Room for Love

by Sophie Pembroke

  “Is this for the stag night, or the wedding itself?” Nate asked, sneaking over to the kettle.

  “Stag night,” Carrie confirmed, turning to him. “Are you sure you’re okay to chaperone? I could...”

  “You can’t miss your best friend’s hen night,” Nate said, not pointing out that she was already missing the spa portion of the day so she could stay at the inn and get everything ready for Ruth’s girly night in. “I’ll be fine. Cyb’s going to stay in with Gran.” On the other side of the kitchen, the internal phone line rang, and Jacob left them to it while he went to answer it.

  Carrie nodded. “Thanks. That’s really... Just, thanks.”

  “No problem.” Nate stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee. He didn’t normally sweeten his hot drinks, but anything that might give him a little extra energy had to be good. “Now, the bridal suite is pinkified, the bar ready for some serious drinking–and incidentally, I hid both the good glasses and the best scotch. What do you want me to do next?”

  “I think the landlord of the Red Lion could probably answer that,” Jacob said, hanging up the phone. “Izzie’s just had him on the line begging one of us to go and collect our stag party before they drive away the locals for good.

  Nate winced. Coed-y-Capel was not used to large groups of drunk ex-public school boys. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks.” Carrie looked at him gratefully. “I’ll walk you out.”

  As they made their way through the dining room into reception and out onto the driveway, Carrie stayed suspiciously silent. It was only once they reached his car that Carrie said, “Can we talk, later? There’s something... Well, anyway. It would be good if we could...”

  “Talk?” Nate finished for her as she trailed off. “Of course. Although, if you’re sober enough to actually string sentences together by the end of the night, then I’d say Ruth’s hen do will have been a bit of a flop.”

  Carrie smiled, but there was something nervous in it. “I won’t be drunk. Too much to do for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Of course.” Nate opened the car door and climbed in. Carrie retreated back to the steps and, as he started the engine, he wondered what she wanted to talk about.

  Unless she didn’t really mean talk.

  Nate smiled. Suddenly his evening was looking up.

  * * * *

  By the time the hens returned from their pampering spa day, Carrie was beginning to think her shoulders would never relax into their natural position. Nate still hadn’t returned with the stags, which was actually a saving grace, since Moira and Cyb were using the main bar to finish folding wedding favors.

  “You look positively blissful,” Carrie told Ruth as her cousin floated through the front door.

  “It’s the champagne in the limo,” Ruth confessed. “Although the spa was pretty bloody brilliant too.”

  “So you’re ready for phase two?” Carrie moved out of the way of two other women coming through with a bottle of champagne in each hand.

  Ruth shook her head. “I think we’re all going to have a short rest, then we’ll meet in my room later.”

  “Okay. Well, the boys were last seen in the Red Lion, but I’ve sent Nate to keep an eye on them, which might help.”

  “Good.” Ruth looked relieved. “It’s not that I don’t like Graeme’s friends. It’s just...”

  Carrie nodded. “You told me about the Amsterdam stag weekend.”

  “Exactly,” Ruth said, with feeling.

  “You know there are considerably less brothels and pot cafes in Coed-y-Capel, right?” Carrie asked.

  “Just don’t want to take any chances.”

  With the girls all dispatched upstairs, Carrie checked in with Izzie to see if she’d heard anything from Nate, or any other irate bar owners.

  “All quiet,” Izzie said with a shake of her head. “On that front, at least. But I do have a couple of queries from guests arriving tomorrow...”

  With the reservations log straightened out, Carrie moved on to the bar to check on the Seniors.

  “These look fantastic,” she told them as she examined one of the butterfly favor boxes–a concession Ruth had been willing to make to her mother, to keep the wedding at the inn.

  “It’d be going faster if we didn’t have to keep Stan from eating the chocolates,” Moira said, with a pointed look at Stan, whose pile of boxes was considerably smaller than the women’s.

  “How many left to do?” Carrie asked.

  “About another twenty,” Cyb said. “Then we’re off back to Moira’s to watch Strictly Ballroom. Get some tips for the next dance night.”

  “Shouldn’t you be drinking champagne with your friends somewhere, anyway?” Moira asked as Carrie took a seat and started folding the nearest box into its desired shape. “Not hanging out with an invalid and a couple of pensioners.”

  Carrie rolled her eyes at Nate’s gran. “You’ll be back on your feet in no time, and you know it.” She shrugged, tipping six chocolate beans into her box. “Besides, it’s weird. I’ve known Ruth forever, but her other friends? I’ve never really spent any time with them. When Ruth and I hung out, it was just us.”

  “And everyone else knows each other.” Cyb nodded sadly. “That’s hard. It was a bit like that when I first came here, after my husband died.”

  “Really?” It was hard for Carrie to imagine Cyb as anything other than a central part of Avalon life. “It doesn’t matter, really. I’ll probably never see them again after the wedding, anyway. And I have my own friends, here.” She smiled widely at them, and saw Stan’s cheeks turn pink.

  Moira leaned over in her wheelchair and gave Carrie’s arm a gentle shove. “All the same, Ruth will miss you. A girl needs her best friend when she’s getting married. You’ll see, one day.”

  “Besides,” Cyb said, tipping the last of the beans into her box. “We’re all done here.”

  “Thank God for that,” Stan said, tossing his final box onto the pile. “Time to go home.” He looked up at Carrie, and there was a hint of a smile in his eyes. “You go on upstairs. We’ll clear up here.”

  Carrie did as she was told and, leaving instructions with Izzie to call her when the boys got back, headed up to the bridal suite.

  “You’re here!” Ruth tugged Carrie into the room and pushed her toward the oversized four poster bed. “Come on, you have to lie down to get the full effect. Your boy does good work.”

  Carrie bit back an inappropriate comment and collapsed beside Ruth on the bed covers. For a moment, it was such a relief to have the weight off her feet and to be able to slip off her shoes that Carrie failed to pay attention to what she was supposed to be noticing. Then she blinked and said, “This place is like Barbie’s idea of heaven.”

  “I know!” Ruth grinned at her. “Isn’t it magnificent?”

  Carrie rolled onto her side. She’d never been a big fan of pink, not least because it clashed with her hair. And while Ruth was decidedly more girlie overall, she’d never seemed particularly obsessed with the color before. “What’s with all the pink?”

  “It’s a hen night,” Ruth said with a shrug. “The last bastion of girlhood. My last chance as a single lady to enjoy all things pink and girly.”

  “Hence the Kir Royale,” Carrie said, gesturing at the chilling champagne and bottle of cassis on the bedside table.

  “And the pink balloons, bunting and stack of Eighties movies over there.” Ruth smiled. “You’re going to hate every second of it, aren’t you?”

  “Of course not,” Carrie lied. Struggling to her feet, she went to inspect the DVD pile. “I’m sure I can make it through Dirty Dancing one more time.”

  Ruth sat up and reached for the champagne glasses. “I thought you liked it.”

  “The first eighty times we watched it together? Absolutely.” Carrie smiled at her friend. “Seriously, though. It’s your night. Whatever you want goes.”

  “Good.” Ruth handed her a glass of perfectly mixed Kir Royale.
“Because I want you to get good and drunk, then go seduce that gardener of yours.”

  By the time the rest of the hens found their way to the bridal suite, all dressed in pink pajamas, Carrie had drunk three glasses of Kir and been persuaded to swap her suit for the pink Wedding Planner t-shirt and pajama bottoms Ruth had ordered for her from the internet.

  Deciding she’d better make one last check in before things got out of hand, she called down to reception from the bedroom phone. “Any sign of them yet?”

  Izzie sighed. “Didn’t I say I’d call you?”

  Carrie decided it probably wasn’t the best time to point out that Izzie wasn’t always entirely reliable when it came to passing on important information. “Okay. Just...let me know.”

  Izzie hung up before she reached the end of her sentence.

  Ruth handed her another glass of champagne, this time without the cassis. “We’re going to need more pink stuff,” she said, dropping to the bed beside her.

  “I’ll go get some in a minute,” Carrie promised.

  “May as well wait until Nate gets back.” Ruth dug a sharp elbow into Carrie’s ribs, in what she thought was supposed to be a teasing gesture. “You can drag him back up to the attic with you and drop the bottle off on the way.”

  Carrie rolled her eyes. “You’re awfully persistent about this,” she said, silently cursing herself for even responding when Ruth opened the question up to the floor.

  “Hey, everybody.” The seven tipsy women lounging on pink cushions around the room, turned away from the gyrating Patrick Swayze on the screen and stared at Ruth and Carrie instead. “You’ve all seen Carrie’s gardener, Nate, right?”

  The chorus of approving and yet disturbing noises in response told Carrie that, yes, in fact everyone had noticed Nate, thanks.

  “I’m telling you,” Fiona, one of the bridesmaids, said, “if you don’t want him, I do.”

  Carrie tried not to glare at the leering bridesmaid. It was surprisingly hard.

  Ruth laughed. “I think you might be out of luck there, Fi. He’s only got eyes for Carrie.”

  “We’ll see,” Fiona said with a predatory grin.

  Carrie wondered if it was too soon to call down and check in with Izzie again.

  In the end, she held out until they ran out of champagne, as well as cassis, and Ruth was putting St. Elmo’s Fire on the telly. A number of the girls were taking the movie break opportunity to pop back to their rooms to freshen up, make drunken phone calls home to their boyfriends or, in one unfortunate case, Carrie suspected, throw up in the privacy of her own bathroom. Carrie figured that meant she probably wouldn’t be missed for a while, what with all the comings and goings.

  Izzie rolled her eyes when she saw her coming down the stairs. “Did you hear the phone or something?”

  Carrie blinked. “We ran out of champagne. Could you get someone to bring some more up?” There were a number of temporary staff members milling around, and Carrie couldn’t quite place everyone’s names after all the Kir Royales.

  Nodding, Izzie headed into the bar, and Carrie realized she should probably get upstairs before anyone else saw her in her Wedding Planner pajamas. But before she could move, the front door opened, and Nate walked in, looking sober, amused, and way too gorgeous in his dark jeans and shirt.

  Izzie called back from the bar doorway, “By the way? I was about to call and tell you the boys are on their way back.”

  “Thanks for that,” Carrie said absently.

  Nate, smirking widely, said, “The others are right behind me. You might want to...” He made a shooing motion at the stairs. “Unless you want to share that particular outfit with the world.” He stepped forward and reached out a hand toward her head. “I like the hat,” he said, tilting the pink Stetson at an angle over her ear.

  “Not my idea,” she assured him.

  She was halfway up the stairs before Nate called after her, “Do you still want to talk? Later?”

  Carrie paused and smiled down at him. “Yeah, actually. I’ll meet you on the terrace? Say, midnight?” It was already gone eleven, but Carrie wasn’t sure she could wait much longer.

  Nate nodded, and there was a heat in his eyes Carrie suspected had nothing to do with her current get-up.

  With a mental note to herself to get changed before she went to meet Nate, Carrie headed back to the party, hoping that Izzie made good on the champagne request. It would make sneaking away again all the easier.

  * * * *

  Nate watched Carrie disappear up the stairs before turning back to help the groom-to-be and his friends find the door to the inn. Given the amount of time it had taken him to get them out of the last pub and into the taxis, he had absolutely no faith they’d be able to manage it on their own.

  He hadn’t intended on staying and drinking with the group. The original plan had been to help out the landlord of the Red Lion by getting them the hell out of there, then possibly hang around himself for a thank-you drink from the Lion bar staff.

  But Ruth’s fiance had been adamant that more equaled merrier–in terms of people, bars and definitely drinks. He figured they’d probably been drinking for close to nine hours, now, and not one of them showed any sign of giving up. He had to admire that kind of commitment.

  Very aware of his role as chaperone and the faint possibility his gran might still be around when he returned to the inn, Nate had chosen to take it easy. With the prospect of a conversation with Carrie on the cards, he was even more pleased with his decision.

  The lads all poured into the bar, and Henry the part-time barman, made full-time for the week of the wedding, started pulling pints as soon as he saw them, utterly unfazed by the slurred orders being shouted his way. Nate made a note to mention him to Carrie. If the wedding went well and they actually started getting paying guests again, they might even be able to hire him full-time.

  Nate joined the end of the queue and took the pint Henry handed him gratefully. Settled into the corner of the bar, he sat back and ignored all the conversations going on around him, and watched the clock instead.

  At twenty-to-twelve by the bar clock, Izzie appeared, accepted a pint from Henry and plonked herself down in the chair opposite him, announcing, “I’ve given up men.”

  Nate winced as every male eye in the room, including Henry’s, turned to get a good look at her. Most, Nate assumed, taking in the blond hair and great legs, were starting to imagine how they might change her mind.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be minding the front desk?” he asked.

  “It’s almost midnight, Nate.” Izzie took a long gulp of her beer. “Everyone’s in for the night, front door is locked, and I get to relax for a bit before I head home.”

  Nate sighed. “And that includes a discussion with me about your lack of love life?”

  “Yes, it does.” Izzie smirked. “Go on, ask me why.”

  “Because you’re in love with my cousin and he’s too stupid to notice?” Nate guessed, then wished he hadn’t as Izzie’s blue eyes grew wide.

  “I was going to say, because you’ve finally won Carrie over,” she mumbled, holding her glass close to her chest.

  “I’m not sure if I have,” Nate offered, signalling to Henry to bring more booze. Urgently.

  “Oh, come on. You’re meeting her on the terrace at midnight. Could it be any more romantically blatant?” Izzie sighed and reached to take the tequila shot from Henry before Nate even realized he was there. “Am I really as obvious as you and Carrie?”

  “Not...obvious,” Nate said, trying to find a way to say it that wasn’t a lie. “Just in love.”

  “Obviously in love,” Izzie translated. “Then why the hell doesn’t Jacob notice?”

  “He’s got a lot on his plate, with Georgia and now Gran and everything,” Nate said, wishing it didn’t feel like making excuses for his cousin. “Maybe you’ll have to say something first.”

  Izzie shook her head. “If the whole world knows I’m in love with him, he has
to know it too. I guess he’s just not interested in doing anything about it.” She looked up at Nate and gave him a wobbly smile. “But thanks anyway.”

  “Anytime,” he said. Izzie’s gaze jumped from his face to somewhere over his left shoulder. “What is it?”

  “I think you’d better get out onto the terrace,” she said, her smirk returning. “Looks like Miss Archer’s running a little early.” She gestured toward the glass doors, and when Nate turned to look, he could make out a figure on the other side of the pane.

  “Are you okay in here?” he asked.

  Izzie drained her tequila and nodded. “I’m fine. Time for bed, anyway. I’ll go back to reception and call my brother to come and get me.”

  Glancing around the room of drunken stags, Nate decided this was a very good idea. “Wish me luck, then,” he said, and headed to the terrace to find Carrie.

  * * * *

  At eleven-forty-seven precisely, Ruth hit the stage of her drunkenness Carrie hated the most. Soppy, hugging, I Love You All So Much Ruth was never a lot of fun. Especially when Carrie was trying to sneak off to meet up with the first boy she’d ever kissed to try and persuade him to do it again.

  “It won’t change, will it? When I’m married?” Ruth’s arms were looped around Carrie’s waist as they sat on the bed, surrounded by all the pink in the world and two passed out hens. Most of the others were still sprawling on cushions around the television, ogling a shirtless Rob Lowe in his heyday, although a few had disappeared, presumably to bed.

  “Of course it won’t change, sweetie,” Carrie said, despite the fact she had no real idea what Ruth was talking about. She smoothed a hand over her cousin’s hair. “It won’t change at all.”

  “I hope not.” Ruth gave a wistful sigh.

  Carrie knew if she just told Ruth why she needed to leave, her friend would be pushing her out the door to go get Nate. The only concern was that she might follow her to watch what happened next, along with a gaggle of pretties in pink.

  Ruth’s sighs turned into a light snore, and Carrie closed her eyes with relief. Gingerly, she unwrapped Ruth’s arm from around her waist and laid her back on the pink sheets Cyb had found from somewhere. Then, as quietly as possible, she got to her feet and stepped away from the bed. She glanced down and bit back a cheer; Ruth was still asleep.