“That sounds expensive.”
“Not so much, but it’s not easy. You try to replace one and end up cracking two or three more in the process. It’s cement. It’s not like cleaning up the tile in a bathroom.”
“Yes, I see.” Not good news on that one. But Daniel’s dark eyes were so distracting, it was hard to feel that concerned.
He had taken care shaving this morning, she noticed. She longed to touch the smooth line of his cheek and straight, firm jaw.
“Why don’t we go out and look at it, see what we can figure out?” His suggestion broke into her wandering thoughts.
“Good idea,” she said quickly.
Taking their coffee mugs, they went outside to the back of the inn. Liza blinked at the strong sun. It was going to be another warm day; she could feel it. She quickly raised the dark blue market umbrella over a wrought-iron table in order to give them shade.
Daniel set his mug on the table and gazed around the yard. “You did do a lot of work back here. It looks much better, Liza. I didn’t realize you had a green thumb.”
“Neither did I,” she admitted. She stretched out her hands, examining them. “I think I sort of developed it over the weekend, along with all these broken fingernails.”
“A small price to pay,” he told her. “It’s coming along.”
“Thanks, but I still have a way to go.”
She turned from the flower beds to look down at the bricks. The patio was a bit of a mess. Bright green weeds and mossy stuff sprang up between the bricks and lines of cement. She hadn’t had a chance yet to work on that.
“It doesn’t look very good, does it?” she asked him.
“It’s not so bad. You could get those weeds out for a start, then power wash it.”
“That’s a good idea.” Liza sighed. “I never noticed that it was so uneven. But maybe Sylvia thinks people are going to be dancing out here. Molly says I can have a dance floor put down by the tent people.”
“I guess you could. But I can see the charm in dancing here, under the arbor. You can put some little lights up in those vines.” He tilted his head back to look over the wisteria that twined above them on the structure.
“Hey, nice touch. Forget the repairs, you should help me plan the wedding,” she teased him. “I’m going to steal that one.”
“It’s all yours. But I think we ought to test out the theory first.”
“The theory?” She wasn’t sure what he was talking about but noticed an interesting light in his eye as he took a step or two closer.
“We don’t want any of the guests to twist an ankle or fall down out here. Think of your liability. We have to test the bricks for danceability, don’t you think?”
“Danceability?” She smiled at him and was about to answer when he took her hand and slipped his other arm around her waist, sweeping her onto the experimental dance floor.
He was humming a song that she couldn’t identify, but she couldn’t help but dance along. It felt wonderful to be in his embrace, even pretend dancing.
Daniel began another song, a standard wedding-type tune. It was familiar, but Liza couldn’t be bothered to think of the name. She was wondering what it would be like to really dance with him. She was sure she’d just drift off on a cloud. She was nearly drifting off right now.
“Sorry for the humming. I can never remember lyrics,” he confided.
“You’re a pretty good hummer. I don’t mind.”
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. He was still humming and suddenly stopped, though their bodies still swayed together to notes of music only they could hear. He gazed down at her, and she thought he was about to kiss her. She closed her eyes, her grip tightening on his shoulder.
“Mom, please. Let’s just go back to the front door.”
Liza heard a hushed whisper. Jennifer Bennet’s voice.
Liza’s eyes sprang open and she turned, practically spinning out of Daniel’s embrace.
Sylvia and Jennifer were standing at the gate that opened to the drive. They were early, Liza thought, quickly checking her watch. But not that early.
She had lost track of time.
Chapter Eight
“
H
I, Liza,” Jennifer said as they came through the gate. “We rang the bell at the front door. But no one answered.”
“Oh, sorry. Claire must be upstairs.”
Liza exchanged greetings with Sylvia, while Sylvia stared curiously at Daniel.
“This is Daniel Merritt,” Liza began the introductions. “He’s doing the renovation on the inn. He’s an expert in old houses and building techniques. Daniel, this is Sylvia and Jennifer Bennet.”
Jennifer smiled and shook his outstretched hand.
Sylvia shook his hand also but didn’t smile. “Really?” she drawled. “I thought you were the dance instructor.”
Jennifer cast her mother an appalled look.
Liza didn’t know what to say, but Daniel seemed amused. “Liza and I were just testing the brickwork as a dance floor,” he explained calmly. “To make sure it’s safe for your guests. I think it will be fine,” he reported. He stepped toward Sylvia and opened his arms. “Would you like a turn? You can see for yourself.”
“No. Thank you.” Sylvia stared at him and shrank back.
Daniel glanced at Liza, looking awfully satisfied.
My work is done here
, his smile seemed to say.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your wedding plans. I have this list to work on,” he added, waving her list in the air as he grabbed his coffee. “See you later, Liza.”
“Yes, see you.” She gave Sylvia what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “So, shall we get to work?”
Sylvia glanced at her watch. “We don’t have much time. We’re heading into the city this afternoon with Jennifer’s maid of honor, to shop for gowns.”
“That’s exciting.” Liza turned to Jennifer. “Do you have any particular style in mind? There are so many choices. I don’t know how brides can figure it out.”
Before Jennifer could answer, her mother replied. “We’ll have to do it somehow, and in record time. And it will have to be a dress that won’t take too long to order or need too many alterations.” She sat down heavily in a chair, as if she had already been shopping for hours and the quest had exhausted her.
“I have a few pictures from magazines to work with,” Jennifer said mildly. “I just want something simple. Off the shoulder maybe. Not too much going on.”
“She has a perfect figure, so that’s going in our favor,” her mother conceded. “She looks gorgeous in anything she tries on. A burlap sack would probably work out, with a headpiece of some kind.”
Liza couldn’t tell now if Sylvia was being sarcastic or just plain hysterical.
“Great idea, Mom. And my maid of honor could wear a potato sack and the flower girl could wear . . . a flour sack?” Jennifer added.
Sylvia was trying not to laugh, but Jennifer had at least made her smile. “Stop being so silly. We have a lot of work to do.”
“Would you like to sit out here?” Liza suggested. “It’s such a nice day. I can bring out all my notes and some iced tea.”
“That sounds fine,” Sylvia said. “This table looks large enough.” Liza went into the house to fetch her wedding files, unsure of what Sylvia meant by that. Had she brought along a giant, ten-thousand piece jigsaw puzzle? One with the picture of a royal wedding perhaps?
But when Liza returned with her files and wedding binder, the question was answered. Sylvia had made her own binder, already as thick as a phone book, and there was also a long yellow legal pad with several pages of lists.
Please, no more requests for building improvements,
Liza silently prayed. Then she slipped on an invisible suit of armor and stepped out into the arena.
Liza had found a complete, thorough, and well-organized wedding checklist that she wanted to work from. “Shall we start with the number of guests?” Liza began.
“No, I want to start with table settings,” Sylvia said. “Then we can discuss the music.”
So it went. Sylvia’s list had the same items as Liza’s but in a different order, and Sylvia insisted they follow her list. She interrupted Liza and took over the conversation so many times that Liza finally gave up and they worked from Sylvia’s list.
If that makes you happy, fine,
Liza said silently, her face locked into an accommodating smile.
More than two hours later, they had worked their way down the items, discussing such essentials as budget, number of guests, the color scheme, and type of flowers. Then there was the type of tent they wanted Liza to rent, the chairs, tables and table settings, and even the type of tablecloths.
The one thing the Bennets agreed on was that Reverend Ben, from the old stone church in Cape Light, would perform the service. As for the rest of it, the possibilities went back and forth between mother and daughter, like a Ping-Pong match.
They each had a clear idea of what they wanted, with Jennifer arguing for simple and Sylvia insisting on elegant—and Sylvia somehow thinking that Liza was the problem.
“Will we get to see a sample tablecloth for approval?” Sylvia asked. “I mean, my idea of pale yellow, Liza, and your idea can be worlds apart.”
Not to mention Jennifer’s idea, Liza thought. Jennifer had already stated that she wanted ivory tablecloths with rose-colored napkins. But what she said was, “Of course, you can.”
“We want real linen,” Sylvia went on. “Not some polyester nightmare that just hangs there.”
“I’ll have samples of table linens for you very soon,” Liza promised. “Now that I know the colors.” Privately, she decided she would order a couple of pale yellows as well as a few varieties of cream. That way, hopefully, they could agree on something.
“What about chair covers?” Sylvia asked. “They won’t add that much to the cost, and they make a nice decorative accent.”
“I’ll look into that for you and see what I can come up with.” Liza didn’t even realize there was such a thing as chair covers until recently. Now she sounded like a chair-cover consultant.
“I saw something that’s much more fun and looks really pretty,” Jen cut in. “You take some sort of gauzy fabric and wrap it around the back of the chair and put a fresh flower in the bow. Wait, I have a picture.”
She whipped out a magazine page from her own folder and dropped it in the middle of the table.
Sylvia examined the photo, peering over the edge of her reading glasses. “I don’t know. . . . Do you really like that? I can’t imagine a room full of chairs that looked like this. People would be bumping into the flowers. I think it would be too gaudy. You don’t want that sort of look, Jen, do you?”
Liza couldn’t help but notice the sinking look on Jennifer’s face. Her mother overrode nearly every suggestion she made.
“I’ve never seen this before,” Liza cut in before Sylvia could go on. “I think I should get some of this fabric and experiment. It is hard to tell from the picture. Maybe you could use it on a few chairs at each table?” she suggested.
“That’s a good idea,” Jennifer said, brightening again. “Get some pink,” she added quickly.
Sylvia cleared her throat. “Now, we’ve asked a few people we trust about caterers. We even went into the shop this weekend and sampled the food at Willoughby’s—”
“Secretly,” Jennifer added with a laugh.
“We’ve decided to go with your recommendation and use Molly Willoughby for the food. Frankly, we just don’t have time to shop around.”
“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,” Liza said. “Everyone loves Molly’s food. I think I gave you a copy of the menus and the pricing?”
“Yes, you did. We haven’t reviewed it yet. When do we need to work out the menu?”
“We have a little time on that,” Liza told her.
“That’s good.” Sylvia cast Jen a thoughtful glance. “Jen and Kyle want to serve a lot of appetizers and finger foods passed around on trays. Frank and I really don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s a bit awkward, juggling a plate and a drink all night, especially for the older people. We want the guests to be comfortable.”
“But, Mom, there will be plenty of tables set up if people want to sit down. We just won’t have a formal seating arrangement and all that. People can eat and mingle. Then move to another table if they like. It will be fun,” Jennifer added in her best persuasive tone.
Liza could see that Sylvia wasn’t swayed. “Oh, I don’t know, Jennifer. That can work for some other sort of party, a backyard barbecue perhaps. But for a wedding, the guests expect something more substantial. Some of them are traveling a long way. They’ll expect a real sit-down dinner. You don’t want to be roaming around all night, finding an empty chair at some messed-up little table.”
Liza could see that Jennifer was getting upset. “Well, how about a buffet?” she offered, the idea coming to her suddenly. “It’s not as formal as a dinner with several courses, and it gives the guests more freedom to mingle.”
Sylvia tilted her head, considering the idea. Jen looked a bit encouraged, too. “It isn’t what Kyle and I pictured,” she said. “But it’s better than a long, fussy dinner.”
Sylvia gave her daughter a long, appraising look, as if she were deciding on which battles would be worth fighting. “I suppose these menus list all the options?” she asked.
“Yes, they do. If you have any questions just call me, or you can get in touch with Molly directly,” Liza replied.
“We need to consider the number of guests we’ll be serving, too,” Sylvia added, glancing at the menus again. “We need to add a few more guests to the list.” She sighed heavily. “It’s hard to keep the guest list under control. So many people we know would love to see Jen and Kyle get married.”
Liza was sure that was true. Jennifer was such a charming girl. But Liza hoped her fan club wasn’t too large. One of the big reasons she had agreed to take on this job was because Jennifer had promised the wedding would be small.
Jennifer looked uncomfortable again. “I don’t even know half those people, Mom. They’re all your friends and Dad’s.”