Christmas Promises at the Little Wedding Shop: Celebrate Christmas in Cornwall with this magical romance!
wanting the ground to open up and swallow me. ‘Lovely to meet you, Jules, but forget the pointers. My wedding’s so low key it’s almost not happening.’ I force out a smile and, thankfully, I’m saved having to shake hands, because his are buried deep in his pockets.
As he turns to scrutinise me, his eyes are so blue and startling they could have been painted in on Photoshop. ‘I take it you’ve brought a camera with you. What do you use?’
From what Poppy says, Jules is as legendary for his ecstatic hugs as he is for his fantastic pictures and extravagant wardrobe. But his famously floppy fringe is suddenly stationary. And in place of the gush, I’m sensing an ice flow.
I push on, ignoring how awkward this is. ‘Most of my stuff is Nikon.’ You’ve no idea how many arms and legs it’s cost me to get the best there is. Although my memory cards are tiny rather then the true pro ones. And how many clothes I haven’t bought over the years, to save up so I can afford it. Some of the lenses alone cost a month’s salary. Which is why I’m wearing a New Look top from four seasons ago rather than designer cashmere, and a four figure price tag jacket like Jules.
Jules’s nose pinches and he flips back his hair with what almost could be a head toss. ‘You do realise it’s not the camera that makes good pictures. It’s actually down to the person behind the lens.’ He says it like it’s going to come as news.
I nod. ‘Right.’
He’s straight back at me. ‘A successful wedding photographer needs to be a great communicator.’ The slight curl of his lip has nothing to do with a smile. ‘Ordering a hundred guests around takes skill. Not to mention bucket loads of charisma.’
I’m letting this wash over me, exchanging ‘what the hell’ glances with Poppy, because it’s got so little to do with a few friends having an informal beach party.
Jess is swishing the ice round in her glass, looking slightly bemused. ‘So am I sensing there’s a problem, Jules?’
Jules draws himself up looks at a spot four feet to my left. ‘From where I’m standing, I’m just not feeling it with Holly. Not one iota.’
I force my cheeks into a smile. ‘Well, thanks for sharing, that’s very …’ I can’t bring myself to say helpful, ‘… illuminating. Always fab to have insight from an expert.’ Although now he’s mentioned it, he’s probably spot on. At work I always hide behind my camera. In a crowd I’m actually a bit of a mouse. In our family Freya was the ‘out there’ one, with enough pazazz to grab the spotlight for both of us. Meanwhile I made the most of her shadow, and hid in it. And even though I lost her, that’s how I always stayed. At least it’s good to realise that to handle a proper wedding I’d actually need a personality transplant.
Jules flips his scarf and turns his gaze onto Jess. ‘And while we’re here talking pictures, my answer is “yes”.’ Tight lipped doesn’t begin to cover it.
Jess’s eyes widen. ‘Answer? Was there a question?’
Jules sniffs. ‘Thanks for giving me first refusal. I’ll definitely take the first floor space next door. Congratulations, Jess, you’ve just added a fully in-house photographer to your Brides by the Sea portfolio.’
Jess shakes her head. ‘You’re spectacularly missing every point, Jules. We’re talking camaraderie here, not contracts.’ She pauses to roll her eyes at Poppy and me. ‘As for that first floor, I’m leaving my options open for the moment.’
‘Great.’ Jules’s snap says it’s anything but. ‘Let me know the minute you come to your senses. My offer won’t be here forever. And now I’ve got somewhere else to be.’ There’s a draught from his well-cut jacket as he whirls round and pushes past people towards the door.
Poppy pulls a face. ‘Someone’s in a rush to get to Lip Syncing.’
Jess shakes her head. ‘Sorry, Holly, I don’t know what got into him there.’
Even if Jess is mystified, I can see why Jules hasn’t put me straight on his air-kiss list. So I’m happy to leap in with an excuse for him. ‘Maybe he’s not in a party mood?’ I can sympathise with him on that one. Although, seriously, I don’t blame Jules for being appalled to be forced to give tips to someone who could be here to nick his clients. He doesn’t know that’s the last thing on my mind.
‘Poor boy.’ Jess sounds more sympathetic than cross. ‘He’s an only child, living at home. If he doesn’t get his own way, he get his tripod in a twist every time. Apart from that, he’s usually second to none.’
He might have sounded objectionable, but at least he reminded me why I work with objects not people. What’s more, I’m secretly glad there’s someone else my age who hasn’t got their independent accommodation a hundred per cent sorted. And I’m inwardly cheering that he’s left so fast. All in all, if I had to meet Jules at all, it couldn’t have gone better.
I knock back both my drinks to celebrate, and beam at Poppy. ‘Time for a Festive Margarita, then?’
She grins at me. ‘That’s more like it. Rafe and Bart and Immie will be here soon. Let’s see who we can find to introduce you to in the meantime.’
Considering I wasn’t up for a party, the next few hours fly by. And the funny thing about Champagne cocktails is, they slip down so easily it’s hard to keep count. By the time I head off up the stairs, with the excuse that I can’t go to Jaggers and keep a clear head for the shoot tomorrow, my legs are feeling strangely wobbly. As I cross the hallway, I decide to run my own sobriety test. I’m staring so hard at my leopard print pumps as I try to walk in a straight line along a floorboard, I completely miss that there’s someone hurrying towards me. The first I know is when I canon into a denim-shirted torso.
‘Shit, I’m sorry …’ Seeing how fast that came out, I can’t be so drunk.
The jeans I’m staring down at are soft and worn, and run down to scuffed boots. Then I spot the poppers stretched tight across a pretty ripped chest. However well I was sticking to my floorboard, the way I’m wanting to rip open those poppers has to be a sign of too much fizz. Then I take in a fist full of mistletoe. As I blink and breathe in a guy who smells fab, half of me thinks I’m dreaming. The other is almost ready to swoon and take advantage.
‘Holly Berry Pink Cheeks? Why aren’t you at the party?’
I jolt and lurch away. ‘Rory?’ If I’d had another freezing wave crash over me, I couldn’t have sobered up any faster. As it is, from the jangling of sleigh bells and the white pine twigs sticking in my ear, I seem to have landed mostly in the Christmas tree. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
His lips are twitching. ‘I get invitations to all the best parties. I like to drop by and check my Champagne’s going down okay.’ Then he lets his smile go. ‘If you’re typical, it looks like everyone’s had plenty tonight.’
Now I’m sober and indignant. ‘What the hell kind of player walks round parties clutching a handful of mistletoe?’ I’m dying inside because I even thought of leaning in back there.
His face creases as he laughs again. ‘One who makes sure Jess has every detail in place in the shop before she leaves for her holiday.’ He looks at the bundle in his hand. ‘I’m not so much a player, more her mistletoe supplier.’
What’s mistletoe got to do with a wine and beer seller? If I’m not keeping up here, it’s nothing to do with the booze. ‘So you’re not …’
‘Out to snog you in the stairwell?’ His laugh is very low this time. ‘Not unless you order that specifically. We like to go the extra mile for our customers, wherever it takes us.’ His face splits into the broadest grin yet.
‘As if …’ I’m shaking my head hard enough to rubbish that reply and fan my burning face at the same time. ‘Great, I’m delighted for you. I imagine you’ll have lots of very happy customers.’ I’m not only talking