Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
I held her gaze for a second before I sighed and bobbed my head slowly. “You are quite right, as always, Mrs. O’Shea.” I rounded the counter and dug out my keys from my pocket, then located the small key for the till drawer. I unlocked it and removed a five-pound note from its place before turning back to Danny and handing it over. “There you go. Five pounds for your hard work today, sir.”
He took it with the kind of shit-eating grin that could only belong to a six-year-old who knew he’d just stiffed you out of your cash.
Something told me I was going to be more than a fiver down by the end of the day.
“Thank you,” Sylvie said to Mrs. O’Shea. “It was six-thirty, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” she replied.
“Thank you. Time to get back to work.” Sylvie slid her gaze towards me. “Some of us have things to do.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” I asked, closing the till drawer. “Having a dance party between the trees?”
“I hope not,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the large, open doors. “Not if you dance the way you did at prom, anyway.”
“That was fifteen years ago!”
“And I’d wager he still doesn’t dance any better,” Mrs. O’Shea added with a grin.
I threw my hands in the air. “I didn’t come here for this abuse.”
“No, you came here to moan and grumble about Christmas and all the festive nonsense you don’t care about,” the older lady continued.
I sighed, dropping my head. “It’s just too much.”
“It’s making you a lot of money, dear,” she pointed out.
“That’s the point,” I replied. “It’s all about the money. It’s all commercial and happy nonsense. If I didn’t have to be here, I wouldn’t be.” I glanced at Danny, who’d now retreated to a back corner of the barn and was rearranging baubles on a display tree.
What was that going to cost me? Two-pound-fifty?
“You used to love Christmas.”
“Used to.” My voice was soft. “Four years ago. I’ve got plenty of reasons not to like it now.”
Mrs. O’Shea didn’t say anything else, just smiled at me sadly.
“Are you still all right with watching Danny for a while? I need to help Ryan move some trees out.”
She nodded. “Don’t you worry about us, dear. I’ve got plenty of jellybeans behind here.”
I rubbed my hand across my chest. “You’ve got plenty there, huh?”
She reached under the counter and held out a closed bag with a grandmotherly smile. “Make sure you share with Ryan.”
I tucked it into my pocket. “Absolutely not.”
Her quiet laughter was the sound I left the barn to, and as the cold air from outside smacked into my face, I turned my head just in time to see Sylvie’s car pulling out of the car park. She paused to let someone come in, and she jerked her head to the side.
Our eyes met for something that couldn’t have been any longer than a second, but there was a quiet curiosity in her gaze.
Something told me I hadn’t seen the last of her before the wedding.
CHAPTER FIVE – SYLVIE
“Ouch!” I winced when the seamstress prodded me with a needle.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “My fingers slipped.”
I looked down at the young girl with an understanding smile. “First wedding?”
“How did you know?”
“I’m a wedding planner,” I replied, tapping my nose. “I can smell it.”
She laughed quietly, switching her pin for the tape measure. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit nervous. I know this wedding is a big deal and I want to get it right.”
“What’s your name?”
“Monica.”
“Monica, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” I said softly, lifting my arms for her. “My sister is not a bridezilla. She’s not allowed to be one. She tried, and I hit her with a magazine.”
That was a true story. Two months after Julian had proposed, they’d both come to see me for a long weekend to start planning in person, and Hazel had tried to bridezilla my arse.
I’d grabbed the nearest wedding magazine, rolled it up, and smacked her on the head with it.
I’d always wanted to do that to a bridezilla. The problem was that doing it to someone who wasn’t my sister was highly unprofessional.
Actually, it might have been a little unprofessional to beat her with it, too, since she was technically a paying client. A heavily discounted one; but a paying client, nonetheless.
Thankfully, she hadn’t done it since. Except for one minor issue with her shoes, but I forgave her that. They were very pretty shoes and I, too, would have been upset that the wrong size was ordered right before that style was discontinued.
Let me tell you, finding those shoes was why I hadn’t had to pay for my part of her hen party to Paris. Julian had sent me the money for my part and Hazel’s part to thank me for making sure he never had to hear about the shoes again.