‘What?’ His stare is totally blank. ‘Isn’t that the stuff I’m employing you for?’
I purse my lips. ‘Absolutely.’ Phoebe’s rule number fifty-six: act like the customer is right even when they’re wrong. ‘But I’d usually take direction from the couple. So, tossing out a few ideas here, tropical themes are big this year, country garden always works well, or you could go with something nautical or sporty?’
‘It all sounds so crass.’ He’s making the kind of face he’d pull if he’d sucked on a lemon dipped in vinegar. ‘What’s wrong with simply having a wedding?’
I blow out a breath. ‘You did say you want the most amazing day for Elfinor?’
‘You mean Pixie?’ He shoots me a sideways glance. ‘No one ever calls her by her full name, it doesn’t sound like her at all.’
Point taken. Wrist slapped. I take a breath and go again. ‘Even if you only choose a colour to stick to, then everything will hang together so much better.’ There’s no hope of walking him round the different areas let alone getting him to see what he prefers. But I’m not giving up. ‘Or you could have all the colours! Ivy’s putting together a “colour pop” table now, with all those zingy shades. She’s already hung a hundred lanterns over the table, then she’s adding in the glasses and plates and napkins and flowers in colour waves and it’s going to look sensational.’
But he’s already glazed over. ‘You’ll have to count me out of this bit.’ He looks at his watch. ‘Sorry, but if that’s everything I could do with heading off now.’
‘Just before you do …’ I hadn’t counted on this being such a spectacular fail – if anything he’s less engaged than he was. ‘Please, just have a look around … I mean everywhere …’ The wave of my arm passes right around the entire expansive, style-laden basement. ‘It might just be one little sign saying “wish upon a star”, a close-up photo of a diamond ring on the wall, a crate of tulips, or a single sprig of eucalyptus for a buttonhole. But try to find me one thing you think Elfinor …’ I give a little choke ‘… or Elfie – would like.’ I point my finger at him. ‘Go, go, GO!’
I hold my breath and tiptoe back to the desk, exchanging eye rolls with Ivy as I pass. To his credit, he takes a lot longer than I expect. It’s a good ten minutes later when he finally saunters back to the desk.
‘So did you find your thing?’ I’m not hopeful.
He nods. ‘More than that. Actually, there are two.’
I feel myself brighten. ‘Great. So what are they?’
He stares at me. ‘The Cockle Shell Castle gin. And the dog.’
I’m blinking. ‘You mean Merwyn?’ He’s on the floor at my feet and he opens an eye.
‘That’s the one. She’d like both of those.’ He gives a shrug. ‘The rest, not so much.’
My mum always said to celebrate the victories, however small. So I will. ‘Okay, well, let’s say high five to that!’ I raise my hand and step forward to where Nic’s standing just at the side of the desk.
It shouldn’t be hard. I mean, it’s a tiny hand smack. One small, inconsequential meeting of palms in mid-air, as managed by most people over the age of two. But maybe the size of my stride is a little bit optimistic for the length of my legs and the narrowness of my skirt. And I certainly hadn’t counted on my second foot not following my first. But somehow the spike of my heel gets caught up in the pompom braid at the edge of Merwyn’s cushion, and where there should be a quick tap of palms as I do a swift dip forwards and back again, instead there’s a loud ripping sound. Before I know what’s happening my nose is lunging forward heading straight for Nic’s knees. Actually, that’s another optimistic view. On reflection, knees would be fine. The exact spot I’m heading for is so much worse – in one second’s time I’ll be doing a face-plant on his lunch box and then probably roll straight over to demolish the save-the-date easel, possibly taking in a cake table too.
I open my mouth to warn everyone what’s happening, but I’m halfway through the ‘waaaaaaaaaaaahhh’ when everything stops, because Nic leaps forwards and breaks my fall. So instead of making my full arc to flat on my face, I end up still standing, with my face crushed against his chest and my hips grinding his groin.
It takes a few seconds to register that the reason I can’t move is because his arms are entirely wrapped around me.
‘Everything okay there, Milla?’ Ivy’s heading over, and even though she’s using her best shop assistant voice I can hear the laughter breaking through.
I twist my neck, pull the strands of my messy up-do free from Nic’s stubble. Try not to listen to the sound of whoever’s heart is banging like a very loud drum, block out the wonderful man-smell atmosphere inside the windcheater, push my fists against his chest, and force myself away.
‘Grief, Milla!’ As I step back, Nic’s groaning. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Absolutely!’ Seeing I’ve just hurled myself at the groom, I’m keeping this as corporate as I can. ‘Thank you so much for breaking my fall. Next time you might like to do your coat up.’
Nic’s wincing. ‘Next time, it might be safer to lose a couple of inches off the heels?’
I’m appalled at the thought. It’s not like I’m rocking the professional bit here as it is. How much worse will I be with less height? ‘Maybe, in the interests of the job. I mean, a wedding organiser with a broken leg won’t be any good to you, will she? There’s just so much more to trip up on here than in Bristol.’
Nic’s biting his lip. ‘If you’re okay, I really do have to rush?’
‘I’m fine.’ Everything’s abso-bloody-lutely fine. Or it will be when he’s gone. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ Except maybe I need a reality check. I just chucked myself at the groom – again! My stomach feels like a big wheel. None of this is fine.
He’s halfway through the door when he turns. ‘Grab me a couple of tickets for the gin event.’ He gives a low laugh. ‘You can add them to my bill.’
I blow out a breath and turn to Ivy. ‘Two tickets. Did you get that?’ I have no idea why my chest just imploded. ‘Looks like we’re finally getting to meet the elusive Elfinor.’
‘Elfinor?’ Ivy tucks a strand of her sleek dark bob behind her ear and grins at me. ‘I thought he said her name was Pixie?’
