10. Jenny
Chapter 10
Jenny
Trent scurries out the door, his ears pink from embarrassment. A soft smile spreads across my face as I glance back at the counter where the morning sunlight streams through the windows, casting a warm glow across the worn wood.
I don’t know what I’ve done in life to deserve a guy as sweet as Trent. Not that he’s mine, per se, but at least he’s mine for now. That counts for something, right? Bonus: I get my very own art studio.
He likely doesn’t realize it, but when he’d offered me that space, I could’ve swooned right then and there. It’s like a book lover being handed a library, complete with a comfy chair and one of those rolling ladders. My mind buzzes with possibilities as I picture how I’d rearrange my cabin once I move into Trent’s house—easels by the windows for natural light, shelves for paints and brushes, maybe even a little table for sketching.
The thought keeps me buoyant as I finish my morning tasks. The familiar buzz of the shop surrounds me: the soft creak of the door opening, the clink of bait buckets against the counter, and the murmur of customers chatting. Before I know it, the steady rhythm of work carries me into late morning, until a pair of determined figures stride in.
Mrs. Hughes and Gwen arrive looking ready for battle, binders tucked under their arms. They look striking in their professional attire—Mrs. Hughes in a pencil skirt and a flowing yellow and white blouse, Gwen in a tailored black pantsuit with a vibrant purple button-down. The faint scent of citrusy perfume drifts through the air as they pass by the counter, their heels clicking against the floor. These are women who get things done, and the energy they exude is equal parts inspiring and intimidating.
“Hi, Gwen. Hi, Mrs. Hughes,” I call out, grabbing a bait bucket for Carlton, one of our regulars. “I’ll be right over.” The faint, salty scent of fresh bait fills the air.
“Have a great day, Carlton,” I say as I hand him his bait bucket. “And good luck out there! I hope you catch something big.”
“Thanks, Jenny,” he says. “Looks like you’ve got a busy day ahead of yourself.” He nods toward the office door where Mrs. Hughes and Gwen have disappeared.
“A busy day for sure. I’ve got a wedding to plan.”
“Ah, yes, I did hear that through the grapevine. Seems like it just took a great gal like yourself to get ol’ Trent to finally settle down.”
I laugh and wave Carlton off, cheeks warming. Stopping by Greg’s desk, I tell him, “I’m stepping away from the shop for a bit. I’ll be in the back with Gwen and Mrs. Hughes. Let me know if anyone gives you any trouble.”
“Trouble?” he teases, leaning back in his chair. “You act like I wasn’t handling things just fine before you started here.”
“Sure,” I say with a playful smile, “but the customers like me better than you.”
Greg waves me off good-naturedly as Trent walks in, Trent’s hair slightly mussed and cheeks flushed from the brisk marina air.
“I saw Mom and Gwen pull up,” Trent says, “and tried to hurry over as fast as I could without skipping the safety rundown for the pontoon rental.”
“No worries,” I say. “I just finished with Carlton and let Greg know I wouldn’t be in the shop. We’re good to go.”
“Great. Let me wash my hands, and we’ll dive into the wedding planning,” Trent says, heading toward the sink. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms dusted with faint streaks of grease—proof of his earlier work on the marina’s boats.
“As long as you don’t get cold feet, I think we can manage waiting for you to wash up,” I tease, earning a laugh as he disappears into the back.
When I step into the office, the sheer volume of materials on the table freezes me in place. Magazines, fabric swatches, and floral arrangement books are strewn across every available inch, and the faint scent of freshly printed paper mingles with the citrus notes from earlier.
Footsteps behind me make me glance back as Trent joins me, his hands still holding a towel after a quick rinse. “Looks like they’ve got the works for us today,” he says.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out smaller than I intended. Trent sets the towel down on a nearby table, then he turns to study me.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now?”
“What? No! Especially not after you just promised me my own art studio,” I say. As we step forward to claim out seats in front of the table, I shake off some of my nerves.
Mrs. Hughes doesn’t waste a moment. “Alright, now that you’re both here, let’s start with the most important question,” she says, clasping her hands together.
Trent leans back in his chair, a grin tugging at his lips. “She already agreed to marry me. Isn’t that the most important question?”
“Of course not,” Gwen interjects, her tone light but firm. “We need to set a date.”
“Oh, that.” Trent says sheepishly.
“Yes, that,” replies Mrs. Hughes sweetly.
My stomach drops. A date! How did we not settle on a timeline for the wedding when we were planning for this fake marriage?
Gwen fills the silence easily, pulling out some pictures of weddings with reds, oranges, and yellows. “How about a nice fall wedding? In the background, you could have the leaves changing colors, and we could transform the barn to an elegant yet rustic vibe to add to the fall theme.”
“Well,” I say timidly, “we aren’t looking for a long engagement.” I glance at Trent for confirmation.
“Definitely not,” he agrees quickly.
Gwen and Mrs. Hughes exchange looks. “Is there some other news you want to tell us?” Mrs. Hughes asks.
Realizing how our eagerness to get married so soon might come across, Trent’s ears turn red and my face flushes. “No, nothing like that!” I say.
“What we mean,” Trent says, “is we’re already working together and living so close. Why drag it out?”
“How about the beginning of April?” I suggest hesitantly.
All three sets of eyes turn to me, each of them looking slightly shocked. The silence stretches for a beat too long before Mrs. Hughes says, “But it’s mid-March now. That’s only two or so weeks away.”
“You’re right,” I say. “I see how that could be not ideal for everyone.”
“No,” Trent says, his ears still tinged red. “That could work. Like I said, we do want to get married sooner rather than later. As long as it’s not April Fools’ Day, I’m game.”
“A spring wedding would be beautiful,” Mrs. Hughes admits. “And the cherry blossoms will be in bloom then too, but that’s much too soon! I’m not sure we could get everything ready in time.” Mrs. Hughes looks at Gwen.
“I really am okay with a simple wedding,” I say.
Gwen shakes her head. “I don’t do simple.” Then she looks through her planner and adds, “It would be really tight, but I if we push it back a week, I can pull this off. Would Saturday April twelfth work for you all?”
I nod, then look at Trent.
“Looks like we have a date,” Trent says, his grin softening as he glances my way. “Now that we have that settled, everything else should be easy peasy, right?”
We all laugh, though Gwen’s and Mrs. Hughes’s laughs sound strained. Even I know full well the mountain of decisions still ahead. But in that moment, surrounded by the buzz of plans and the warmth of shared excitement, it all feels doable, at least to me.
“Okay,” Mrs. Hughes says, “so now that the date is settled, and you’re sure you don’t want the beautiful fall wedding Gwen was showing . . .” She looks at Trent and me, giving us time to respond. When I shake my head, she says, “No, okay, well then we’ll need to get save-the-dates out as soon as possible.” Her pen poised over a notepad, she says, “Let’s decide on a pattern for the invitations, and I’ll come over tomorrow so we can start working on addressing the envelopes.”
I nod, my thoughts already swirling with color palettes and fonts.
“And,” Gwen cuts in smoothly, flipping through her meticulous planner, “if we can decide on a cake design today, I can get you both in for a cake tasting with Holly first thing in the morning. Do you have a preference for flavors?”
The thought of cake perks me up. “I love lemon cake, and it might be nice to have something fresh and bright for a spring wedding,” I say, imagining the tangy sweetness melting on my tongue.
“Great idea!” Mrs. Hughes beams at me. “Lemon feels perfect for spring. What do you think, Trent?”
“I’m down for anything Holly makes,” Trent says, “but if her Sunrise Sin muffins can be turned into a cake, it’d be out of this world.”
Gwen’s pen moves swiftly across the page as she nods. “Noted. I’ll check with Holly as soon as I leave the marina. As for catering,” Gwen continues, her voice firm and efficient, “I have an excellent caterer I use for many events. Hopefully we can get them with this soon of a date. I’ll try to pull as many strings as I can.”
Mrs. Hughes turns to Gwen. “Are you referring to the caterer that you used at our Christmas event last year?”
“That’s the one,” Gwen confirms with a small smile.
“Excellent!” Mrs. Hughes says, clapping her hands together. “They were simply divine. Going along with Jenny’s suggestion of a fresh cake, I think we should ask the caterers to create a light and refreshing menu. I’m thinking salads, fruits, maybe chicken. Gwen, could you coordinate that?”
“Will do.” Gwen adjusts her glasses and jots down another note. “We’ll schedule a tasting in the next day or two. I just need to go over a few options with the caterers first. For now, I’m thinking we stick with this light and fresh theme—maybe incorporate fresh flowers? A wedding outdoors at the marina? For the bridesmaids, pink and yellow are great spring colors. For the men, tan and white suits, with a pop of pink or yellow in the ties. What do you think?”
The rapid-fire suggestions take a second to sink in. I blink, then smile. “I love that. Maybe a soft pink to accent the cherry blossoms?”
Gwen pauses, her head tilting thoughtfully, then nods in agreement. “Jenny, I will get you in for a dress fitting as quickly as I can. Bridesmaids and groomsmen fittings following that. And then, of course, the parents of the bride and groom. When can we expect your parents to come in for that?”
I hesitate a moment before saying, “They won’t be.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Hughes asks.
“They’re not really involved in my life,” I say.
Trent takes my hand and gives it an assuring squeeze. “But her grandpa Henry will be there, and he’ll need a suit.”
I nod. “Yes, he’ll walk me down the aisle.”
Gwen and Mrs. Hughes nod solemnly. “We can do that, dear,” Mrs. Hughes says.
“Of course,” Gwen adds.
“Anyway,” Trent says, quickly changing the subject, his tone warm and calm. “If you’re all set on having the wedding at the marina, I know just the spot for the ceremony. Once we wrap up here, I’ll show you all.”
The meeting rolls on, the table turning into a battlefield of papers, fabric swatches, and scribbled notes. Discussions about flowers, centerpieces, and timing blur together as my energy wanes. Even the vibrant descriptions of daisies and peonies start to lose their luster.
Sensing my growing fatigue, Trent pushes back from the table with a stretch, his fingers lacing together above his head. “I think we’ve made some great progress,” he says. “Speaking for both Jenny and me, I’d say we’re officially wedding-planned out. How about we take a stroll to the spot I mentioned and talk about the ceremony and reception there?”
Grateful, I give him a small smile as I push back my chair. My legs feel stiff as I stand. “That sounds perfect. I can’t wait to see the spot.”
Turning to Gwen and Mrs. Hughes, Trent gestures to the table. “Feel free to leave everything here until we get back.”
They nod, their focus already shifting back to their binders and notes, and we follow Trent out of the office.
“Be right back,” I call to Greg as we pass the front counter. “We’re checking out a location really quick, and then I’ll swap back with you.”
Greg waves us off with an easy smile. “Take your time. I’ve got things under control.”
As we step outside, the crisp scent of the marina greets us, mingling with the faint brine of the water and the occasional whiff of diesel from the docked boats. The sunlight warms my skin as we walk, the rhythmic lap of water against the docks calming my overworked brain. Beside me, Trent walks with an easy confidence, his hands stuffed in his pockets and a small, thoughtful smile on his lips. For the first time all morning, I let myself relax, ready to see where this next step will take us.