“I apologize, ma’am,” Portia added. “But our wedding event planning is only available with several months’ notice. I’d be happy to show you around and talk through the program with you in more detail.”
In a rush, Sylvie remembered and laughed. “I think there was a misunderstanding. I didn’t mean I wanted tobookawedding this week. I saw the archway being built on the terrace downstairs. When I asked what it was for, the concierge said it was part of the wedding planning package. I just said I’d love to know more about that, that’s all.”
Portia still looked professionally and politely confused, and Sylvie realized she hadn’t really explained anything.
“Sorry,” she added, crossing the room. “I run an independent inn back home, and we offer some small wedding planning options, so I was intrigued to see what kind of thing is offered here.”
Understanding dawned on Portia’s face, and she smiled broadly. “Right, okay. That makes sense, ma’am. So, you work in the industry? You understand, then. I was a little afraid we might have had a monstrous bride on our hands, demanding a wedding in three days. You look surprised, but that’s happened more than once to me in the decade I’ve been here.”
Sylvie blinked. The woman didn’t look a day over twenty-five, so the idea that she’d been doing this job for ten years was surprising.
“Oh, wow!” she exclaimed, laughing. “That’s a little scary! I’ve definitely had bride-zillas, but no one’s ever demanded a whole wedding in three days. Once, though, I did have to explain to a woman that, while I was flattered she liked the cake I’d made for our communal afternoon tea, I wasn’t equipped toreplacethe wedding cake baker who dropped out at the last minute.”
The relief she felt when Portia cracked a smile was a little embarrassing. She hadn’t felt that kind of nervousness since high school.
“Well, thatisa compliment indeed,” Portia said. “What did you do?”
“Oh, I contacted a local bakery and negotiated with them to create something with a similar style, just with less detail and in smaller pieces. Fortunately, there were only forty guests.”
The sun, which had felt pleasantly warm moments ago, had begun to bite. Moving away from the railing, Sylvie pulled the balcony door halfway shut behind her and took off her sunglasses. She gestured toward the comfortable-looking armchairs in the center of the room.
Portia smiled as she took a seat. “Very nice. Where are you from?”
Why did it feel like she was being interrogated—but nicely? Sylvie wondered.
“America,” she said. Then, at Portia’s perplexed expression, she added, “South Carolina. A place called Beaufort?”
“Never heard of it. Is it a big wedding destination?”
“No,” Sylvie said, feeling suddenly defensive of her hometown. “We get a lot of tourists, but not specifically weddings.”
Portia looked confused. “So you offer wedding planning at your hotel. Why?”
Sylvie shrugged. “We just do? It’s a beautiful place, and people often ask to use it for their weddings, so…”
“How often?”
Thisdefinitelyfelt like an interrogation now. Was the woman concerned that she was there to steal ideas? Or clients? She didn’t have to worry about that, but how could Sylvie say so without sounding weird?
“I do two or three a year. I think the most we’ve ever had was five in one year, and that was way too many for me,” she said. “It really isn’t anything like what you have here. I just loved the terrace setup when I saw it and thought I’d love to talk to the person responsible.”
It felt wrong to be downplaying her efforts—almost like she was betraying the inn and all the hard work she’d put into those events.
“You do it alone?” Portia asked sharply.
“Well, my mother helps—” Sylvie swallowed hard after realizing she still spoke of her mom in the present tense. “My motherhelped, I mean. She used to take care of the day-to-day stuff when we had an event, but mostly, it was just me.”
“Used to?” Portia had clearly pricked up at that, but the last thing Sylvie wanted was to rehash everything with the first person who’d talked to her like anormaladult in weeks.
Actually, that wasn’t true. Damian—the guy at the diner—had treated her normally, even after he knew about her mom.
Sylvie nodded slowly. “Yeah. Areyouthe solo planner here?”
“Yes, but not like you,” Portia said with a half-shrug. “I have three assistants during the busy season, and we have both a contracted bakery and a dedicated chef who only looks after the wedding clients. So, I might be the only planner, but I’m not doing it all myself.”
“Still, that’s amazing. How many weddings do you have here?”
Portia threw her head back and laughed. “Too many! We’re right in the middle of the busy season now. There’s a wedding in four days that’s booked out most of the hotel. You’re actually one of the few guests not here for that event. Then the next one’s much smaller, in five days. Then we have two more ceremonies the following week, a day apart. It’s like this for four months every year.”
