Chapter Thirteen
Flapping around the cottage like a headless chicken, Lucy flits in and out of the living room, haphazardly grabbing random notebooks and stuffing them into her leather satchel.
‘Don’t forget your laptop,’ I remind her, pointing to the device in question that’s resting on the coffee table.
‘Oh, of course!’ That gets wedged into her already fit-to-burst bag, too. ‘Say, you don’t fancy coming with me, do you? I know it’s last-minute, but if you’re at a bit of a loose end, it’s not a problem.’
I cringe at the suggestion. I know she’s just trying to be kind, inviting me along to visit her publishers so I don’t have to spend another lonely day doing nothing but going over her wedding mood boards.
It’s sweet, but the sympathy makes me feel like a loser, and besides, I don’t think I’m ready to see London again, not just yet.
Honestly, the idea of tackling the tube sounds like a nightmare - perhaps I’ve grown used to the quiet life already!
‘Nah, I’d rather just chill out here, if that’s okay with you.’
‘Suit yourself.’ The heavy bag swings around her hips, clunking against the door frame as she heads for the exit. ‘I’ll be back about sevenish, I reckon.’
‘If you give me a bell when you’re twenty minutes away, I’ll get us a Chinese takeaway.’
‘Ooh, yes please! See you later, hun.’ She waggles her fingers at me and dashes out of the door, twirling her car keys as she skips down the garden path.
Yawning as I wander barefoot into the kitchen, I check the time on my phone.
Nine thirty-seven. I could always go back to bed, have a super indulgent lie in, but now I’m up, I can’t really imagine getting all cosy under the sheets again.
Instead, I have a quick breakfast of microwave porridge and instant coffee before hopping in the shower.
Staying with Lucy has been great, sort of like having a roommate again.
I haven’t had one of those since I was twenty-five, and I didn’t realise how much I missed the simple pleasure of having another person around, even if you’re sitting in completely different rooms, it’s just nice to know that someone is there.
After tossing on a loose t-shirt and a pair of grey joggers, I head back downstairs where I decide to work on the goodie bags for Luce’s hen.
I’ve already picked up a ton of little treats for them - love heart sweets customised with Lucy and Alex’s wedding date, face masks, silly little rosette badges with everyone’s name - all the usual stuff.
Groaning, I rub hard at my forehead. But Lucy’s hen party shouldn’t be just run of the mill, it has to be special, unique, unforgettable, and it’s my job to ensure it’s all these things and more.
Trouble is, I haven’t an original idea knocking around in my empty mind, not one.
I’m about to throw a serious wobbler when I hear a distinct knock at the door.
I expect it will be a parcel, or perhaps it’s Alex coming to drop something off.
Oh God, I hope it’s not too awkward, I haven’t seen the guy since he came round with the flowers and I collared him about his future living arrangements.
What I don’t expect to see is Finn, clutching two takeaway coffee cups and a paper bag from the Cosy Little Tearoom.
‘Hey, sorry to turn up randomly like this, Alex told me I could find you here.’ Finn clears his throat, gaze drifting from his feet to my face. ‘It’s just you seemed a bit upset the other day, I wanted to make sure you were feeling okay.’
‘I’m fine,’ I respond curtly, though my voice breaks, betraying my facade of nonchalance.
‘Well, maybe I just wanted the excuse to hang out, then.’ He lifts and shakes the cups and paper bag with a grin. ‘I bought coffee and brownies?’
I hesitate, twiddling my fingers frantically behind my back. I was kind of rude the last time we hung out, and yet, here Finn is, on the doorstep, grinning those dazzling white teeth in his signature crooked smile. Why is he giving me the time of day when all I’ve done is push him away?
Dubiously, I kick the door open wider with my foot. ‘You’re lucky I’m in the mood for chocolate.’
Little does he know, I’m always in the mood for chocolate!
As I lead him through to the living room, Finn stops to admire the original beams of the cottage and the array of eclectic art spread out across the peach coloured walls of the hallway.
‘Lucy sure has some unique taste,’ he comments on an impressionist painting splotched in hues of lavender, aqua and golden ochre.
‘Holly’s sister Emma painted that,’ I tell him. ‘Apparently she’s an artist who lives by the sea.’
‘No kidding.’ Finn nods in approval. ‘I’m not exactly an artist myself, but I dabble with a bit of oil painting every now and then.’
‘Hm.’ I try to seem disinterested, though in truth, I’m rather intrigued. I wonder what sort of things he paints - does he do realistic portraits and landscapes, or does he prefer a more abstract approach like Emma’s work? ‘Now, come through to the living room, I want that coffee.’
‘Wow, what smells so good?’ He sniffs the air appreciatively. ‘Is that your perfume?’
‘It’s probably my candle.’ I gesture to the large jar on the coffee table, a thin plume of smoke billowing over its lip. ‘Jasmine oil and pomegranate, I made it myself.’
‘I didn’t know you could make candles.’ He pauses, rosy pink crossing his cheeks. ‘I mean, of course I know they get made, how else would they exist? I just meant outside of a factory, you know?’
I giggle at his awkwardness - this guy is usually as cool as a cucumber; it’s somewhat refreshing to see him bumbling through a sentence, all flustered and coy.
‘Well, how do you think they did it in the old days?’ I take a moment to breathe in the sweet, fruity aroma. ‘I find the process quite relaxing, and the finished product even more so. I’ve been making candles and wax melts as a hobby since I was a teenager.’
‘Really?’
‘Mm-hm.’ I smooth down my t-shirt and take my place on the sofa. ‘I like coming up with my own scents, mixing fragrance oils together and experimenting to create something new. Sometimes, my concoctions don’t work out, but every now and then, you get a cracker like this one.’
‘That’s cool.’ He sits beside me, unable to keep from gawping at all the mess scattered around us. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise you’d be in the middle of something … erm, what is all this?’
‘It’s supposed to be goodie bags for Lucy’s hen party.’ I pick up an avocado face pack and sigh, tossing it back onto the coffee table. ‘I’ve got all the beauty bits and bobs, bride squad socks, that sort of thing, but I can’t help but feel like something is missing.’
‘Like what?’
I shoot him a withering glance. ‘If I knew that, I’d have solved it, wouldn’t I?’
‘I suppose.’
‘I just so want this hen party to be perfect, and part of that experience is putting together the perfect goodie bags. At the moment, these are just generic , like they could be for anyone’s wedding. Lucy’s too special for this.’
I practically see the phantom light bulb glowing above Finn’s head.
‘Why don’t you make some wax melts for them?’ he suggests excitedly. ‘You could customise the scent to each of the guests, that would be awesome! And I’ll help you, if you like.’
I play the idea over in my mind, and my enthusiasm begins to grow. Yes, yes , this could really work!
‘You sure you want to help?’ I ask, wary of his eagerness.
‘I’ve not got anything else going on today, and besides, I’m kind of curious to see how you do this.’
After grabbing my supplies, we relocate to the kitchen and get to work.
For Lucy, I pick peony and red rose, a delicate, romantic combination fit for a bride.
Next, I have Finn mix up Holly’s melts, selecting zesty bergamot and sea salt to match her seemingly endless energy and drive.
For sweet Lottie, we go for cinnamon sugar and honey.
For Ruth, I pick out lime with a hint of spicy chilli, to complement her feisty nature.
And for Mel, of course I have to choose lavender mixed with a touch of vanilla, the ideal scent for the mother figure of the friendship group.
‘So, that’s our bride and bridesmaids sorted.’ Finn consults the list scribbled amongst my scattered notes on the kitchen table. ‘Looks like there’s just four more people to go.’
I mix up a custom candyfloss fragrance for Mel’s daughter Grace and choose calming eucalyptus and mint for Gina, our honoured mother of the bride.
For Alex’s bookish mother Phyllis, I pick out leather and oud.
I’ve half a mind to put dog’s muck and snail goo into Auntie Jen’s wax melts, but I resist the urge and grab the bottle of white musk instead.
‘What do we do now?’ Genuinely enjoying himself, Finn claps his hands together.
‘We pour it into the moulds.’ I spread out a range of heart and star-shaped chocolate moulds across the counter. ‘You have to work quickly though, this wax hardens fast.’
While we wait for the wax to set, I make us a cup of tea and have a quick nose through the cupboards to see if we’ve got any biscuits left.
There’s a bit of chocolate cake from two days ago, though it’s gone a little stale.
Still, I cut out two large slices and serve them up on butter yellow plates, just in time for the kettle to finish boiling.
‘So, are you looking forward to the hen party?’ Finn asks, pouring the steaming water into our mugs before opening up the fridge, in search of milk. ‘Any sugar, by the way?’
‘Just one, thanks.’ I beam as I take a seat at the kitchen table. ‘Yes and no is the answer. I think it’ll be a fun day, I just wish I wasn’t the one organising it.’
He passes me one of the mugs and sits opposite. ‘Why’s that, then?’
‘It’s too much pressure, you know? If I were simply a guest, I could relax and enjoy the activities, and if anything went wrong, it would just be a funny story to tell over drinks. But since I’m the one hosting, it’s all on me if everything goes tit’s up.’
‘Yeah, but you’ve got it all covered, haven’t you?’
Sighing, I lift the warm cup to my lips. ‘I hope so, I’ve certainly tried my best. It’s just that I know what I’m like, I always muck things up somehow.’
‘I think you’re being way too harsh on yourself, Alicia.’ My skin prickles with electric sparks as he lays his palm gently across my wrist. ‘We’re our own worst critic, after all.’
My lips part as I fumble around for words to speak, but I come up short. Clumsily, I yank my arm away and stand up, sloshing tea onto the floor tiles.
‘Oh, I think the wax has set!’ My voice pitchy as a teenage boy’s, I dash to the counter to take a look. ‘Ah, yes, it has.’
I ordered tiny mesh gift bags for the sweets and there’s a few left over, so we pick out eight and carefully drop ten wax melts into each, labelling them with a pink piece of card inked with each guest’s name.
‘These look great!’ Finn sniffs at the bag in his hand. ‘Smell great, too. You’re really good at this candle stuff, Leesh.’
Blushing, I pick at my nails, glancing up at him from beneath my lashes. ‘Well, it was your idea.’
‘But that idea only came because of your candle in the living room,’ he reminds me. ‘See, you keep selling yourself short, stop it!’
‘Okay.’ I poke him in his muscular arm, giggling. ‘I’ll try.’
‘Listen, I’ve got to get to the pub, my lunch shift is about to start in - ooft, now.’ He chuckles at his watch. ‘This was fun, though.’
‘Yeah.’ I swallow the lump that’s inexplicably formed in my throat. ‘It was.’
I show him to the door, and though he claimed he was in a rush, he lingers on the step for a moment, kneading at the back of his neck.
‘Well, good luck at the hen,’ he suddenly blurts out, as though he was trying to think of something to say. ‘You’ll have a fab time, I’m sure of it. And if you end up doing karaoke again, make sure you get someone to film it, I could do with a good laugh.’
‘Ha, ha, ha, Mr Quick Wit strikes again,’ I roll my eyes, though I can’t keep the smile from pulling at my lip. ‘See you later, and thanks for the help.’
‘Any time.’
I watch him stroll languidly down the street - despite the fact he’s late for work - until he shrinks into the distance behind a perfectly manicured garden hedge.
There’s something about Finn that I can’t quite figure out, it’s strange - bizarre , even - that I should enjoy his company so much.
I’ve always been a girl’s girl, in fact, men frequently bore me.
As far as I’m concerned, they’re only good for one thing, and then what are you supposed to do with them when the morning comes?
But Finn … well, he’s got something about him, a certain sensitivity , an insight that so many of the guys I’ve known are lacking.
Murmuring to myself, I smack the side of my head and slam the door shut. Focus, girl! You’ve got work to do.