Chapter Twenty Six
I’m propped up on the bed (or as I call it, my current workspace), frantically attempting to come up with a new scent I haven’t tried before, yet I just can’t focus. Five words are running on constant repeat through my mind, like an ear worm I just cannot shake.
We’ll talk about this tomorrow. That could mean anything .
Tapping my pen against the notepad, I run through last night over again in my head, from the top right until when Mr Nelson told us off. Finn said he was over it, didn’t he? Was he just trying to hide his hurt, or did my coldness toward his confession ice over his own heart?
I’m supposed to be coming up with new candle scents for Sarah, but I’m sitting here agonising over what Finn might say.
The only man who’s ever broken my heart was my father, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anyone do it again.
Groaning, I toss the pen down on the duvet, where it somersaults in the air and lands by my foot.
No, that’s what messed things up in the first place, keeping myself closed off and unwilling to let someone in.
Still, it’s so scary, laying your heart bare, trusting the person you’ve offered it to to cradle it, not crush it.
I stoop to pick up the pen and press it to the page, though nothing of substance flows from it.
My fledgling business certainly has got me sweating lately, too.
I’ve received a slew of emails from various craft fairs, claiming they have room for me and my candles.
I don’t know, maybe anything worth having is supposed to sort of terrify you a bit.
Maybe that’s what makes them worthwhile.
I scribble down a few ideas that could be noteworthy, then I push myself off the bed and amble downstairs to check on Lucy.
She’s furiously typing away at her laptop, her brow creased in utter concentration.
I almost don’t want to break her flow, but surely this isn’t how a bride-to-be should be spending the day before her wedding, working and working until she goes cross-eyed?
‘Weren’t you supposed to take this week off?’ I ask, an eyebrow raised.
‘Technically, but I just can’t sit still .’ Lucy shakes her head at the screen, then at me. ‘I’m better off writing at this rate.’
‘Why don’t you take your laptop to the tea room, you know, at least for a change of scenery? Bill will probably give you a free bridal brownie!’
It’s a lame joke, maybe only worth a courtesy laugh, but Lucy’s mouth remains fixed in a worried frown.
‘Shall I come and help you at the pub tonight?’ she says. ‘I feel bad you doing all that work, so does Alex. We don’t mind lending a hand, it’s our big day, after all.’
‘No way, you guys need to relax and chill out, it’s the day before your wedding, for goodness sake!’ I insist. ‘And there’s nothing to worry about, I promise you, it’s going to look amazing.’
I hope my enthusiasm is enough to conceal the real reason I don’t want them to turn up tonight.
Truthfully, I’m afraid they’ll take one look at our handiwork and their faces will fall with disappointment.
Oh sure, they’ll be grateful for the effort made, but let’s be real, every bride in particular has a vision of what her wedding venue will look like, and we can dress it up to the nines, but the fact remains that The Pheasant’s Nest is not Thistlewick Manor.
‘Actually, haven't you got a nail appointment to get to, Luce?’ I point to the little clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I’m sure you said you were seeing Kelly on the high street at noon.’
‘Oh bum , I completely forgot!’ Scrambling up from the sofa, she slams down the lid of her laptop and slips it into that trusty leather satchel of hers. ‘God, my nails are a complete mess, I hope I’m not too late. I don’t want to walk down the aisle with scabby nails!’
‘She’ll squeeze you in even if you are a bit behind, it is your wedding day tomorrow, I feel like that gives you some special rights.’
She smiles wanly as she throws her bag over her shoulder. ‘Maybe. I’ll probably drop in to the tearoom on the way back, would you like a coffee or anything?’
‘Hm, maybe an iced latte.’ I’ll need plenty of caffeine for the final push tonight. ‘Have a good time, and try to relax, okay?’
Lips in a tight, thin line, she nods and promptly leaves.
Poor Luce, no bride should be feeling like this on the eve of their wedding.
Sure, anxiety is normal, those pre-wedding jitters I’ve heard others prattle on about are to be expected, but this soul-crushing, heart-stopping fear that the big day might not be all she wanted, well, she really doesn’t deserve this.
I decide to put my business notes aside and spend the morning finalising the last-minute decorations for the venue. Most of them, I stashed away in the pub’s cellar last night, but there’s some additions I’ve come up with that I hope will make all the difference.
After sifting through the erroneous bits I picked up and never found a use for stuffed at the back of my wardrobe, I fish out an assortment of small, glass vases of varying colours that look like they could be perfect. Hurrying to the kitchen, I begin work on my latest idea.
I’ve never made a floating candle before, and perhaps now is not the best time to try something new, but I’ve got a vision, and I’m determined to see it through.
Using the same scent I did for the melts in Lucy’s Hen party goodie bag, I pour wax into a round mould that seems to be the right sort of oval shape I need, and carefully position the wick.
While the wax hardens, I make myself a quick lunch of beans on toast, topped with lashings of cheese, of course.
Though the smell sends me dizzy with its deliciousness, I find I can barely stomach a morsel.
Gingerly, I tap the ivory wax with a fingernail, and once I’m sure it’s dry, I fill a new vase with water, leaving space at the top, and plop one of the little round candles into it.
Miraculously, it actually floats! High on success, I rifle through the kitchen drawers for a matchstick and light the wick.
It worked! And I bet these will look lovely on the top table, along with Sarah’s flowers and a bunch of little tealights.
Slipping my phone out of my shorts pocket, I take another look at Lucy’s mood board, though to be honest, I’ve committed every detail to memory at this point.
I can’t fail at this, I’ve just got to make this the best day of Lucy’s life.
I owe her so much, I won’t be able to stand it if I let her down.
*
It’s a battle trying to stop Lucy and Alex from coming to the pub with me tonight - they hound me on the doorstep with questions as I’m about to leave.
‘I swear to you, everything is under control.’ I tell them as I back up the garden path, hands held before me like a shield from their barrage of inquiries. ‘You can trust me.’
‘I do trust you.’ The dubious expression on Lucy’s face says otherwise, and she looks to her husband-to-be. ‘It’s just -’
‘It’s just that we’d like to see what the reception looks like before the actual day,’ Alex says. ‘You know, to make sure it’s how we pictured it.’
‘As much as it can be, anyway,’ Lucy smothers a small sigh with her cardie sleeve.
‘I understand that, but if you see it now, you’ll ruin the magic!’ I explain weakly, knowing my reasoning doesn’t hold much weight. ‘It’ll look much better tomorrow when it’s all finished and in the light.’
‘Well, maybe we could help?’ Alex offers. ‘You’ve done so much for this wedding, Leesh, the least we could do is pull our weight at the last hurdle.’
‘You’ve done more than enough for me, both of you.’ I smile gently at my friends. ‘Please, let me do this for you, as a final wedding present.’ I turn to Lucy. ‘You know I wouldn’t let your wedding reception pass muster unless it looked absolutely amazing, right?’
With a slightly uncertain nod, Lucy concedes. ‘You do have good taste, it has to be said.’
‘Exactly!’ Triumphant, I stand a little taller, making my way to the garden gate. ‘You two have a lovely, romantic night in. All I need from the both of you is for you to chill out and get some beauty sleep.’
Thank God for the summer, it’s still fairly light as I walk across the village, checking over my shoulder every now and then to make sure Alex and Lucy haven’t tailed me. When I get to the pub, there’s a gaggle of customers complaining about the fact they’ve been kicked out early.
‘Sorry lads, but we’ve got a private event to prepare for tomorrow,’ Finn explains in a friendly but firm manner. ‘It’ll be business as usual again on Sunday.’
Still grumbling, the guys leave, and I beetle past them inside the double doors.
‘I’m glad they went quietly, I thought we were going to have a problem then.’
‘Ah, nothing I couldn’t handle.’
Pulling a silly face, Finn flexes his muscles. It’s supposed to be a joke, but he actually does possess pretty impressive biceps, which bulge distractingly beneath his shirt sleeves. Blinking, I tear my gaze away.
‘We should, erm, get started,’ I mumble, edging past his damnable rock-hard abs. ‘I bought some more bits for the top table.’
‘Great, I’ll start moving the furniture into place.’
Following the table plan the couple had mapped out for Thistlewick Manor as best we can, Finn and I heave and shove heavy oak tables and chairs until it almost resembles the original. Then the real fun begins - decoration!
Thistlewick Manor have their own linens, but Finn went and bought some pure cotton white tablecloths out of his own pocket, which must have cost a fortune. Touched by his kindness and compassion for Lucy and Alex’s plight, I nudge him as I pass, using my elbow as I’ve an armful of silk flowers.
‘Thanks again for all this.’
‘It’s okay, I’m glad to help. And who knows, if tomorrow is a roaring success, maybe it will convince Uncle Baz to allow for more private events like this.’
‘Why doesn’t he allow them?’ I look up from my arrangement.
‘He thinks they are more hassle than they’re worth.’ He grunts as he carries a bulky speaker to the patio door. ‘Which might prove to be true, to be honest.’
‘Well, it’ll be worth it when we make Alex and Lucy’s day.’
‘That’s true.’ Finn snorts. ‘Let’s just hope he sees it that way.’
We carry on with our separate tasks - me laying the tables and Finn stringing up flower garlands and fairy lights - but my heart beats unsteadily beneath my rib cage. I so desperately want to hear what he has to say about us, but there’s just too much to do, and not a moment going spare.
Getting The Pheasant’s Nest shipshape takes a lot longer than I thought it would, and I already suspected we’d be here ages.
It’s almost two in the morning by the time I place the last little pile of vintage notebooks on table ten and stand back to admire our efforts.
The pub looks lovely, not as grand as Thistlewick Manor but intimate and elegant, perfect for a rustic feast. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess that we were inside a posh country house, not a village local.
Hands on his hips, Finn stands beside me, nodding his appraisal. ‘Hey, this place scrubs up pretty nicely. We did a good job.’
‘I think so too. Now remember, you’ll need to light the candles at three o’clock sharp .’ I wag a finger at his dimpled chin. ‘Everything needs to be immaculate when Alex and Lucy walk in through that door.’
‘Aye, aye, Captain.’
We both pause, look away, then look back at each other, chuckling awkwardly.
‘So-o-o,’ I roll the word around in my mouth, drawing it out, if only to stall the conversation. ‘Maybe it’s time to talk.’
‘You sure? It’s kind of late,’ he teases, unable to hide his smirk.
With a token punch to his shoulder, I cluck my tongue. ‘Shut up! Come on, if we don’t get this out now, we never will.’
‘Okay, okay. Well, I think I’ve made my position pretty clear.’ Those eyes of golden honey gaze down at me, and if I melted right then and there, I’d not complain. ‘I’m crazy about you, Leesh.’
I press my lips together, pulled between the two versions of me. One is jumping for joy, ready to leap into his strong arms and tell him ‘ ditto!’ The other, well, she’s still guarded, afraid of getting too close to that all-too tempting fire and ending up burnt and scarred beyond repair.
‘The trouble is, Finn - I really like you too.’
It’s almost comical, the bewilderment that smacks the smile right off his face. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Because that scares me. I’ve never liked anyone even half as much as I like you. And if I let this happen, how do I know you’re not going to hurt me? What if I get comfortable with you, and then you rip the rug from under me?’
I can scarcely believe the words that are tumbling from my lips. I’ve never spoken my fears aloud like this to anyone; this confession could have been ripped from a page of my diary. And yet with Finn, it’s easy to share. Too easy, that’s part of the problem.
‘Well, what if you do that to me? It’s the price you pay for letting someone in, Alicia. But when it works, it’s worth the risk.’ Boldly, he takes my hand in his. Boldly, I don’t pull away. ‘Don’t you want to find out if we’re worth the risk?’
Squeezing his hands tight, I sway nearer, breathing in the sweet, fresh scent of his cologne. Lemon grass and cedar wood, I’d know those notes anywhere. I press my lips to his cheek, brushing them over the prickles of his stubble until I reach the corner of his mouth.
The front door swings open and we both scream, bashing our noses in painfully synchronicity. Bundled up in a maroon towelling dressing gown, Barry staggers inside, appearing just as baffled as we are.
‘You two are still here?’ he barks, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘Yes - but … what are you doing here?’ Finn rubs the bridge of his nose.
‘I woke up to go to the loo, and when I glanced out the window, I could see the lights were on over here. I had to come over and make sure everything was alright, I thought you might have left the bleedin’ power on, or something.’
‘No, no, everything’s fine.’ Cheeks flushed, Finn feigns a cough and takes a conspicuous step away from me, lest Barry guess at what we were up to. ‘I’m surprised you could see the lights from your house!’
Barry guffaws and shrugs his shoulders. ‘Ah, you can see everything from my place, boyo.’ He winks, eyes darting between us. ‘Everything.’
Now it’s my turn to blush.
Barry drives us home in his old red Beemer, dropping me off first. I can’t give Finn a proper goodbye, not with his Uncle right there in the driver’s seat, so I say a simple farewell to them both and creep through the garden gate and into the cottage, quiet as a mouse.
Careful not to step on any of the known creaky floorboards, I slip into bed, giddy with glee.
I thought I’d be too wired to sleep, but I drift quite naturally into dreams, sweeter and fresher than home-brewed beer …