Holly had thought she was prepared for the Suttons, after the barrage of inquiries and emails she’d endured before they made the booking. As disappointed as she’d initially been that the wedding was too large to host at the Cranberry, she was now relieved that the family had selected a separate venue. The rehearsal dinner was already turning out to be more than seemed manageable.
Mrs. Sutton strolled through the front door first, followed by her husband on his phone. She was tiny, tightly wrapped, and on a mission. “Welcome to the Cranberry,” Holly said, meeting them in the middle of the foyer with a tray of mint-and-cucumber spritzes. “I’m Holly, the innkeeper.”
Mrs. Sutton peered past her. “Powder room?”
“Right over there,” Holly said, gesturing to an alcove by the sitting area.
Mr. Sutton still had not looked up from his phone. When it rang, he took both a mint spritz and the call and walked back outside.
Linus joined Holly, straightening his bow tie. “They seem… friendly.”
There came the click of heels on the lobby floor. “Here comes the bride,” Holly said.
“Her shoes!” Linus breathed. “Good God, I need those shoes.”
Sissy’s kitten heels were patent red, a bold daytime choice for the shore, but Holly had to agree, somehow they worked with the white sundress and navy tote.
“Sissy Sutton,” she said, with a flick of her dark mane as she extended her hand.
“We’re thrilled to have you,” Holly said, trying not to stare at the rock on Sissy’s finger. It was the size of an ice cube. She glanced over Sissy’s shoulder. “Will your fiancé be joining us today?”
“Alas. Harold is golfing.”
“Alas,” Linus echoed, passing Sissy a spritz.
With Sissy on her heels, Holly led the family on a tour of the first floor and outside to the patio where Pleasant Bay sparkled quietly in the backdrop, all the while sharing the inn’s history and pointing out amenities they could make use of over the wedding weekend. “We could do welcome cocktails for your family out here Friday afternoon,” Holly suggested. “Another option is a firepit after the rehearsal dinner, under the stars.”
“A pit?” Mrs. Sutton said, brow furrowing.
“Sounds smoky,” Mr. Sutton agreed.
“With s’mores?” Sissy asked brightly.
“Of course,” Holly said. “We source our marshmallows and dark chocolate from the Candy Manor on Main.”
“Harold and I adore the Candy Manor!” Sissy said. “Let’s do s’mores!”
Another happy customer for s’mores. Smiling, Holly made a note on her clipboard. “Let me show you our gardens.”
Sadly, Sissy’s ardor ended with the s’mores. All the way to the garden she wobbled in her heels in the grass. At the gate, she swatted away a butterfly.
“We source all our produce here, on the property,” Holly said proudly. “This is our first summer offering farm-to-table service, and we feel especially good that it’s all organic.” When they said nothing, Holly continued along the garden fence toward the perennial beds. “Over here we have another small patio with a lovely fountain, that might prove a good spot for photos?”
Sissy was lagging behind in her heels and out of earshot, but neither of her parents seemed enthused. As they waited for Sissy, Holly surged on with fun facts about the property. “These cast iron urns are original to the property. We have photos of Mrs. Spicer standing beside them with the children. If you’d like, we could customize plants for the wedding weekend that might be special to the family or to you, Sissy?”
Sissy shrugged. “I’m not really big on plants.”
“Oh.” Holly’s idea had fallen as flat as the look on Mrs. Sutton’s face.
“Shall we go back inside?” she asked, dabbing at her brow. “It’s a bit muggy.”
With a prompt return indoors and upstairs (“Is there no elevator?” Sissy asked as Holly trudged ahead), the Suttons proceeded to scrutinize the furnishings of the Captain’s Suite, which Josephine had just fluffed and opened for their viewing. Holly allowed the Suttons to walk in first.
Instead of gushing over the romantic four-poster bed or the stunning water view or the luxury linens, Sissy stared up at theceiling. “I hear something,” she said, her big brown eyes darting back and forth. “Do you have bats?”
“That would be a wind gust coming off the bay,” Holly reassured her, opening one of the windows. “The antique shutters sometimes rattle a little.”
Sissy did not look convinced. “You’re sure this place isn’t haunted?”
