“Yes, it’s very difficult not to be a bitch,” Kivi said, with a smile but sarcasm buried in her faux-light-hearted tone. “Don’t worry about it. I assume you’ve had a long day of travelling?”
“Yes, down from a village near Derby.” Saskia tried to smile. “Seven hours. Hence my exhaustion, and hence my lateness tonight.”
“Like I said, don’t worry about it.” Now Kivi was standing up. “Is there anything else you need? Will you be having dessert? It’s homemade chocolate cake.”
“I’ll pass, thank you,” Saskia said, wanting to get out of Kivi’s hair as quickly as possible. “Will meals be added onto the bill at the end of my stay?”
“Yes, that’s it,” Kivi nodded. “When you’re done, just go. Feel free to use the lounge. I’ll deal with the plates.”
She disappeared into the kitchen without saying any more, and Saskia wasted no time in diving into her meal. The fishcakes were perfect, crisp on the outside with a fluffy interior, and the salad had a dressing that tasted of lemons.
If every meal is as good as this, I’ll hardly fit back into my car at the end of my stay…
No, we’re not thinking of it like that. Stop it, Saskia.
Chapter Six
Kivi
The following morning, at breakfast, Kivi made a concerted effort to put her angst aside when it came to Miss Saltmarshe. She couldn’t call her Saskia, not just yet. They’d have to be friends for her to feel comfortable doing that, and there was something about the tall, fiery-haired journalist that put her on edge.
She didn’t like the phrase ‘penetrating gaze’, but it was the best way she could describe the sharpness of Miss Saltmarshe’s stare. In fact, all her features were sharp. Angular. Visually, she was comparable to a string bean. Tall and thin, with curves in the best places. The brightness of her hair was another surprise – but it couldn’t have been dyed. No dye could ever produce the mixture of gold, auburn and ginger atop the woman’s head – it had been all Kivi could think about while they were talking last night. And she had a good fashion sense, as well. Kivi’s wardrobe stretched to pure practicality – provided she didn’t look like an utter clown, she’d wear most anything – but Miss Saltmarshe’s was different. Kivi could tell she made a conscious effort to select clothes that looked good together, and looked good on her. Kivi had an awareness of fashion – she was a regular reader ofChicamagazine because she kept it in the guest lounge – but witha dog whose favourite battle tactic was the Slobber Offensive, practicality took priority when it came to what she actually wore.
Midway through whipping eggs in preparation for scrambling them, Kivi’s phone chirped. She tensed automatically before seeing Eva’s name at the top of the screen. Every time her phone had received a message over the last couple of days, she’d been on edge in case it was Cass or Felicia. She knew that she had an answer to give her friends. They had been exceptionally gracious when she had asked for a couple of weeks to talk it over with Eva and think about it, but she wouldn’t have blamed them for being impatient. There were other wedding planners out there, after all. She was their first choice because she was local, had an in-built location, had experience, and was their friend. And a fellow Sapphic person – she formally identified as bisexual, but she had a strong female preference.
The only trouble was… she wasn’t technically a wedding planner any more. Hadn’t been since before she’d opened the guest house – so nearly seven years. Would she still know what to do? Who would pick up the slack at Sandy Dunes? And most importantly… would it reawaken her appetite for the job? It had been her first calling, after all, and she’d only given it up when she’d come into the money to realise the pipe dream of running a guest house. And even the money had been a tumultuous thing. Full of legal loopholes and fighting. It was a miracle she’d even come through it, let alone won.
But that won’t happen with Cass and Felicia,she kept telling herself.They’re a solid pair. And they deserve a wonderful wedding. Which is something I can give them.
And yet, the little voice in the back of her mind kept scratching, kept throwing doubts at her… which was why she’d asked for time. She knew she couldn’t keep them on pause forever – it wasn’t fair to them, especially if she rejected their offerafter stringing them along. So she needed to make a decision imminently. Focus her energies on that – not on ogling her newest (and so far pithiest) guest.Just act normal.
When she went to deliver the Jones family their cooked breakfasts, she spotted Miss Saltmarshe sitting at the same table for one she’d used last night. She was sitting bolt upright, very poised, stirring a cup of tea absently while writing in a notepad. Kivi could see she had one of her own granola pots – oats, honey, walnuts, dried fruit and yoghurt, all layered – and a selection of melon and pineapple slices.Ah, I see. We have a health-food fan here. Whatever’s wrong with a bloody croissant?
“Good morning, Miss Saltmarshe,” she said, going over to stand in front of her. “I trust your breakfast is to your satisfaction?”
Miss Saltmarshe looked up, and Kivi could almost feel her bristle at the formality. “Good morning, Miss… Chadwick.” Kivi could see the relief in her eyes as she remembered her surname. “Yes, breakfast is lovely, thank you. I’ve perused the cooked breakfast menu, and I’ll certainly put in an order for tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Kivi said, and drew out her own notepad. “What would you like?”
“I was looking at the Eggs Royale. That’s the one with spinach, isn’t it?”
“No, that’s the one with smoked salmon. Eggs Florentine is the one with spinach.”
“Oh. I’ll have that, then.”
“Which? Royale or Florentine?”
“Whichever the one with spinach is.”
“Florentine then.” Kivi stifled a roll of her eyes, but it would have been entirely unjustified. It had taken her a while to getthem the right way around, after all, and even longer than that to master the poached eggs required for the dishes themselves.
“Thank you.” Now Miss Saltmarshe frowned. “And please, do call me Saskia.”
“As long as you call me Kivi.” Kivi lowered her voice. “And notMiss Weed,or something ridiculous like that.”
“I apologise for that.” Miss Saltmarshe coloured. “Again. That was simply a case of no brain-to-mouth filter. It’s not how I think of you at all.”
“Good.” Kivi tried to smile. “Because we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other over the next six weeks. We should at least try and not trip each other up.”
