Wedding Cake and Big Mistakes in Lily Vale Village (Lily Vale Village #8)

Chapter One

Open for business.

The words should incite pride in me, yet as I carefully stick the sign up in the shop window and stand back to make sure it’s not crooked, a dull ache nestles in the pit of my stomach.

I’ve dreamed of this day since I was a little girl, scribbling my ‘designs’ down in a well-worn sketchbook. And now, after years of training and working several positions for other designers, I’ve finally done it. I am now the owner of a bespoke dress shop - Belle of the Ball, named after yours truly, Charlotte Bell, though I go by Lottie.

The trouble is, this isn’t exactly how I thought it would turn out - I pictured a world-renowned boutique on Bond Street, or an exclusive studio in Paris, not a teeny, tiny property in Lily Vale village with an even teenier flat above it. Drawing a deep breath, I strive to remain positive as I step forward, claiming the place as my own.

Although I’ve been inside the shop countless times during the renovations, I still get butterflies when I turn the key in the lock and walk inside. Everything looks brand new - the smell of fresh paint still lingers from my DIY efforts last weekend, and the pale wood floorboards are pristine and shining in the late springtime sun.

It’s beautiful, and it’s all mine.

It sounds like a dream come true, I know, but none of this - moving from Paris to a quiet English village - was part of my grand plan. Still, it’s not like I had much of a choice …

The bell above the door tinkles and a woman who looks to be in her sixties pokes her head inside. ‘Ooh, are you open?’

Standing up straight, I bare my most charming grin. ‘We are! I’m Lottie, can I help you?’

‘Well, I hope so.’ A little self-consciously, she shuffles in, glancing down at her green wellies. ‘I need a formal gown, blue, preferably. It brings out my eyes the most, well, that’s what my husband says.’

A warm sensation swells through my chest as I beckon her inside, determined to make her feel comfortable. ‘No problem at all, Mrs..?’

‘Simmons. But you can call me Joanie, everyone else does.’ Curious, she tilts her head to one side. ‘What a lovely accent you have! Is it French?’

‘It is.’ Swallowing hard, I plaster on a wavering smile. ‘Well, half French. What sort of thing did you have in mind, Joanie?’

Eagerly, she proffers a load of magazine clippings from her canvas bag. ‘I was thinking this sort of shade, only with lacy arms like this one has. And I like the detail on the skirt of this one, but the length needs to be more like this one here.’

As she points to each picture, the mish-mash of images comes together in my mind’s eye, like pieces of a puzzle. But Joanie looks up apologetically from the clippings.

‘Sorry, that probably makes things a whole lot more confusing, doesn’t it?’

‘Not at all, I know exactly what you mean.’ And it’s true, I’m already mentally sketching out the gown as we speak. ‘Shall we take your measurements, then?’

I lead Joanie over to the changing room where I draw the ivory curtains to offer us some privacy.

‘I’m so excited about finally treating myself to a really nice frock,’ she babbles in excitement. ‘It’s the first time in twelve years we’ve had a holiday.’

My eyebrows raise of their own accord. ‘Oh wow! Then this dress really has to be something special!’

I sift through my sewing box for my trusty tape measure and begin to take her measurements. ‘So, how come it’s been so long since you’ve been away?’

‘Ah, well that’s the life of a farmer for you!’ She rolls her eyes, but there’s a fondness there, suggesting she loves her livelihood, despite its binds. ‘Abe and I never could get away from it, there’s always something to do, animals to care for, crops to harvest, but since our niece Tabby came to help out, we’ve got an extra pair of hands. Truth be told, I never thought I’d get Abe away from his beloved cows, but it was his idea to book the cruise. I swear, I almost popped my clogs when he showed me the brochures over breakfast!’

I giggle as I bend to measure her waist. ‘Well, after he sees you in this dress, he’ll be the one who needs to catch his breath!’

Joanie glows prettily pink and ducks her head as I finish up the measurements. Once I’ve got them all written down, I bring her back to the shop floor, gesture for her to sit on the cream chaise lounge and I dig out my sketchbook.

‘Now, what sort of neckline were you thinking?’ I ask, chewing thoughtfully on my pencil.

‘Oh - erm, I’m not sure.’ Joanie twiddles her thumbs in her lap, picking at a hangnail. ‘I’m not really good at this fashion stuff.’

‘What about a boat neck? I think that would look really elegant.’

Instantly, she brightens. ‘I’m happy to take your advice on that!’

Lead glides across the paper and within moments, I spin the sketchbook round in a swift twirl.

‘What do you think of this?’

It’s always a wonderful moment, when you watch a client’s eyes light up as the anxious twitch of their lip gives way to a slowly spreading smile of pure joy.

‘That’s it!’ Joanie exclaims. ‘That’s exactly what I wanted! How did you do that?’

Beaming, I shrug. ‘It’s a gift!’

And it really is. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been able to draw out people’s ideas with a few simple questions and capture them perfectly on paper. Sometimes, I know what kind of dress a customer wants before they do. Or at least, I thought I did, when I worked for Haus of Hélène …

I shake those memories from my mind and focus on the lovely lady before me. ‘So, you like the initial design, then?’

‘Oh, I just love it!’ she gushes, admiring the drawing from every angle.

‘Well, if you want to make any adjustments in the meantime, just let me know. I’ll call you when it’s time to do the first fitting.’

‘Wonderful, thank you so much.’ She pushes herself up from the chaise lounge and looks around the boutique wistfully. ‘You know, when I was a wee one, this used to be a sweet shop.’

‘Really?’

‘Mm-hm. I used to buy a bag of cream toffees every Friday, and one day, I stumbled out over the step and bumped into my Abe. Only, he wasn’t mine then, he was just the local farmer’s lad, and he wasn’t much for socialising, so I always thought him rather mysterious.’

‘Ah, tall, dark and handsome?’ I ask, eyebrows waggling.

‘Well, more stocky, red-headed and rugged!’ Joanie chuckles warmly. ‘Anyway, my toffees went all over the floor, and poor Abe, he couldn’t have been more apologetic. I couldn’t believe it, the stoic, standoffish boy I’d always been too intimidated to so much even look at, was actually the sweetest man I’d ever met.’

‘I guess first impressions aren’t everything, huh?’

‘I’ll say! He bought me three bags of toffees right then and there, and took me to the farm to ride his favourite pony, Butterscotch. The rest is history!’

‘Wow, what a beautiful story.’

I wave goodbye to Joanie and the moment she leaves and crosses the street, I leap up and down, whooping in exaltation. My first customer!

Well, my first customer as a solo designer - I’ve served plenty of people before this, but under the umbrella of the Haus of Hélène design studio.

But that’s behind me now, I have to keep moving forward. It’s taken a lot of time and heaps of hard work, but I’ve built myself back up from disaster and this boutique is my life’s goal now, it has to be. I’m good at what I do, I know it. I can sew like I was born to hold a needle and thread, I understand the current trends and I’m confident in my creative flair.

Sighing, I plop down on the soft chaise lounge and pick at the stitching.

So why do I still feel like a fraud?