LITMIR.BIZ

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huddled by the fridge, heads bent, surveying the contents. If all else failed, throw them together – didn’t that always work in romantic comedies? Surely if they could solve the missing-chef dilemma, they could solve anything!

      Following in the wake of Aunt Bessie’s sugary-sweet perfume, I found her chatting to the florist while she set up her donut table. The donuts were cooling in the fridge, but she had elaborate stands for them, which she placed on the beautiful linen tablecloth. When she caught my eye she excused herself and sauntered over, her hips swinging in her Dolly-esque way. “I’ve been chatting to the other vendors from town and they’re thrilled you invited them here today. And I said, well, of course you would! That you’re planning to use them whenever you can. What?” she asked. “What’s that line between your eyes for?” She rubbed the spot, as if she could erase it, making my frown deepen. I filled her in on the Georges debacle, her eyes wide with shock.

      “He just upped and left?”

      I nodded. “It was a requirement of the job that he start pronto.”

      She let out a breath. “Well, at least you’ve got a backup. How lucky are you?”

      “Very.”

      “Take some deep breaths, baby girl. You’ve got this. It’s going to be a huge success, I just know it. Mom sends her apologies, she had… other things to do today.”

      “Like?” Washing, cleaning, and gardening in the snow…

      “Well,” Aunt Bessie bumbled along. “You know, just things. Anyway, we’ll have Christmas Day together, right? You’ll come to me this year for lunch.”

      Neutral territory. We both knew Mom wouldn’t step foot on Cedarwood soil, and Aunt Bessie knew I’d probably give all of us food poisoning if I attempted to cook. “I’d love that. Our first Christmas together in six years…”

      Isla and Micah waved me over.

      “You’d better go,” Aunt Bessie said, pecking me on the cheek, and giving my butt a slap for good measure as I wandered away, her cackle following me. I shook my head, and laughed.

      “Guys, you look great!” After working this morning, they’d dashed upstairs to change. They were helping serve today, and would then take the brides on a tour of the estate, pointing out the various activities on offer for guests. Micah was dashing in a suit and tie, and Isla was effortlessly chic in a full-length green dress with long sleeves.

      Isla blushed, which brought out the freckles on her nose. “We wanted to look the part. I must say, it’s nice to wear something other than my gardening gear and workboots.”

      I smiled at her and turned to Micah, who was rubbing his hands together. “Micah, I hate to ask because of your beautiful clothes, but can you light the fire in the honeymoon suite so Isla can take them for a tour before lunch?”

      “Sure.” He kissed Isla’s cheek and I turned away discreetly while they did the lovey-dovey goggle-eyes. For some inexplicable reason, the wedding march played in my mind, followed closely by a vision of Isla getting ready in a suite upstairs, her mother arranging her veil, tears filling her eyes at the sight of her beautiful daughter about to marry the man of her dreams… oh, she’d make a stunning bride…

      “Clio?”

      “The tiara…”

      “Clio?”

      I blinked. Did I say that aloud? I made a mental note to research the kind of tiara that would suit Isla; something elegant, classic, not too blingy…

      “Clio?”

      I shook myself. “Sorry, was lost in thought about… weddings.”

      She frowned. “Right, well, it’s the day for it. What should I do?”

      I checked my watch. “Can you help me with the gift bags? We can set them up in the lobby to hand out before they leave.”

      We worked flat out for the next couple of hours until tires crunched on the gravel out front. They were here!

      “Isla, can you tell Cruz we’ll need the first lot of canapés in twenty minutes?”

      She nodded and glided away.

      Amory raced over, her face shining with happiness. Outside, car doors shut with a bang and high-pitched chatter filled the air. This was always the best part of an event, the moment all of our hard work came together, and our guests arrived, wide-eyed with awe.

      Our brides entered the lobby, wearing big smiles. Amory and I stood next to each other and shook their hands one by one. We went into wedding and event planner mode, and spent time greeting each bride, handing out name-tags to ensure everyone felt at home and important, before Isla ushered them into the ballroom where they let out gasps of delight at the wedding beauty displayed before them.

      Suave Micah appeared carrying a tray of canapés. He winked and strode into the ballroom, but not before we snagged a Moroccan lamb cigar, a crispy deep-fried morsel of perfection. Discreetly wiping crumbs away, I said, “Wow, that guy can cook.”

      Amory raised a brow. “Wait until you try his South American dishes.”

      Would I get to try them? Maybe he’d stay around for a while. I did need help for Christmas Eve and the fancy dinner party I envisaged hosting for my friends. Not to mention the guests who’d booked in after New Year…

      “What’s my lipstick like? No crumbs stuck to me?”

      “Fine, fine. And mine?” Usually we stayed well away from the food at our parties, but being the boss had its advantages. We were merely doing quality control, right?

      “Let’s mingle.”

      Moving with the group of brides, we took them from table to table, highlighting the ways in which their weddings could be spectacular and, more importantly, unique to them if only they held them here.

      One of the more outspoken of the brides, a Texan named Barbie, grabbed my arm and ushered me to one side. “How quickly can you get a wedding organized?” With her bouffant blonde curls and twangy accent she was impossible to miss. Even lowering her voice, she drew the eye of the other brides.

      “How quickly do you need it?” I wasn’t going to shoot myself in the foot by saying a timeframe that didn’t suit. I needed a booking, and just hoped the approval for the chapel came through in time.

      Noticing she was being watched, she bundled me further away, and whispered. “Is January too soon? February at a push?”

      It was December! When would we get a client who wasn’t in a hurry? What if the chapel approval took six months? Amory must have overhead, as she gave me a desperate look and mouthed say yes! Wasn’t that my own advice – say yes, always? Worry about the finer details later?

      I managed a jittery smile. “Sure, we can do it for February, as long as you choose local suppliers as much as possible.”

      She patted her belly. “Time is of the essence, you see.”

      Ah! “There’s something very special about the fact your baby will attend your wedding, whether anyone knows or not.”

      She gave me a genuine smile, one that reached her eyes. “I hadn’t thought about it like that before. The jellybean will be our guest of honor, and you’ll be one of the few who knows about him or her…”

      “Did you have any themes in mind? Color combinations…”

      “Vintage grandeur. Think Gatsby. The jazz age. That kind of thing.”

      I wanted to shriek! Vintage grandeur would suit the lodge and show it off in its best light. Did I risk taking the booking without approval? She hadn’t confirmed yet, she’d only enquired about timeframes, so instead I focused on making her fall in love with the lodge. I waved Isla over. “Would you like to see the chapel? It has the most glorious stained-glass windows, and we can

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