They finished their tour in the gardens. Graeme seemed interested in the plans for the vegetable garden, at least, but Ruth and Selena both looked utterly unconvinced by Nate’s cutting garden.
“And you’d do the flowers. Here.” Selena frowned. “Really. How...interesting.”
Carrie could see the thought of her Ecuadorian Cool Water lavender roses on Ruth’s face, even though her cousin kept bravely quiet. Carrie decided to put her out of her misery. “Of course, I know Ruth has some specific desires for her flowers, so it might be best to stick with an official florist for them. With the wedding being in December, we’ll have a limited selection of blooms anyway, but we can certainly provide some nice seasonal arrangements for the bedrooms and bar.”
“Sounds good to me,” Uncle Patrick said, obviously keen to move on. “Now, is that it?”
Carrie smiled. “Just one more thing.” Leading them down the path towards the field at the back of the inn, she said, “Remember I told you we had an idea for if you needed a larger reception space?”
“The thirty extra guests,” Graeme said, and Carrie knew from his tone he had no idea who any of the people his future in-laws wanted to invite were, or why they would want to see him make his wedding vows.
“Exactly.” Carrie paused before they turned the corner of the inn. “Obviously, if your numbers remain as they are, you’re more than welcome to use the main dining room. I know how taken you were with the set-up in there.” Ruth smiled, and Carrie went on, “But just in case, we wanted to give you another option.”
With that, she waved a hand around the corner, and the string quartet started up with Pachelbel’s Canon. It was a cliché, Carrie knew, but she suspected cliché would appeal to Patrick and Selena. “After you,” she said, stepping back to let them through.
It looked better than Carrie had imagined it could. The marquee, hired for the day, shone bright white, even in the weak late afternoon sunlight. It had been a risk, laying out that much cash just to impress them, but Stan had got her a deal from one of his apparently numerous nephews, and it was worth it just to see the stunned look on her guests’ faces. And they hadn’t even seen inside yet.
“There are heaters, of course. December will be very chilly,” Carrie said, keeping her tone professional. No reason to let them know this sort of thing was in any way out of the ordinary at the Avalon Inn. “Why don’t you take a look inside?”
At the entrance to the marquee, Cyb had strung ribbons around the potted bay trees from her garden, and Nate had run left-over fairy lights around the doorway, then through the trees either side. With dusk just starting to fall, they twinkled like sequins on a vintage dress—a touch of sparkle, but not enough to distract from the surroundings.
Inside, Jacob had set up a long serving table with heated trays and chilled wine. Apparently whatever he’d been doing in the kitchen had reached perfection, as he was still smiling.
“If you’d like to take a seat,” he said, motioning to the single round table in the middle of the marquee, laid with the same lace tablecloths and vintage china as the dining room, and surrounded by high-level heaters. “Your waiter will be with you now.”
Nate stepped forward, decked out in a tux he’d found from somewhere or other, and poured the first glasses of champagne. And when Patrick looked over and said, “Carrie, why don’t you join us?” she knew it was all going to be a success.
With a sigh of relief, Carrie sank into the optimistically laid extra place, let Nate pour her a glass of champagne and pretended she didn’t feel his hand give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he passed.
* * * *
They retired to the bar after the meal, where Izzie served them cheerfully and put up with Uncle Patrick’s smiles and looks without comment. Carrie left poor Graeme being interrogated by Selena about exactly how much he made in his professional life and dragged Ruth off to view the terrace again, ensuring they wouldn’t be overheard.
The air on the terrace smelled sharp and clear, and Ruth leaned against the possibly rotting wood and breathed in deeply, while Carrie hung back in the pool of light from the dining room, watching her.
“So?” she asked, withholding her cousin’s glass of wine until she answered.
“It’s wonderful, Carrie,” Ruth said, turning to smile at her, and Carrie handed her the alcohol with some relief. Ruth couldn’t lie convincingly to save her life. She liked it, Carrie was sure.
“Okay. Good.” Carrie moved to stand beside her and stared out at the Avalon grounds. If she squinted, she could almost see Nate’s summerhouse. “It’s everything you wanted?”
Ruth nodded, and said, “Absolutely. Especially now I know for sure that Graeme really wants to marry me.”
Carrie let out a long, slow breath. “Yeah, that was starting to worry me a little bit, too. But I think he made his intentions pretty clear today.”
“Yeah,” Ruth said, staring dreamily out into the dark.
“And what were you two whispering about at dinner, anyway?”
“The honeymoon.” Ruth’s smile turned naughty. “He’s got it all planned out, Carrie, and it’s going to be perfect. It’s like you said. He can’t wait to be married to me. He’s just not got much patience for the wedding itself.”
“Or your parents,” Carrie added.
“Exactly.” Turning to Carrie with an even more wicked grin, Ruth said, “So, this is the famous terrace, then?”
“Famous? You saw it earlier, Ruth.” Carrie pulled a face. “I think we can agree there isn’t anything glamorous about this terrace yet. Although, obviously, by Christmas Eve it will be—”
Ruth interrupted her with a roll of her eyes. “I meant the famous site of your oft-described first kiss.”
Carrie blinked. “When did I tell you about that?”
“Endlessly, when we were fourteen.” Ruth grinned. “In your defence, it wasn’t as if we had any other experiences with boys to discuss.”
She did remember long nights curled up on twin beds in the Pink Room talking about every moment of their lives, Carrie supposed. It was only natural it would have come up. “Oh. Well, yes. This is where it happened.”
Ruth threw an arm out along the terrace railing in an expansive gesture. “I can picture it now—you with that awful haircut, him covered in spots...”
“You do realize we’re not fourteen any more, right?”
“You, dancing alone to the music inside. Him, sweeping you up in his arms, singing in each other’s ears while you danced...” Carrie could almost hear the music as Ruth spoke. “And then, he leans down and—”
“I’m never telling you anything again,” Carrie said, and Ruth laughed, high and bright and happy.
“Bit late now,” she said, but she stopped talking and Carrie sipped at her wine and allowed herself to start to relax. She had nothing else to do that night, no more convincing to do. It was going to be okay.
“So, how’s it working out with that gardener of yours?” Ruth asked, after a moment’s companionable silence.
“Okay, I think.” At least he seemed to have forgiven her for the garden-selling thing. After Uncle Patrick had seen the marquee, even he had to agree they could make more money renting the land, one wedding at a time.
Not that it was up to him. This was still her inn.
“Just okay?” Ruth tutted. “I was hoping for more.”
“More?”