Chapter 27 Wrenley
Wrenley
Remi and I climb the steps to Audrey’s front porch, our boots thumping against the wood.
The second I told Remi about the bridal shower idea, she was all in.
I am so pumped for this, Remi says, a basket of stuff for centrepieces in her arms. Do you know how many crafty people are in this town? I have a general idea for what we’re going to do, but I’m so excited to get some more ideas.
I chuckle as I knock on the door, and a fleck of chipped paint flakes off with the motion. Like much of Alpine Harbor, the house wears the marks of the salt air, but the bones of its charm remain. The door swings open to Audrey’s smile.
The bride is here! she calls, her voice carrying into the house. A cheer answers back from somewhere inside. Come in.
She steps aside, and we enter. The hardwood floors gleam under the light, crown moulding tracing the ceiling in crisp lines.
Through the hallways, I catch sight of a kitchen island topped in quartz, and modern-looking cabinetry lines the walls.
The house feels like the past and present carefully stitched together.
We’re downstairs, Audrey says warmly, leading us down a hallway toward a staircase. The steps creak under our weight as we follow her into the hum of voices below.
The basement opens up into a large open space.
String lights loop across the ceiling, casting everything in a golden glow.
Tables line the walls, scattered with finger food, and two large carafes marked hot water and coffee sit next to a basket filled with a colourful array of tea bags.
The hum of voices rises and falls, punctuated with bursts of laughter.
The moment people notice me, conversation ripples to a pause, then surges again, louder and warmer.
Smiles spread across faces, voices call out greetings, hands lift in waves.
I see Bonnie across the room, a conspiratorial eye looking around.
She’s next to an old woman who looks a little lost as to why she is there.
Remi leans closer when she notices me looking in their direction. That’s Agnes. The one we needed for the marriage certificate.
I nod. I see.
Wrenley!
Beryl’s gravelly voice cuts through the noise. She’s at a table in the corner, surrounded by a spread of fabric flowers and spools of thread. Audrey sits beside her, seeming to have picked up where she left off when she answered the door.
Remi nudges me toward them. Go. I see Walter’s wife, and she is a genius crafter.
We separate, and I walk over to Beryl’s table.
These look incredible, I say, picking up a peony.
Don’t you dare try to help, Beryl says, crooking a finger at me. This party is for everyone to help you. Audrey, get her something to drink.
Audrey stands, but I put my hands out. No, no. Please. I want to help. I love this kind of stuff. And I can get myself something to drink.
Beryl seems to consider this for a second, then hands me some fabric. Fine, she says. Let’s see what you’re made of.
She picks up some precut fabric and starts working a threaded needle through. I love watching Beryl work. Even though she’s a bit slower, her years of experience shine.
We work together in silence at first, and I find a rhythm and what works best to create the flowers. I finish a peony and hold it in front of me with a smile.
You have such a patient touch, Audrey says. That’s why everything you create is so beautiful.
I feel my cheeks flush. Thank you. I add my flower to the pile in the middle. What flower now?
I think we need three more peonies, if you’re up to it, Beryl says, sifting through the piles of flowers. I’m hoping if we have enough of this fabric left over, we can also make a maid-of-honour bouquet. She flips through the remaining fabric with a stern eye.
Sounds good. Any particular colour?
The pink again, I think, Beryl says.
I get to work cutting the fabric.
How are you feeling about the big day? Audrey asks, glancing up from her own stack of flowers.
I pause, considering what the most honest answer might be. Strange, I guess. I look around the room filled with laughter and busy hands. Like the more real this all looks, the less I know what I’m doing.
Weddings are stressful, Audrey says gently. I remember the weeks before mine. I was a disaster. But when I saw Jack waiting for me at the end of the aisle, I just… knew I was making the right choice saying ‘I do.’
Beryl smiles warmly at her daughter.
In an alternate universe, I wouldn’t have to say I do.
I could just keep dating Ruger and fall more in love with him and the town and the life I’m building here.
And while the idea of getting married when this relationship is so new is daunting, to say the least, I find myself taking comfort in something I never expected.
A couple of months ago, I arrived in Alpine Harbor knowing almost no one.
Now, I’m in a room full of people who made space for me in their community.
It adds to the idea that staying here no longer feels impossible.
Even better, the wedding night, Audrey adds with a wink. Married sex is on a whole other level.
Good heavens. Beryl drops her sewing and claps her hands over her ears. I don’t need to hear this.
Oh, come on, Mom. Audrey rolls her eyes. You’ve got grandchildren. The jig is up. I’m not a nun.
Beryl starts humming loudly, and Audrey and I break into laughter.
I look over at Remi, who is busy creating a centrepiece with another woman.
Fake spruce and other foliage spill from a rustic wooden box, fake candles of varying heights strategically placed within the greenery.
Remi steps back, arms crossed as she studies the arrangement with the seriousness of an art critic evaluating a masterpiece, nodding along as the other woman suggests something.
When she catches my eye, she smiles and mouths, Food?
I nod, then turn to the women at my table. Be right back.
I meet Remi at the food table, where she immediately picks up a tart of some kind.
How’s it going? she asks.
Good, I think, I say as I scan the room. What about you?
You saw the masterpiece at my table, right?
I saw it. It’s gorgeous.
She nods and takes a bite of the tart, her eyes fluttering closed.
Good Lord, she says between bites. We should’ve thought about a bridal party weeks ago. The food alone makes it worth it.
I grab a cucumber and shake my head. That’s your takeaway from this incredibly kind gesture?
Currently? Yes. When she swallows, she lowers her voice slightly. These women are geniuses. They’ve thought of things I never would’ve considered, like aisle runners.
What’s that?
I have absolutely no idea, but they sounded really excited talking about it, so it must be important.
Remi turns her attention back to the food again while I look around the room. It’s a little surreal watching relative strangers put this much effort into a wedding that technically shouldn’t even exist.
Well, there’s the bride.
I turn to see Bonnie standing with a plate of food in hand.
Oh, hi, Bonnie, I say.
Remi immediately turns around with a cucumber sandwich in one hand and a tart in the other.
Bonnie, she says around a mouthful of food.
Bonnie clicks her tongue. Honestly, Remington Seale. Manners.
Remi swallows. Sorry. Pass me a plate?
Bonnie hums and does as Remi asks before turning her attention back to me.
Well, she says, eyeing me in a way that’s more than uncomfortable. Everything certainly seems to be coming together for this wedding.
The way she says this wedding makes it sound like she’s still not entirely convinced it exists, despite giving us the certificate.
It does, I say carefully.
Funny how it all worked out.
What’s funny about it? Remi asks.
Bonnie shrugs. Oh, nothing. Just that one day, Ruger’s single, and the next, the whole town is planning a wedding for a mysterious outsider. It’s enough to make a woman wonder if there’s more to the story.
I open my mouth to say something, but Remi touches my arm. I know what she’s saying without saying it, that there is no safe response here.
A smug smile comes over her face. Though I suppose secrets run in the Seale family. She picks up a cherry tomato and examines it. I happened to notice a certain non-resident slipping out of a certain author’s house awfully early the other morning.
Remi tenses beside me. This woman isn’t just a gossip; she’s a predator.
Bonnie takes a bite of her food, then daintily dabs at her lips. Of course, it’s none of my business.
That statement would be far more convincing if it had ever once been true.
Besides, Bonnie continues, if there’s one thing I’ve learned living in Alpine Harbor, it’s that the truth always comes out eventually.
Her eyes flick between me and Remi.
Then she smiles. Enjoy your party, girls.
And then she wanders off, likely looking for her next victim.
Remi rolls her eyes. She is odious.
I laugh. I’m sorry she brought up Brandt.
Remi waves it off. New gossip will bury this before it really becomes a thing.
If you’re trying to keep this quiet, especially considering Ruger doesn’t know, make sure you don’t give people a reason to ask questions, I say.
Whatever, she says, turning to the food table and piling her plate. In this place, it’s only a matter of time before anything I do becomes a permanent, notarized record.
Again, I laugh because I’m starting to realize that’s exactly how this town operates.
Besides, she continues, if Bonnie wants to spend her life tracking people’s romantic activities, that’s her business. Personally, I have more important things to worry about.
Such as?
These cucumber sandwiches. She holds one up. Who made them, and what is the recipe?
I shake my head. We better get back to helping.
Remi nods. Agreed.
We separate back to our respective tables.
Find something to eat? Audrey asks as she drops a flower into the pile.
Yep, I say with a smile before popping a tomato in my mouth, then getting back to work.