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When I run my fingers through my sopping hair, it’s a mass of straggly curls. Worst case scenario. ‘I don’t know.’ What’s more, as we come back into the brightness of the pub, the only visible patch of my silk top is completely transparent.

There’s another waft of Jules’ scent, as Rafe’s bare-chested friend leans in close enough to nudge my elbow. ‘We all saw you looking gorgeous before. That’s what I’ll remember when I see the damp version.’

Excuse me while I faint. I can’t remember when anyone last paid me this kind of compliment. Although to be honest, I usually manage to fight off attention before it gets to the point of people saying nice stuff to me. Even Jules knows to keep his distance – or else – and he’s very huggy. Has someone sprinkled fairy dust on me? Is this the bouquet effect? Should I be shoutingjeez, I’m not marrying anyone? And then it dawns on me. All that’s happened is I let my guard down. Who wouldn’t when they were dripping wet and had just been hauled out of a garden pond? So there’s no need to panic here. I mean, I really wasn’t the one who caught the bouquet anyway. If anyone needs to watch out here it’s Jess.

‘So what do you think? Stay and party or back to town for cocoa and an early night?’ Jess’s eyebrows are raised expectantly.

We both know she’s bluffing about going to bed. It would be a quick shower for me, then Jaggers until dawn. Jaggers, for those who aren’t local, is a cocktail bar in St Aidan, with red perspex tables, a teenage clientele, and a penchant for Sex on the Beach happy hours. And if it’s a choice between that or this, even if it means letting my wavy hair out in public, there’s only one way to go.

Which is how I come to spend the rest of the Sams’ wedding in the landlady’s Pilates leggings. Wearing an oversized white shirt that smells of algae and photographer, with a tie for a belt. Talking to a farmer wearing only a waistcoat over a bare chest. Who reminds me his name is Fred.

Chapter 3 (#ulink_b7d7d1a1-7966-5d88-aee4-710859bda1e5)

Wednesday, 15th February

At Brides by the Sea: Beginning with flowers

‘Great, now we can get down to proper business.’ Jess puts down her coffee, and pulls up a chair at her table in the corner of the White Room.

Considering how late it was when we got back to St Aidan last night, we were up and out startlingly early. I swear I was still comatose as we hit the bakery and the dry cleaners. Not that there was anything dry about my poor suit as I handed it over. The assistant at Iron Maidens promised they’d do what they could. But given her groan as she peered at the sodden fabric in the Tesco bag, I’m not hopeful.

‘Right.’ As I stare at the stack of pastries towering next to the appointments book my stomach wilts. ‘Actually, I might save the pain au raisin for later, thanks.’ I have no idea how Jess is dashing around with so much enthusiasm, when I’ve barely woken up. Although now I come to think about it, her stamina is legendary. At parties and in the workplace, she’s always the last woman standing.

She runs her fingers through her hair. ‘When I said working breakfast, I wasn’t talking toast, Lily. I want to discuss your job. The one that’s disappearing in the company takeover?’

My mouth drops open. Was I talking in my sleep? That would be the lost job I didn’t mention to anyone at all last night. The one I’m not even thinking about. ‘You know?’

From the way Jess is pursing her lips and clenching her fists, she’s building up to something. ‘News travels fast in the business community. And I assume your accommodation’s going with it?’

Ouch. No messing. Straight for the jugular.

My mouth is so dry, my voice is a croak. ‘I’ve got two weeks to get out. But I get to keep the car.’ One tiny compensation in the whole mess of my imploding life. That’s the worst part of a live-in job. When they offered me a room in the staff quarters after Thom and I split up, I didn’t think it through to the point of takeovers, years down the line. I let out a long sigh, because although I’d meant to keep this secret, it’s a relief that Jess knows.

Jess narrows her eyes. ‘Did you enjoy the work?’

The question catches me unawares. Being fully responsible for a team, putting fresh flowers in every room in ten boutique hotels was a niche job. It began with flowers for the tables in one restaurant, expanded into front of house and bedrooms, and went exponential as they bought more properties. I’m unlikely to find another job like it. Certainly not in two weeks. But by the end, the job was so large, my assistants were the ones who got to do the fun parts, while I chewed my knuckles into the small hours, over orders and budgets.

‘The work was fine. Except I haven’t actually touched a flower for ages.’ Now I stop to think about it, I miss that. Without realising it, I’d given up the part of the job I loved most. The reason I first came to work with Jess was because I was crazy about flowers, and Jess’s tiny shop window showcased the most amazing bridal bouquets. Believe it or not, Brides by the Sea began as Jess selling flowers in one room before it expanded to four floors of loveliness. Every other flower shop I’d seen in Cornwall back then had the same old same old. And the florists where I found a job straight out of college were so old fashioned, the owner made me serve, while she took care of arrangement orders. Doing flowers for Jess was my dream job. And because she pushed me, and the shop expanded so fast, I learned so much about the whole wedding business along the way too.

Jess draws in a breath. ‘How would you feel about coming back to Brides by the Sea?’

I’m so surprised for a second I don’t reply. ‘To do what? You’ve already got all the florists you need.’ There’s a crack team, who work out of the lower ground floor of the shop.

She gives a knowing nod. ‘I’m thinking so much more for you than just flowers, this time, Lily. It’s going to be a super career move. I want you to grow the styling side of the business for us.’

‘Styling?’ It comes out like an echo.

Jess’s eyes are glistening with excitement. ‘Whereas planners deal with the nitty gritty bits of weddings, the stylists do the pretty parts. They’re the interior designers of the wedding world.’ She counts off her fingers. ‘Colours, decor, flowers, invitations, furnishings, the setting. A stylist will perfectly tailor the look of the wedding for each individual couple.’

I nod. ‘I know what you mean. Stylists, as used by celebrities and footballers’ wives, and seen in Hello magazine.’ Surely there can’t be enough of those in Cornwall to support a full-time position.

Jess’s face breaks into a smile. ‘That used to be the case. But not many couples today settle for a bunch of flowers at a local hotel, like you did. Stylists are a crucial part of a lot of weddings now, and Brides by the Sea needs to keep up.’ Her significant stare flags up that Thom and I tied the knot long before the word tipi made it into the urban dictionary. ‘These days every couple wants a wedding that’s totally unique to them, that their friends and family will remember forever. Making that happen is a whole new growth area.’ Those last two words will be the key to Jess’s enthusiasm.

‘But where do I come in?’

Her eyes narrow. ‘A handful of brides are creative enough to know what they want, design their own wedding backdrop, and source every item to make their day spectacularly special. But most newly engaged brides won’t know their favours from their fairy lights, and even if they do, they won’t have time to organise everything. Which is where they’ll turn to you to pull everything together. You might be involved a little or a lot, the budget might be tiny or huge. But basically you’ll be here to guide brides towards choosing the right dreams for them. And then you’ll make them come true.’

‘I will?’ My eyes are growing wider with every question.

As she rubs her hands, she’s almost purring. ‘We’ll begin simply, by sourcing lovely items brides might like to buy or hire to accessorise and personalise their weddings. Then we’ll move on to creating a gorgeous department couples can visit for inspiration and guidance.’ She’s making it sound almost possible.

‘Right.’ I’m gnawing at the gel coat on my nail.

Her beam is widening. ‘It’s win win. We’ll be helping people get the polished events they want, without necessarily spending any more. You’ll get to design the flowers, and so much more too. And we’ll offer a set up, and tidy away option. You wait, we’ll have a fully-fledged wedding styling service up and running faster than you can say bunting and bouquets.’

That sends my voice high with panic. ‘I’ll be fine with the flower part. But what about the rest?’

And finally she picks up on my terror. ‘There’s no need to look so scared, Lily. Trust me, if I didn’t know you’d ace this, I wouldn’t suggest it.’ Her tone has switched from full-on excitement to soothing. ‘You’ve always had a great eye for weddings, you’re brilliant with brides, and you’re used to spotting trends with your flowers. What’s more, you’re talented enough to do this in your petticoat. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to extend your floral skills and push your creative boundaries at the same time.’ She sounds like she’s given this a lot of thought.

Not that I’m about to mention it, but apart from my vanishing job, I’m fine with the boundaries I’ve got. ‘But why me, why now?’

Jess gives a low laugh. ‘Good business is about seizing opportunities. You’re available, you’re here, I’d be mad not to tempt you to expand your horizons.’ Which all sounds so scary I need to make my excuses. And go.

‘I’m not sure I should be running back to St Aidan.’ My voice comes out as a croak. I left with such high hopes, and there’s not a lot to show for the last five years. Bolting home to the place I worked when I was twenty is like admitting defeat.

Jess gives a rueful smile. ‘Which is why I’m adding a sweetener. Poppy barely uses the flat upstairs now she’s with Rafe. We could throw that in too.’

‘Right.’ It’s so sudden, my mouth is still catching up. A job and somewhere to live. When five minutes ago I had neither. And even if my stomach has disintegrated at the idea of styling weddings, the view of the sea from those little round attic windows upstairs is luring me to think about it. Hard.

‘Of course, if you feel St Aidan is a backwards step, why not look at it as temporary? Find your feet, have a go at the styling, and move on elsewhere in your own time if it’s not for you. I’m happy with that.’

Jess is so great at making things work for people. That’s why she’s such a brilliant sales person.

Now she’s started, there’s no stopping her. ‘We don’t know what your mum’s plans are, but unless she’s eloping, I’m guessing she’ll be busy with a wedding. This way you’ll be around to help.’

What did I say about persuasive powers?

‘You might even be able to grow those flowers for her bouquet.’

‘Okay.’ I hold up my hand before Jess gets completely out of hand. ‘Thank you, and yes. To everything except the last bit. Flower growing was never more than a fantasy.’ That dream belongs to a different life. To a girl who took happiness as a given. I’m not that person any more.

Jess draws in a breath. ‘We’ll see.’

At times, she has a maddening habit of not taking ‘no’ for an answer. I’m mentally pushing up my sleeves, preparing to argue it out, when the shop door opens, and Poppy dashes in. She’s wearing the Barbour jacket Rafe got her for Christmas, and from the way it’s done up on the wrong poppers, I’m guessing she left home in a hurry.

Jess pushes the plate towards her. ‘You’re just in time for our brainstorming breakfast. Cinnamon whirl?’

Looks like this is me off the hook.