed the ones saying that in February the gale howls through it so hard you’d get less windburn sleeping on the beach. I was there for all of five minutes earlier and that was nearly enough to give me frostbite.

Jess half closes one eye. ‘That’s the place with the draughts, isn’t it?’ Her nostrils flare again. ‘When I first came here, I’d just split from my ex and I slept on the floor of the flower store. It wasn’t great, but at least it means I recognise a person in need when I see one.’ Jess pats my hand. ‘When times are really tough, it usually means they’re about to get better.’

My mum used to say something very similar. Always believe something wonderful is about to happen, Milla. Then it will.

I’m just glad she isn’t here to see what a mess I’ve made of everything. But her voice is so real in my head it has me biting my lip and swallowing hard. I’m used to holding it together, but Jess being kind is making me crumble. I can’t possibly start to cry now when I’m trying so hard to look serious and capable.

Poppy’s smiling too, and she comes close enough to give my hand a little squeeze. ‘What Jess wants to say is that she’s happy to let you use the little attic flat here whenever you need it. Starting now.’

At least the shock stops my tears. ‘Not the one with the sloping ceilings and the little round windows?’ It’s where Poppy stayed a few years ago, and I’ve often called in since when she’s been doing her baking there.

Poppy’s laughing. ‘You’d have to promise to work as a cupcake taster too.’

‘But that would be brilliant. Thank you so much.’ My smile widens as I think of the next couple of weeks curled up snug on a sofa, the scent of Poppy’s chocolate muffins wafting through from the kitchen, instead of freezing my bum off in The Loft.

Jess nods. ‘Why not have it for the next few months?’

My stomach has dropped. Running the fairs for the shop will mean I’ll be visiting more this year, but when I planned my trip I was thinking ten days was a long time to be away from the city. Much as I love the thought of St Aidan as a bolthole, it’s pretty much the end of my world, not the centre.

Poppy’s nudging me. ‘It’s only until you get back on your feet again. Weren’t we saying earlier how great new starts can be?’ Thankfully she doesn’t catch my eye.

Jess is beaming and seems to have missed that my cheeks have flushed beetroot red. ‘If you had the attic as a base, you’d be on the spot for the other consultancy work I had in mind too.’

‘Consultancy?’ If I’m repeating it in a really high voice, it’s only because it sounds more suited to Phoebe than me.

Poppy’s laughing again. ‘No need to 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 waves on the shore below. If I’m missing the rumble of the traffic, it’s only what I expected. I left here for Bristol when I was twenty-one … when we lost Mum. It’s not a thing you ever get over, but after a few blurry years you learn how to hold yourself together every time you re-remember, instead of falling apart. The noise of the city and numbing my brain at the all-night dance clubs somehow helped me cope with the gaping chasm where Mum should have been; if I’d stayed around here, I might just have walked into the sea.

As I push back the duvet, kneel on the high bed under the low sloping ceiling, and lean towards the round porthole window, I shudder at the resounding emptiness of all that ocean. It’s no less desolate or uncomfortable than it was the first morning. There’s just such a jarring contrast compared to where I’ve come from, and the flat I’ve left behind forever.

The old place was clunky and Victorian. Not all the rooms were nicely decorated and some of the plaster was flaking, but at least they were ours. When we moved in, a part of me felt like it was so amazing it had to be too good to be true … which turned out to be pretty accurate, because in the end it was.

The things I liked most about that flat, other people couldn’t see. I adored the constant revving of the engines from the road outside, in the same way people here lap up the noise of the sea. Far from being a problem, the wail of sirens in the early hours was a reminder that I was surrounded by civilisation. I loved that there were twenty all-night takeaways within a few hundred steps of the door, that I never had to worry about going hungry or shopping ahead. Of only being around the corner from a major A&E department. Not that I ever used it myself. I suppose it’s a hangover from when my mum was ill, and we were at the hospital so often that I came to view it as the place that always sorted out our crises. As a healthy person, it’s always great to know if you break your leg or have a heart attack, you’re only ever two minutes away from being saved. You can’t underestimate how secure that made me feel.

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.

‘When you do find her though, don’t hang around. Get straight on to choosing a venue; July is a popular time.’ I have no idea why I’m still going, but I throw in a last thought for sisterly solidarity. ‘And remember, modern hens definitely prefer spa days to blow-up willies. Oh, and good luck … you’ll certainly need lots of that!’

I have the whole length of The Style File to listen to my pointy heels clicking on the wooden boards and thank my lucky stars that it’s nothing to do with me anymore. Then I remember I’ve just waved goodbye to a whole wodge of cash. And possibly the attic flat too. But at least I’ve saved myself from six months of wall-to-wall weddings. And I’ll be saved from seeing Nic Trendall ever again. If that last thought is making me feel even a little bit disappointed, I won’t be admitting it. Even to myself.

MARCH

Chapter 6
Saturday, one week later.
St Aidan school gym.
Shark attacks and second chances.

‘You know the best thing about tonight, Milla?’

It’s a week later and Poppy’s shouting at me as we cross the car park to the school, and I’m taking a wild guess and yelling back at her. ‘The roller skates?’

She’s shaking her head at me. ‘It’s that getting this last-minute request for wedding help means you can get straight on with the next job. And wave picky Mr Trendell and his arsey attitude out to sea.’

We both know there’s no comparison between this job and the one I spectacularly failed to clinch last week, but it’s nice of her to say. As for how much I let the side down with that, so far no one’s made me feel bad about it. Jess just said in a very matter-of-fact way that my confidence needed a reboot and we’d talk about it later. Although, I have no idea what she means by that because this is nothing to do with confidence. It’s back to the age-old stumbling block – me not ever being good enough to match up to expectations due to not having qualifications. However hard Phoebe worked at making me just like her, in reality people can tell the difference between the tower of power she was and the squashed-up version that’s me. And Phoebe never missed a chance to point out my abysmal lack of paperwork. And now it’s tripped me up again.

I mean, maybe I didn’t want the job in any case. But despite Nic implying I’m a lightweight, I know I could have done it standing on my head with a blindfold on. At least this way I’m saved from having him looking down on me.

I’m shouting back to Poppy now. ‘And remind me whose wedding it is tonight?’ As we’re pretty much crashing their party, it might be useful to know.

‘Dave and Betty, better known locally as Danny and Sandy. She’s head of Year 12, and the whole sixth form is invited. That’s why they’ve gone with the High School theme and they’re having the party here. But they’re from further along the coast so there won’t be too many people here we know.’ If this is her way of reassuring me we’re not going to run into Nic Trendell, I’m happy to cross that off my worry list.

I have to admit as we bounce along beside excited hordes of girls and women in their full, brightly coloured skirts, and guys flicking their Elvis quiffs, it’s a long way from the quiet Saturday evening I’d anticipated.

Poppy’s best friend, Immie, has also been roped in, and she jabs me in the ribs. ‘And as you’ve kindly volunteered as designated driver, Milla, expect Pops and me to cut loose!’

Immie looks after the holiday cottages at Daisy Hill Farm where Poppy lives with Rafe. I’ve known her my whole life too and she’s always been the same – as wide as she is tall, telling it like it is. Taking on the world for her friends, while drinking Cornwall dry and whooping it to the max – the same way she’s stepped in tonight. Although it sounds like leaving the dads in charge at home has gone to her head. If she’s whirling her Barbour jacket in the air this early, we could all be in trouble.

There’s another jab from Immie. ‘You do know your van’s getting more attention than those swanky American cars parked by the entrance, Milla.’

I laugh. ‘There’s no hiding it, I’m a driving advert for matrimony wherever I go.’ More’s the pity.

Immie wrinkles her nose. ‘I know that pink you’ve painted it is supposed to be feminine, but it does remind me of fanny pads.’ This is Immie. She doesn’t hold back, but that’s part of the whole honesty package. When I was at home with Mum, and not going to school, there was never a day when she didn’t drop by. There was always shopping from her gran, or a snippet of goss from the school bus, or a magazine for Mum, passed on from one of her many aunties. Obviously we had carers coming in and out, and Poppy and her mum always came round with baking too. But along with them Immie was my main link to the outside world. So, after the way she kept me sane then, she can be as rude as she likes about my paint job.

Poppy’s rolling her eyes at me. ‘She won’t be grumbling when you deliver us home. And with that light-up sign right along the roof, however plastered she is, she should get in the right van.’

Poppy said to me earlier, as she hauled me off the sofa, that Immie wouldn’t have been her first choice to serve cocktails on roller skates at a wedding. At Daisy Hill events she’s mostly back-of-house and under strict instructions not to swear in front of the guests. But thanks to the Falmouth Roller Derby team having a dodgy takeaway last night, they’ve been dropping like flies all day. The call for extra bodies to skate around adding atmosphere to the wedding party was less of a special request, more a howl of desperation. And as the bride is a friend of Jess’s from way back, this is a favour rather than a big-money job. So here we are, swishing our ponytails, rocking our red pouts, and literally ready to roll.

As Poppy swings the door open, we can hear the sound of a twangy guitar and the first bars of Baby I Love You. ‘The spare skates and clothes are in the changing rooms, we’ll have to do the best we can.’

I pull a face at her. ‘Seeing as none of us have skated for twenty years, I’d say the dresses are the least of our problems.’

Poppy sniffs. ‘Don’t worry about skating, it’s exactly the same principle as Jilly’s dance spectaculars when we were young. You do remember those?’

‘As if I’d forget.’ Along with every girl in Rose Hill, we spent our Saturdays doing dance classes at the village hall. And at the regular shows, so long as there was one fabulous dancer pirouetting across the stage and sliding into the splits, all the rest of us had to do was arrange our feet and stand still, and people naturally assumed we could all do the same. ‘So we hang on to the walls and leave the flashy stuff to the real skaters?’

Poppy’s grinning. ‘That’s it.’

Except the next ten minutes prove me wrong. The skater dresses turn out to be skimpy stretchy cheerleader dresses rather than 50s-style knee-length ones in unflattering shades of dayglow, which probably wasn’t even invented back then. As for me thinking I’d get the biggest because I’m the tallest by half an inch and the most curvy – wrong! In the end, Immie claims the longest due to having the widest waist, and I’m left with a skirt that’s marginally shorter than my pyjama top and jaw-droppingly pink in the worst way.

Immie’s waving her arms about, wildly shaking the silver foil pompoms on elastic bands on her wrists. ‘These are going to play havoc when I’m sinking my pints, they’ll dangle in the beer.’

Poppy’s biting her lip the way she does when she’s trying not to laugh. ‘All ready to skate into the party then?’

I’m staring down at boots two sizes too small. ‘I might do better if I could feel my feet.’ Then I flick my frown to a beam. ‘But – yay! Let’s go for it!’

As we start to inch our way along, hanging off the changing room hooks, Poppy lets out a moan. ‘This isn’t anything like when we messed around in the village as kids.’

A nanosecond later, my feet whoosh from under me and my bottom thuds onto the lino. ‘It’s the wheels – these pro skates are extra whizzy!’ That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

Another thud, and Immie lands beside me. ‘With floors this smooth we’re buggered.’

Put it this way – without one of the Falmouth skaters to open the door for us we’d never have made it out into the gym.

She grins at us as we pass. ‘We’re so grateful. Just leave the fast work to us! Have fun, don’t over stretch!’

‘We won’t!’ We’re crawling past her on our hands and knees, exchanging WTF? glances.

Poppy hisses. ‘Stay like this, and skirt around the edge?’

Immie’s nodding. ‘Head straight for the bar. It’s down the front, by the wedding cake and the drive-in cars.’

No idea how she’s so good at her directions when all we can see are a forest of legs, pumps, and sneakers, but I add my bit. ‘Anywhere near the cherry muffins is good.’

As wedding parties go, it’s a bit back-to-front. During the hot dogs and mass dancing, we sit at a group of tables with black-and-white-checked table cloths, and pretty floral decorations made from pink carnations in sundae glasses. We stick out our skates so people can see them, waggle our pompoms and say ‘howdy’ to the guys, who all seem to be in white T-shirts and tight jeans, making their way for beers and bottles of coke. This also gives Immie a chance to get well ahead on her beer-drinking while I make a dent in the muffin stack and the ice-cream sundaes.

The bride and groom are the spitting image of the stars from Grease and halfway through the evening, Betty/Sandy nips out and swaps her white knee-length lace and tulle wedding dress for some slinky black satin capri-pants that are so tight and shiny they could have been sprayed on. And then, even though they’ve already been rocking all night, they have their first dance, to You’re the One That I Want, wooohooohoo which couldn’t have been any more fabulously choreographed. And it’s so amazing, they do five encores.

By which time, someone’s reminded us there are brake pads on the toes of the skates, so we finally attempt to move. Immie goes closer to the bar, and Poppy and I manage to tiptoe across enough open floor to admire the pastel-coloured buttercream rosette piping and the jiving bride and groom on top of the gorgeous four-tier cake she made, which will take centre stage in the cake cutting ceremony very shortly.

Then we find ourselves a very shiny turquoise blue convertible car, drape ourselves over it, and try to look obvious.

I grin at Poppy as I watch the real skaters swirling between bodies at top speed, skating backwards, spinning to a halt with their trays of drinks and ice creams. ‘This is great.’ My arm’s wedged over the car window so it’s like I’m superglued. ‘If we jiggle our pompoms in time to the music, we look like we’re pros taking a breather.’

Poppy shakes her head in mock despair. ‘We’re marginally better than cardboard cutouts. But we were available, we are here, and better still, everyone knows we’re flying the flag for Jess’s new Special Request service.’

‘And good luck to Mr T, I hope he finds himself the wedding planner he deserves.’ I held it in as we arrived, but now I care less. ‘He might find it hard, everyone decent will already be booked.’

‘Which is why he should have snapped you up when he had the chance.’ Poppy’s eyebrows move up. ‘You do know I saw him earlier?’

My stomach had no reason to drop like a high-speed lift. ‘Really!?’ With the hugest effort I yank my voice down so low I totally sound like I give no shits. Which is exactly the result I want. ‘What the hell’s he doing here?’

‘Same as everyone else except us – he must have been invited.’ Poppy pulls a face. ‘Sorry, I’d have said before, but I didn’t want to ruin your evening.’

‘Like I’d let any guy SPOIL MY NIGHT!’ It would be way more convincing if it wasn’t a shriek. I cover up that I’ve just done a scan right around the hall to check and failed to find him by moving on fast. ‘So, what’s Immie doing?’ I may be wrong, but beyond the cake table, she appears to be zig-zagging across the horizon between the bar and the jukebox.

Poppy’s eyebrows close together. ‘I’d say she’s in that happy place where she’s had enough beer to make her forget she can’t skate – and not enough to stop her legs working.’

I couldn’t have asked for a better diversion. ‘It’s wonderful what people can do when they lose their inhibitions. She’s just picked up a full tray of ice-cream sundaes too.’

‘Wonderful – or maybe not?’ Poppy’s face crumples. ‘Hold on tight, she’s heading this way!’

By some miracle, Immie is accelerating towards us heading straight for the car. But at the last minute she spins around, reverses, wedges her bottom neatly past the open car door and into the empty back seat. And as she sinks down her tray of sundaes comes to rest lightly on her knee.

‘Fancy footwork, or what? Roller skates and Rock Dance beer, what a combo!’

Poppy’s groaning under her breath. ‘Give me strength. She’s so out of practice with her drinking she’s totally off her face.’ Then she hangs onto the car wing mirror and edges forwards. ‘Let me take the tray, Immie.’

Immie lurches backwards into the car. ‘Like toad bollocks you will! These are ALL mine!’

Poppy’s wild eyes say it’s way worse than she thought, but her voice is soothing. ‘No one’s trying to steal your ice cream, Immie.’

Immie gives a snort. ‘Too right!’ A second later, who knows how, she’s back on her feet, tray in hand, sundae glasses still upright. ‘You’ll have to catch me first, good luck with your speed skating.’

From where she was standing Immie could have set off at three hundred and fifty different angles, and skated off into the oblivion of the crowd with no more risk than a splat of ice cream on a T-shirt, or at worst a bill for cleaning a couple of dresses from Iron Maidens down in the village. Except she doesn’t do that. Instead she sets off like she’s in an Olympic pursuit race. But worse still, she’s heading straight for the cake table.

It isn’t like there’s a choice. Either way, something’s going to get very broken here. I’d just rather it wasn’t the cake Poppy spent all week making. So I throw myself forwards and launch myself after Immie. I’m on skates, I’m out of control too, and none of this is precision judgement. But somehow, I’m able to draw level with Immie and hurl myself onto my back and into her path just short of the cake table. As her skates ram into my thigh, she throws her tray upwards and the sundae glasses rise and trace arcs in the air as they start to fall again. Immie’s body thumps down across me, then the sundae glasses and ice cream scoops come raining down on my chest and face.

Immie comes to first. ‘Thundering crab arses, Milla! What the hell are you playing at? You nearly demolished the cake there!’

I’ve got Immie’s full weight crushing my hips, her foil pompom is in my ear. And wiping a lump of ice cream out of my eyes is a lot less fun than it sounds. As for what it’s done to my mascara, Panda-face here I come again. But then someone comes and rolls Immie off, and I’m lying here staring up at the criss-cross strings of hanging flower-stem decorations and fairy lights with the gym ceiling far above.

For a moment I close my eyes. And when I open them again, I’m hoping to see Poppy laughing down at me. But instead I’m looking up at the kind of dark eyes and sooty lashes I’d hoped never to see again.

‘Mr Trendell.’

His lips are twisting. ‘That was a spectacular save you made there, Ms Fenton. You showed a natural instinct for averting disaster back there. Perhaps my rejection last week was a little hasty.’

I’m shaking my head. ‘No Nic, anyone could have done it. I’m just less drunk than everyone else because I’m on effing wheels, that’s all.’

He wrinkles his nose. ‘Maybe you could do my job after all?’

‘Absolutely not.’ On principle, quite apart from anything else. As I lick my lips and the taste of strawberries and cream explodes onto my tongue, I’m making a mental note to head straight for the pink sundaes as soon as I’m on my feet. Then I have a thought. ‘So I take it you haven’t found your perfect planner yet?’

He’s blowing out his lips. ‘Turns out they’re a lot rarer than day skippers.’

I wipe a glob of cream out of my nostril. ‘So, have you checked everyone?’

He blows out a breath. ‘Everyone on the approved list Jess gave me, which apparently is anyone who’s any good. I’ve been at it all week.’

I have no idea why Jess would hand him over to the opposition. As I’m scraping seven sundaes worth of cream off my boobs, I have to point it out. ‘This is how I am at the moment, like a magnet for disasters. Truly, you wouldn’t want me anywhere near your wedding.’

He’s frowning down at me. ‘Sure, the gym is knee-deep in ice cream and bodies. But if this were the Trendell reception, at least we’d still have a cake. For me that counts as a result.’ He blows out a breath. ‘You’re the one who said there’s no time to lose. At least step in and get it going for me. How about you start by showing me those venues you mentioned?’

‘If you were the last man on earth … In any case, it’s not as straightforward as it seems. Venues will be the same as planners; anything worth having will already have gone.’

‘I’ll pay double.’ Don’t you just hate these people who think qualifications and money make the world go round?

‘Cash isn’t everything.’ I’m about to add, sorry, but I’m not for sale when another voice cuts in.

‘Make it triple and I think we can confidently call that a deal, Mr Trendell.’ It’s Jess, and her laugh is husky. ‘Monday morning at nine. Don’t be late, we’ll make a start.’

‘I’ll be at the shop.’ He’s holding out his hand to help me up.

But I’ve already rolled over. And by the time I’m pushing myself up from all fours to wobble onto my skates he’s gone, and I’m face to face with Jess’s legs.

‘Brilliant save, Milla, marvellous work.’ Even though Jess has gone as far as navy cigarette pants and a tailored denim jacket, she still looks exactly the same as she does every day in the shop. ‘And I see it’s game on with Nic! Well done for that too.’

My heart’s sinking. ‘Really? After everything he said?’

‘He needs us and we’re going to come through for him.’

‘We are?’

‘What’s more, when you ace it you’ll feel so much better.’ She’s smiling down at me. ‘You’re not on your own, Milla. We’ll all be here to help you.’

And I need this like a hole in my tights. Because after all my efforts to avoid it, here I am helping organise a short-notice wedding that’s guaranteed to be a disaster, which won’t be great for my reputation. If this is what Jess meant about talking about it later, well I’m the fool again. Because worse than all of that, I’ll be working for Nic Trendell. And from the way my pulse was racing when he looked down at me just before, I’m really not sure that’s a good idea.

Chapter 7
The next Monday.
The Harbourside Hotel, St Aidan.
Long legs and long stories.

‘So we knew the Harbourside Hotel might not be “the one”. But seeing it gives us a good baseline to start from.’

Even if the morning sunlight has turned the sea to a shimmering carpet of turquoise sequins, I can think of better things to face first thing on a Monday than Nic Trendall at a wedding venue. And I admit, acing it with the first viewing would have been too much to ask for as well as a sunny day.

If I was worried that once we were on our own Nic might bring up our unfortunate Valentine’s night encounter on the harbourside, I needn’t have been. If he hasn’t mentioned it by now, I seriously doubt he will, so it’s a relief to know it was as insignificant for him as it was for me. That he’s put it firmly behind him, and forgotten it as much as I have. It’s also good to note there’s not the tiniest a hint of flirting on his part either. Today’s version is full-on serious groom.

Jess was as good as her word with the help, too – she’s set up today’s itinerary so all I have to do is drive us from one place to the next, then state the obvious. Easy-peasy. As Jess says, with the great hourly rate, how can we go wrong? But it’s not the next five months of her life she’s giving away.

‘So onwards and upwards!’ And I know I’m talking like an arse – it always happens when I’m nervous. ‘Any more reactions from you, Nic?’

My handbag’s between us on the bench seat of the van and Nic’s looking like he’s pretty close to puking into it. I have to say, if he did I’d happily join him. I’ve had this really unnerving sensation in my stomach ever since we set off which has to be down to how anxious I am. Like a million dragonfly wings fluttering just above my dress belt, crossed with how you feel those times you have too many coffees and your heart starts racing.

He fiddles with his seatbelt as I pull out of the car park. ‘I hate to sound picky.’ Which is exactly what people say when they’re going to be. ‘But it just felt very ordinary. And there were a hell of a lot of steps.’

‘Unfortunately, that’s what you get with a cliff-top hotel with access to the beach.’ Just saying. In my cheeriest voice. As for it not being special, it’s all relative. Realistically, if he’s used to yacht clubs in the Caribbean, we’re going to struggle to surprise him in St Aidan.

‘So, anything you’re looking for especially?’ More information now could save us a lot of unnecessary miles, which could be a factor as I glance sideways at his dark hair and strong jawline. When you think of all the grooms in Cornwall, it’s just my luck to get a sizzler. Not that I objectify. But while a hottie will be great for my portfolio pictures, what’s less great is my immediate – and very uncharacteristic – animal impulse to leap on him and bonk his socks off. I’m personally blaming that bit on the snog we’ve completely forgotten about and won’t ever be thinking about again. While simultaneously wanting to shake him for being such hard work so soon after we’ve begun.

He wrinkles his nose. ‘You show me all the best places and I’ll know when I see the right one.’

Which is about as much use as a chocolate tea pot. If this is how cooperative he is, the search will be endless.

Luckily there are lots of options at Poppy’s place where we’re heading next. If we pull in Rose Hill Manor which belongs to Jess’s partner Bart, we’ll have offered a whole array of viewings at a variety of price points. Okay, it’s an insider job, but the masterplan is that we look super-efficient. And with so many fab places on offer we may even clinch a booking.

As I steer around the station roundabout and out along the coast road, I’m blinking past the sun visor at the shine off the water. ‘So the next venues are twenty minutes inland.’ And I won’t be sharing that that’s where I grew up. But the drive is a great chance to do a spot of digging. If he won’t respond to straight questions, I need to try another way.

‘So you’re in the boat business.’ I’m wracking my brains for the right name for what he does. ‘Did you mention a nautical piloting agency?’

He looks like he’s woken up at last. ‘Nicolson Trendell is run from my phone and one small office near Penzance.’ He gives a shrug. ‘I have the same slogan as Jess – no job too small or too large. We do everything from rowing tourists across the harbour to taking millionaires and their super yachts around the southern oceans.’

I’d expected to be yawning but instead my jaw’s sagging with surprise. ‘And Snow Goose?’

A grin flashes across his face. ‘That’s one job I fitted in myself. Her owner wanted her brought back from the States, and now he wants me to stay onboard until he uses her again.’

‘And you get paid for that?’ As I take in his nod beyond my elbow I can’t hold in my shock. ‘So has Snow Goose got a bathroom then?’ I’ve always wondered how Captain Jack Sparrow managed, I might as well find out.

‘The facilities onboard are basic, but mostly I use the very nice shower block behind the harbour master’s office.’ Out of the corner of my eye his lips could be twitching. ‘There might not always be a power shower, but I have total freedom and worldwide travel, plenty of fresh air and challenges, and no two days are ever the same.’

‘Except when you’re sitting in St Aidan harbour.’ Just saying. He’s been here weeks now. And if I sound a bit like I’m picking him up on every little thing, I am. Because however much we’re charging him, it’s not enough. To be brutally honest, I’m still annoyed that he thought I wasn’t good enough for him first time around.

‘You got me there.’ He’s smiling to himself now.

I grab my opportunity and go for it. ‘So does the bride sail too?’

His smile widens. ‘She loves it even more than I do.’

Result! I start my mental list with ‘tanned and outdoorsy’. Just like him. Add in ‘doesn’t mind teensy bathrooms’. But before I get to remark how much they have in common, he’s crossing his ankles and carrying on.

‘From what I’ve seen so far, weddings don’t sound like anything I’ll have an aptitude for.’ It’s a shame he’s already so negative.

I pull a face. ‘In which case, I suggest you start learning. The details are what make the day.’

His face drops. ‘You can’t be serious?’

I can’t help teasing him. ‘They don’t give marriage certificates out to people unless they put the hours in.’

He’s straight back at me. ‘And have you got one of those? I mean, are you?’

‘Am I what? Married? Me?!’ I’m so surprised, I stop steering and bump up the verge. Then I straighten up and flash him a smile. ‘Not at the moment. So I haven’t even got that piece of paper.’

I’m not going to go into how long my wedding to Ben was pending and how many hours of wedding planning practice I had there. How I woke up every New Year’s Day for five years and vowed that this would be the year. How with every new effort I’d search out better and more impressive venues, each time hoping this would be the one to get Ben onboard and keep him there. But the pattern was always the same. He was all for it on the first visit, but by the time we came to book I’d lost him. Then I’d be back to looking again.

‘So what about that other thing … the one with the ring?’

I can’t help my high voice. ‘Even for a guy, that’s vague.’ For a groom it’s spectacular, but to be fair when it comes to men having areas of wedding blankness, nothing will surprise me. ‘You mean the engagement?’

‘The one with the special hand?’

I flex my fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Third finger left side.’ A year on there’s still an indentation where my own ring used to be.

‘So how about that?’

As I look sideways and meet that dark gaze, I’m answering when I don’t mean to. ‘Only once.’ I shuffle in my seat. Remind myself he’s paying for my expertise not my life details. ‘Ancient history. It came to nothing and it’s way too complicated to go into.’

‘So there’s a story to tell?’

‘Definitely not today.’ Definitely not to him. And thankfully, the sign for Rose Hill village is coming up. ‘Not far now.’ The way this is going I can’t get there fast enough.

I swing the van into the pretty main street with its neat cottages, and can’t help smiling because the pots of pansies on the pavement by the brightly painted front doors are still so much the same as they always were my whole childhood. As we pass the end of the narrow lane where our cottage was, there’s the same surprise I always feel as it slides by. This is where I spent all my time until I was twenty-one, and yet apart from still being friends with Poppy and Immie, there’s very little trace now that we were ever here at all.

But one flash of those familiar grey-stone house fronts with their small-paned sash windows is enough to bring the memories rushing back. How they were pretty much all we saw for the years we were housebound. How the world shrank to the size of our front room as my mum was less able to do things. How determined and full of fight my mum was to begin with. How by the end that strength had ebbed into mute acceptance.

‘Everything okay, Milla?’

I jump as Nic’s deep voice penetrates my daze. ‘Fine. Just hoping you’ll like what’s coming next.’

As we leave the village behind and roll down the lane towards the farm entrance, there’s a tingle zithering down my back as the hand-painted signs come into view. Finding lovely things to say about Poppy’s venue won’t be hard at all.

Something about doing this now brings it all back to me. There is a poignancy to it all. All those bursting feelings of optimism and hope I had when I first had an engagement ring on my finger and started to search for a venue. How naive and young and hopeful I was back then. I try to forget the sting and make myself upbeat again to launch into my pitch.

‘So, Daisy Hill Farm! In summer the pasture bursts with flowers, ox-eye daisies and buttercups waft in the wind.’ There should still be a few left by July. ‘Whether you go for a formal marquee or a laid-back tipi vibe, you won’t find anywhere more beautiful for a meadow wedding.’ I’m giving silent cheers, because I didn’t let Poppy down at all with that.

Nic sends me a sheepish look. ‘Sorry, I should have said earlier – definitely no fields.’

My stomach drops so far it hits the road, but I make my beam bright. ‘My fault, I should have checked.’ And now I will. ‘So are we actually ruling out everything farm-related, or just big expanses of grass?’

The face he pulls wouldn’t fill anyone with hope. ‘We may as well see the rest now we’re here.’

As I drive up the cobbled courtyard past the farmhouse and pull to a halt by the picturesque stone barns and cluster of holiday cottages at the top of the slope, I’m hoping Poppy’s got some baking waiting in the kitchen. I know my initial expectations were maybe too high, but when it’s going downhill this fast I’ll definitely be needing a buttercream fix.

As the van doors clang closed behind us, a gust of freezing air wafts up my skirt and makes me wish I’d chosen something thicker than this flimsy crepe tea dress. ‘Fingers crossed, it should be a lot warmer in July.’

He gives a grunt. ‘Let’s hope so.’

Today I’ve put on my boots with the highest heels, so I’m at least three inches more impressive than I was on Saturday, even if I’m staggering a bit. Mostly I’m trying not to catch the heels in the cracks between the pavers, but there’s still time to take in the lovely grey-painted windows as I wobble towards the Wedding Barn. Poppy’s told us to help ourselves, so I push my shoulder against the huge oak entrance door and shove hard. As I lead the way into a space as big as a cathedral I pause to give Nic a chance to take it all in.

‘It’s equally magical filled with fairy lights or flowers, perfect for a surfer theme or a transformation to a ski resort.’

Until the break-up I’d have been literally gushing here, now I’m having to force myself. But it’s worth pushing myself, because a wedding here would work well for all of us. For Poppy, to get a booking. For Nic, because there would be so many of us around to look after him. And for me, because it would get me off the hook so neatly.

He blows through his teeth. ‘It’s a shame about those cobbles.’

And that came from left field to surprise me. ‘The ones outside?’

He nods. ‘They’re way too rustic, you could barely walk on them. Sorry, but we can’t have that.’ It’s not much, but the wrinkles in his brow say the rest.

‘So that’s another straight “no”?’ I take in another nod and kick myself for not walking better. ‘And it’s brilliant to be ticking them off the list so fast.’ I line up another fixed smile and stagger back across the offending cobbles. I mean, they go up and down, but isn’t that part of the charm? Realistically, if I can stand up on them in these boots, anyone can. ‘Let’s grab a drink with Poppy, then we’ll try the main house we passed on the way in. There are stone flags down there, they’re much easier on the legs.’

Walking into Poppy’s kitchen you always get a wonderful smell of baking, and today we’re hit by a wall of warmth from the Aga and a smell of chocolate that’s so intense I can almost taste the air as I inhale it.

I grin at Poppy as she waves from the sink. ‘Double chocolate muffins?’

She nods. ‘Too right! There’s a fresh pot of coffee, so help yourselves.’ Then she smiles at Nic. ‘Viewing venues is always hard work, I thought a cocoa fix might help.’

I fill three mugs and take them over to the huge plank kitchen table. Noticing Nic’s frown, I have to ask. ‘For someone ripping through the venues, you’re very quiet. Is everything okay?’ I watch his throat move as he swallows.

He’s three shades paler than he was. ‘I hadn’t counted on it taking this much time.’

If we’re barely an hour in and he’s flagging, it’s not a great sign for the next few months. This is the guy who, thirty minutes ago, was up for seeing every beautiful venue in the South West. I need to get him to be more open about what’s going on here. I can’t do a good job if I don’t have the full picture, so however reluctant he is, I’m going to have to lean on him harder. And even though I’d find it easier not to know who he’s marrying, I’m going to have to interrogate him sooner rather than later. As every approach has so far failed, I need to be more imaginative.

‘Have some of Poppy’s cake.’ I push the muffin stack towards him and take one myself. As I sink my teeth into the dense velvety sponge the tension in my neck falls away.

When Poppy comes to sit down, she’s laughing. ‘Two muffins in as many seconds? You don’t need to tell me how it’s going.’

I’m already peeling the paper off my next one. I turn to Nic and congratulate myself on the next veiled question. ‘I think we can safely say the future Mrs Trendell isn’t a fan of mud?’

Nic blinks. ‘She’s not the kind of woman to call herself Mrs, she’ll definitely stick to Ms.’

Even better than a proper answer! I’m suddenly on a roll. ‘And does the future Ms Whatever have a first name?’

‘Elfie – short for Elfinor. But mostly we call her Pixie.’

As Poppy and I exchange glances we don’t need a description, because the name says it all – she’s a waif. And suddenly this shadowy person has sprung to life. She has to be one of those truly amazing people who are so tiny and delicate they barely exist. I take an extra large bite of muffin. Whatever that pang in my chest, it’s nothing to do with another fleeting flashback to that kiss I can barely remember. Hell no! I’m really not wishing it were me instead of her.

Now I’m facing him, I’m getting the full benefit of the intelligence in those dark eyes, the flickering changes in his expression as he considers. The muffins seem to be working their magic, so I’m firing out more questions.

‘So is Elfie hard to please? I mean, will it be difficult for you to make choices she agrees with?’ For my money, with a groom this stressed she’s got to be a nightmare. Not that I’m biased; I’m actually being very careful to have no opinion either way.

Nic shrugs. ‘She’s never taken much interest in weddings, but she hates people looking at her. Left to herself I doubt she’d even bother.’

I add a few more to my bride list: indifferent, reluctant, super-thin, not keen on wellies. Then I’m forcing myself to picture them together but even when I let her slip back to being a shadow it’s quite hard to get him to put his arms around her. When he does it isn’t face to face. They’re side by side at the washbasin, cleaning their teeth. And the most I get him to do is one hand flopped over her shoulder. Which might seem unrealistic but it’s probably more than Ben ever did to me. Then as I push myself to think of them moving out of the bathroom and climbing into their super-king-sized bed together I get as far as the Egyptian cotton sheets and featherlight down duvet from The White Company and I swallow so fast I choke on my cake. Once I get my breath back, I decide to stop the pictures for now.

‘That’s very helpful to know.’ I’m trying to be gentle yet persistent. ‘But is Elfie happy about it?’ That sounds so challenging now it’s out, I’m immediately back-tracking. ‘I mean, weddings are hard work to put together, but they’re fun and fabulous too.’

‘And?’ Nic’s wrinkling his nose.

‘It’s a lot for you to take on by yourself.’ I brace myself to go in for a last stab at the truth. ‘Right now, I’m picking up a lot more angst from you than bliss. Not judging. Just wondering if there’s anything extra we can do to help at all?’

He rubs his chin. ‘On balance, I’d say, carry on as you are.’

Which takes us right back to where we started. Thank you, Nic. Except we have learned something crucial – however hard I imagined this was going to be, times it by ten. Or maybe a hundred.

I push the last of my muffin in, make sure I swallow without choking this time, then pull out another bright smile. ‘Lucky we’ve saved the most grown-up venue here until last. Even the most reticent couples fall in love with this one.’ Reticent is a politer word than fussy. Or demanding. Whatever he’s looking for, and however unfocused his thinking is, what’s up next might well make him fall in love. I pick up a last muffin. ‘Ready to take a look at the old farmhouse?’

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