“It looks…wintry.”
Cindy laughed. “It is now. In the spring, the snow will melt, and the summer is prettier still. But come October? The colors will blow your mind. We planned this room, and the lawn outside, for year-round weddings.”
“Let’s see the inside space,” Dominique said.
“Of course.” She began to walk the length of the room.
“The Starling Room is named for my family,” she started, remembering the little speech Nicole had helped her prepare, bringing all her marketing education to the process. “My grandfather, Owen Starling, built this lodge when Park City began to change from a mining town to a ski and summer sport town.”
“Mmm.” Dominique frowned. “Max capacity?”
“Fifty, tops,” she said, hoping that wasn’t a ding. “My daughter’s fiancé is a firefighter, so he helped us design a space that meets code for?—”
“We don’t want a big space for this feature,” the other woman interjected, clearly not the least bit interested in fire codes. “We do a million of those three-hundred-people spaces. This piece will showcase intimate and intentional, and we want just that. Small weddings are all the rage and it’s hard to find the right spot. What’s the configuration for ceremony and reception?”
“This room is designed for both,” Cindy explained, scanning the space with her phone camera. “The guests are seated here in the center area with the mountains in full view for the ceremony, with this as our aisle. When the vows are finished, guests are guided into our lodge dining space for cocktails and apps while the wedding staff flips the Starling Room for dinner and dancing.”
“Oh, I love that. Ambitious, though.”
Was it ever. “We’re going for the intimacy of a family party with the elegance of a catered, lavish wedding.”
Dominique let out a delighted squeal. “That’s what I’m talking about. So many brides are looking for this, and I love the one-stop space and seamless transitions. That iseverythingright now. Saves money, saves time, saves stress.”
Well, not for the owners, but relief poured through Cindy, boosting her confidence.
“That’s what we thought when we designed it. Plus, Snowberry Weddings is meant to be turn-key. A bride can have it all here—ceremony, cocktail hour, reception, cake, music. One place, one vision. And we have the accommodations to sleep around thirty people in a newly renovated historic lodge with eight guest suites, plus six cabins on the property.”
“Perfect.”
Cindy angled the phone to show the ceiling, the chandeliers, the beams above that gave rustic weight to the elegance. Dominique seemed impressed, but far more interested in florals or lighting schemes. Cindy nodded, jotting mental notes, her excitement growing with every word.
“And what about this debut event that’s happening?” Dominique asked finally. “Please tell me it’s not going to be an uptight bridezilla who can’t handle a little camera crew in her face.”
Cindy laughed, dropping down to one of the chairs and touching the screen to flip the camera to herself. “You’re looking at her.”
“You?” She looked suitably surprised.
“Yes, I’m the sixty-year-old bride.”
“Holy Golden Bachelorette! Tell me you are not lying right now.”
“I’m not lying,” Cindy assured her. “The fact is, I’m the first bride in this venue. I didn’t build it for my own wedding, but…that’s how it happened.”
“Did you meet him on the apps?” Dominique asked, sounding deeply interested.
“Actually…” Cindy gave a very self-conscious laugh. “I met him long before online dating existed. Jack and I were first married thirty years ago, then we divorced ten years . Last Christmas, my daughter convinced him to come here and help run our sleigh rides and…we fell back in love.”
Dominique stared at her through the screen, her slightly over-filled lips in a perfect O shape. Then, she said, “I. Am. Dead.”
Cindy cracked up at the reaction. “It’s been quite a story.”
“No, seriously, shut up! You had me at sleigh rides. Please tell me there’s going to be one at your wedding. You’re arriving by sleigh, Cindy, there’s just no other way.”
“I could do that,” she said.
“So, let me get this straight. You’re remarrying your husband at sixty, your daughter is the matchmaker, and you built the stinking venue on the family property? Am I missing anything else fantastic in this second-chance fairy tale?”
“Um…my husband was an Olympic skier and is quite good-looking.”
