by Olivia Miles
Chloe said nothing as she slid into her usual chair. Melanie and Sarah followed suit.
“We had a call from Jane Merrik this morning,” Chloe said, looking at Sarah across the table.
Sarah felt the air leave her lungs, and Melanie had gone so still beside her that she was relatively certain that her friend had stopped breathing as well at this news.
“She’s decided not to move forward with us.”
“What?” Sarah couldn’t disguise her shock. “But that’s ridiculous. I made a flippant comment—”
“A comment that made her want to take her business elsewhere,” Chloe said, raising an eyebrow. “The planning of the wedding is just as special to some brides as the wedding itself. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Something that they’ve waited for all their lives.”
And Sarah had cast a dark cloud over it. She understood. “I’m sorry. I never would have said anything if I knew a client was present. You know how much I love working here.”
“Do I?” Chloe surprised her by saying. She shook her head, causing her low, blonde ponytail to swish over her shoulders. “I need to know that you believe in the product you’re selling. We can’t sell someone a wedding dress that we don’t believe will make them feel absolutely beautiful.”
“But, of course I believe that! You know I’ve been subscribing to wedding magazines since I was a kid! I know all the designers. I follow the trends. I want to be a part of this business, Chloe.”
Sarah glanced over at Melanie, who looked pained. Chloe said nothing for what felt like several excruciating minutes, even though it was probably only seconds. Long ones.
“Why don’t you take a few days off? Gather yourself. Tend to whatever personal issues you have. Then we can decide if Bayside Brides is the right fit for you.”
Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. Her mouth felt dry, and she chose her next words very carefully. “But it is the right fit for me. I’m sure of it. I messed up. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re right. It won’t. Mistakes are one thing. Attitude is another. We’ll regroup next week.”
Next week. Did Chloe really mean it? She wanted Sarah to leave? What about the storefront? Who would cover the walk-ins when Melanie was meeting with a bride for a custom gown and Chloe was meeting with Jessie for the invitations or Posy for the flowers?
But from the patient way that Chloe was watching her, waiting for her, she knew that Chloe was dead serious. Without looking at either of her bosses, Sarah stood, walked out of the back room and into the storefront, barely remembering to grab her handbag from under the counter as she walked to the door, as calmly yet quickly as she could on shaking legs.
Her eyes blurred from tears, but she didn’t let them spill. Couldn’t let them spill.
She pushed out of the shop and into the sunshine, feeling the warmth on her face. In the short time she’d been inside, the street had come to life. It was summer. Kids were out, getting ready for a long day at the beach.
Melanie called out to her before she could reach the corner. Reluctantly, Sarah turned, even though she knew it wasn’t Melanie’s fault at all.
“She just needs to cool off. Losing the Merrik wedding was a big blow, and she’s already losing sleep over letting Hannah down.”
“And I feel terrible!” Sarah cried. “It was never my intention.”
“I know that, and so does she, deep down.” Melanie squeezed her arm. “Show her that you believe in love again. That you are still that hopeless romantic we first brought into the shop.”
Sarah understood what Melanie was saying, but how was she supposed to convince her when the truth was that she wasn’t that same girl anymore. The old Sarah did believe that there was a perfect match out there for everyone, that if two people were meant to be, that they would find a way. The old Sarah cried over television movies. She was a sap. Somehow she had to find her way back to that.
“I believe in giving the brides the best day they can have,” she said. “I believe that every wedding should be beautiful, and I can help make it that way.”
“I think you believe in more than that,” Melanie said. “It was what made Chloe so eager to hire you.” She reached down and squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Take some time. Get over this disappointment with the online dating. And remember our deal. Give the next guy you meet a fair chance. Opening your heart to the idea of love and happy endings will go a long way with winning back Chloe’s support.”
Sarah nodded along, even though her heart wasn’t in it.
The Foster nephew had potential, all right. But her mission was purely professional.
Chapter Six
The next morning Sarah woke to the sound of birds chirping outside her window instead of the ringing of her alarm. She was out of coffee, because she usually grabbed one on the way to work, and because Monday afternoons were typically when she went grocery shopping too, and yesterday, the last thing she wanted to do was linger in public any longer than necessary.
What if she ran into a client? How would she explain her sudden absence from the shop? What if she ran into that busybody Dottie Joyce, who would question why she was grocery shopping in the middle of the day instead of fluffing tulle at Bayside Brides, or ask why she was wearing her sunglasses indoors?
No one could see the tears. It was too small of a town. No one could know about her indiscretion if she wanted to ever keep her credibility.
She still had a job, she told herself, over and over, even though it was not exactly comforting. It technically could be worse, she knew. And Melanie would fight for her. But she had to hold up her end of the bargain, too. She had to find a way to believe in love again.
She just didn’t know how, not when it seemed that the only emotion she ever had to associate with romance anymore was complete and utter disappointment.
Because she saw no reason to sit around her apartment feeling sorry for herself, she dressed and went into town, deciding if anyone asked, she would claim she was taking the day off to visit her grandmother, which she just might, and probably should do. She bypassed Angie’s in case Chloe popped in for a latte and headed to Books by the Bay instead, where the owner, Trish McDowell, sold coffee, tea, and scones in addition to the latest juicy paperbacks.
Maybe she’d pick up a romance novel to get her back into the spirit of things. Trish kept a bunch of them on hand at the front table, especially anything by JR Anderson, now an Oyster Bay resident and husband to Bridget Harper, who happened to be one of Trish’s best friends since childhood.
Trish was also married to Jeff, who, according to Bridget, was representing the sale of Crestview Manor. Sarah decided to feel out the situation. See if something useful could be gleaned that might help her to change Chris Foster’s mind about letting them rent out the space for a night. A single night. Really, what was the problem?
“Hi, Trish,” she said, smiling as she wandered to the back of the room.
Trish blew a wisp of hair from her forehead and set a stack of books onto the counter. “How are you, Sarah? How’s your grandmother?”
It was no secret that Sarah’s grandmother had been recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and while she didn’t like to think about her grandmother growing older, or what her future held, she appreciated Trish’s concern.
“I think she’s finally stopped asking Dr. Sawyer to marry her,” Sarah said brightly, and Trish laughed. When Jason Sawyer had moved back to town and taken over his father’s clinic, he had made quite an impression on Esther Preston, and Sarah knew that her grandmother looked nearly as forward to his weekly visits to her at Serenity Hills as she did Sarah’s visits.
“I’m so happy that Jason and Melanie are together,” Trish said as she sorted the books into two piles. “Do you think there’s any chance of them getting married?”
“Oh, no doubt. They were made for each other.” After all, it had been plain as day when Sarah met Jason that he only had eyes for Melanie, even though Melanie had been completely oblivious. In fa
ct, it had taken everything in Sarah not to take her friend by the shoulders and give her a good, hard shake. What was Melanie doing pining around about that jerk Doug McKinney, who had broken up with her on Valentine’s Day of all days, when the perfect man was right in front of her?
Sarah smiled to herself. Maybe Melanie was right. Maybe it would be a good idea to look past the obvious and open her mind. After all, she was just as much prey to the smooth talkers as Melanie had once been.
Still, Chris Foster was not the man. He was too…grumpy, too guarded. Too…something.
Trish gave a small smile as she sorted through the titles in her stack. “Every pot has its lid, as the saying goes!”
Yes. Well. Sarah used to believe in phrases like this too until recently. But what if her lid was travelling around China, or living in Florida, or dating someone else? All she knew was that her lid was not in Oyster Bay, and that she wasn’t going to keep trying on different lids until she found one that fit. She could search forever. She already felt like she’d searched forever. She was tired. She was, admittedly, jaded.
“I suppose,” she sighed. She was an ambassador for Bayside Brides, after all. Even though she may not be in the shop today, buttoning up the backs of dresses, or adjusting hem lengths with pins, she wasn’t taking any more chances when it came to diplomacy. She had to believe in the dream she was selling—that’s what Chloe had said… She had to believe in happy endings. That meant she had to believe that Hannah Donovan had a chance at getting the wedding of her dreams.
She decided to cut to the point of coming in here today, other than for the coffee, which she had almost forgotten about.
“Bridget told us that the Crestview Manor estate has gone on the market.”
Trish raised her eyebrows. “So Jeff told me. Between you and me, I don’t know if that will sell anytime soon.”
Sarah gave her a knowing look. “It needs a lot of work. Maybe it’s a tear down?”
“It can’t be,” Trish surprised her by saying. “It’s a registered historical landmark. No major changes without approval. And it most certainly cannot be demolished.”
Sarah considered this information. It wasn’t surprising, not given the age and size of the place. It had once been beautiful, and it still was, in its own charming way. She thought of Hannah, who saw something in it that other people might, too.
“Surely a buyer might love the property, though. It’s not easy to come by oceanfront land like that.”
“We’ll see,” Trish sighed, but she didn’t look very convinced. She picked up the shorter pile of books and pressed them against her chest. “The seller is quite motivated, so I imagine whoever is lucky enough to buy it can get it for a steal.” Trish wandered into the children’s section and pushed a book between two others on an already crammed shelf.
Sarah followed her, not quite ready to drop this topic just yet.
“I’m surprised that the owner would be willing to part with the house,” she commented as she trailed Trish deeper into the pastel-colored extension off the back of the shop. It was decorated with a summer theme, and large construction paper cutouts of beach balls and umbrellas dotted the space above the shelves.
“It was his uncle’s house,” Trish remarked. “Jeff said that he spent every summer here in Oyster Bay. Jeff remembers him vaguely.”Trish skirted her eyes to Sarah, narrowing them slightly. “Have you met this Chris Foster?”
“I did meet him. He was hanging up signs for an estate sale this weekend.” Not exactly the full truth, but no need to elaborate on her little appearance at his door on Sunday.
“Oh, yes. The estate sale. It should help clear things out, at least. Marty never could part with anything, and antiques don’t usually appeal to new buyers.” Trish tucked the last of the books into its place on the shelf and then turned to face Sarah. “But if you ask me, that’s too big of a project for one person. And if he wants to sell that place anytime soon, he’ll be needing all the help he can get.”
Sarah felt her lips curl into a smile as the first swell of real hope she’d had in a while filled her. So Chris needed a bit of help, did he?
Lucky for her, she had all the time in the world this week.
***
The doorbell rang just as Chris was pulling the tarp off a Chesterfield leather sofa. He coughed as the dust swirled up in the air and set the tarp in the pile with the others.
“Just a minute!” he called as he moved out into the hallway, even though he doubted very much that anyone could hear him through the door. It was solid, just like the rest of this house. But still, judging from the paint peeling from its frame, it had seen better days.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and opened the door, expecting to see the gardener, whom he’d called that morning, after rifling through Marty’s desk for the number. Instead he saw that pesky wedding planner. A nice enough woman, but still. Pesky.
“Sarah, right?” He kept his expression pleasant but specifically uninterested. He didn’t have time for chitchat right now. He had tarps to remove, dusting to do, a vacuum to locate, and windows to wash. And that leaky faucet to fix, and he wasn’t much of a handyman.
“I hope I’m not interrupting you.” She smiled up at him, and he fought back a wave of impatience. She most certainly was interrupting him—again—but he was far too polite to say so directly.
He shifted the weight on his feet. “Just tackling the old place. There’s a lot to do if I’m going to get out of here by the end of the weekend.” In other words, hint, hint. In other words, please go and leave him to it.
“That’s why I’m here,” she said, surprising him. “I can help.”
He didn’t manage to repress his sigh this time. Holding up a hand, he said, “You’ve helped enough. The newspaper…the antiques shop. All great ideas. Thank you.” He set his jaw. Now please leave, he willed her.
“No, I mean, with the house. I’m sure there’s a lot to do to get it ready for this weekend’s estate sale. I have some time on my hands this week.”
He frowned at her. “Are you serious?”
“Completely serious,” she said brightly. She roved her eye up and down him and then grinned. “Looks like the place is dusty.”
It was dusty, and he did need help, badly. But something didn’t ring true here. His eyes narrowed. “Why would you help me? You don’t even know me.”
She shrugged, her smile not even slipping. “We like to help people out in Oyster Bay. It’s a tight community like that.”
True, all true, but a random act of kindness like this didn’t come along without some strings. He was a shrewd businessman, not a dummy.
“I’ve got it covered, but thanks,” he said, reaching for the doorknob.
She held out her hand, stopping him. He would have been amused, if he wasn’t so annoyed. The woman drove a hard bargain, and something told him that she wasn’t finished with her pitch just yet.
“I hear it will be a tough sale,” she commented. When he frowned in response to that, she added, “It’s a small town. People talk.”
“You heard right,” he said. He could just imagine what the upkeep of this place would be, year after year, if it sat vacant. He felt a headache coming on. And this time, it wasn’t from the dust.
“And I imagine that the estate sale this weekend might be the best surge of traffic to come through this place for a while.”
Again, she had him there. His patience was thinning, and time was getting away from him. Time she was reminding him that he didn’t have.
He managed a thin smile. “What is it that you want, Ms. …” He’d forgotten again, or maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention. Didn’t want to pay attention. But it was being forced on him. Over and over again. She wasn’t going to give up, he realized.
“Preston,” she finished. “Am I really that forgettable?” She grinned, rather cheekily, and despite his reservations, he found himself warming up to her.
“What
is it that you’re asking for in exchange for helping me to fix up this house for the estate sale?” He folded his arms across his chest, waiting for it.
She licked her lower lip, and, without being invited, stepped inside the foyer, forcing him to take a step back. “Now, just hear me out, for two minutes, and if we don’t reach an agreement, I’ll go, and I’ll leave you to all…this…” She motioned to the peeling paint on the doorframes, the fading wallpaper, and the cobwebs on the sconces that flanked a dingy mirror. “I’ll leave you to handle all of this all on your own.”
Was that a glimmer of amusement he saw pass through her eyes? He managed to firm his mouth before his own smile gave him away. She was savvy. Feisty. But damn, she was pesky.
“Two minutes,” he said, and that was being generous. Still, he was growing curious, and he had to admit that listening to her spiel was better than scrubbing tile grout—at least for a few minutes.
Her eyes flashed in surprise, giving her away for one telling second. She hadn’t expected that, not anymore than he’d expected an offer of help to appear at his doorway. An offer he very much needed, especially considering the cleaning crew he’d called said they were booked up two weeks out. “Tourist season,” they’d said. He’d offered them double. They’d only laughed.
“Okay. So.” She held up her hands like she was framing a picture and moved to the back of the hall, all the way through to the back of the house where the large, glass-enclosed conservatory opened up, giving a panoramic view of the terrace and flowering garden. It was probably one of the nicest rooms in the house, with the paned windows and doors and the lush greenery shadowing it just enough to keep the temperature cooler than one might expect in a house without air-conditioning.
“Picture it,” she said, splaying her hands in the air. “Chairs set up here, forming an aisle. A trellis set up there, between the rose bushes. A bride, her eyes shining with tears of joy, gracefully walking through the crowd of guests to unite with her one true love.”
Her eyes cut to him. He kept his expression purposefully blank.
