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Authors: Thomas Kinkade
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“That’s too bad. The inn is a beautiful spot. Walter and I have gone to a few weddings there over the years. Your aunt did a lovely job of it.”
“Yes, I’m sure she did.” Liza wasn’t sure why but the conversation was suddenly getting under her skin. She wished everyone would stop reminding her that her aunt had pulled off these events with such ease.
Things were different back then. People didn’t have such high expectations. They didn’t expect showers of rose petals, elaborate table settings, and PowerPoint presentations set to the couple’s favorite songs.
“Here’s your change,” Marion said mildly, handing Liza back some coins.
“Thanks. I have to run. Nice to see you.” Liza grabbed the change and her bag of vegetables, then practically ran to the door. The little bell over the threshold jangled wildly as she yanked it open.
“Don’t sweat the small stuff, Liza . . . ” Marion called out in her usual way. “And it’s all small stuff, you know.”
“Right,” Liza called back. Marion always said that to her.
Did she look like she was sweating the small stuff? Well, maybe sometimes, she had to admit.
Liza stuck the bag in the basket of her bike and set off for the inn, pedaling at double speed. It was amazing. She hadn’t even figured out if she could do the wedding, and the news that she would was already all over the island. Now if she didn’t do the wedding, it might reflect badly on the inn, as if she’d cancelled or something.
She just hoped that if this didn’t work out, Marion Doyle wouldn’t put a bad spin on the situation. Oh, she couldn’t worry about that now, Liza decided, pedaling even faster. She had to get back to the inn and get ready for her meeting with Molly Willoughby.
“THIS is a great old place,” Molly said as she stepped through the inn’s front door. “You’ve really come a long way with it,” she added, glancing around the foyer and into the sitting room.
“My brother Sam is really into old houses,” Molly went on. “He must have worked on every old house in the village by now. I know these old places are beautiful, but they’re also a pain in the neck, like big old divas,” she joked. “Maybe that’s why I live in a new one. But you miss out on the history and the charm.”
Liza led her into the sitting room, and Molly looked around again with an admiring expression. Molly was a very pretty woman, Liza thought, probably in her early forties, with dark curly hair, sparkling eyes, and a very expressive manner. She wasn’t model thin but had curves in all the right places. Liza sensed she was a good saleswoman and probably a strict boss.
“Oh, this room is very nice. You could maybe do a cocktail thing in here if you take out some of the furniture. You’d leave the piano, of course. You can hire some college kid to play standards. Everybody loves that. You might bring in a few pieces, a trio maybe. Or you could put the music outside. You definitely have the room . . . not necessary, of course, if cost is a big issue.”
“I’m not sure. The bride didn’t really say. She did say she was going to keep it small and simple, a very limited guest list.”
Is that really me talking? Liza could hardly believe her own ears. She was suddenly in full wedding-planner mode, even speaking the lingo.
“You know, if you not only provide the site but take on some of the planning details—coordinating the flowers and tablecloths and all of that—the wedding business can be very profitable. And you could have a lot of fun with a small party.” Molly’s excitement was contagious.
“I could?” Could this really be fun?
“Definitely. Those special touches are much easier for a small group and make the event so memorable.”
Special touches—that’s what Liza was afraid of.
“How about if I just start with the standard, stripped-down model? Honestly, I think that’s all I could manage.”
Molly laughed and took a seat in an
“Yes, I’m sure she did.” Liza wasn’t sure why but the conversation was suddenly getting under her skin. She wished everyone would stop reminding her that her aunt had pulled off these events with such ease.
Things were different back then. People didn’t have such high expectations. They didn’t expect showers of rose petals, elaborate table settings, and PowerPoint presentations set to the couple’s favorite songs.
“Here’s your change,” Marion said mildly, handing Liza back some coins.
“Thanks. I have to run. Nice to see you.” Liza grabbed the change and her bag of vegetables, then practically ran to the door. The little bell over the threshold jangled wildly as she yanked it open.
“Don’t sweat the small stuff, Liza . . . ” Marion called out in her usual way. “And it’s all small stuff, you know.”
“Right,” Liza called back. Marion always said that to her.
Did she look like she was sweating the small stuff? Well, maybe sometimes, she had to admit.
Liza stuck the bag in the basket of her bike and set off for the inn, pedaling at double speed. It was amazing. She hadn’t even figured out if she could do the wedding, and the news that she would was already all over the island. Now if she didn’t do the wedding, it might reflect badly on the inn, as if she’d cancelled or something.
She just hoped that if this didn’t work out, Marion Doyle wouldn’t put a bad spin on the situation. Oh, she couldn’t worry about that now, Liza decided, pedaling even faster. She had to get back to the inn and get ready for her meeting with Molly Willoughby.
“THIS is a great old place,” Molly said as she stepped through the inn’s front door. “You’ve really come a long way with it,” she added, glancing around the foyer and into the sitting room.
“My brother Sam is really into old houses,” Molly went on. “He must have worked on every old house in the village by now. I know these old places are beautiful, but they’re also a pain in the neck, like big old divas,” she joked. “Maybe that’s why I live in a new one. But you miss out on the history and the charm.”
Liza led her into the sitting room, and Molly looked around again with an admiring expression. Molly was a very pretty woman, Liza thought, probably in her early forties, with dark curly hair, sparkling eyes, and a very expressive manner. She wasn’t model thin but had curves in all the right places. Liza sensed she was a good saleswoman and probably a strict boss.
“Oh, this room is very nice. You could maybe do a cocktail thing in here if you take out some of the furniture. You’d leave the piano, of course. You can hire some college kid to play standards. Everybody loves that. You might bring in a few pieces, a trio maybe. Or you could put the music outside. You definitely have the room . . . not necessary, of course, if cost is a big issue.”
“I’m not sure. The bride didn’t really say. She did say she was going to keep it small and simple, a very limited guest list.”
Is that really me talking? Liza could hardly believe her own ears. She was suddenly in full wedding-planner mode, even speaking the lingo.
“You know, if you not only provide the site but take on some of the planning details—coordinating the flowers and tablecloths and all of that—the wedding business can be very profitable. And you could have a lot of fun with a small party.” Molly’s excitement was contagious.
“I could?” Could this really be fun?
“Definitely. Those special touches are much easier for a small group and make the event so memorable.”
Special touches—that’s what Liza was afraid of.
“How about if I just start with the standard, stripped-down model? Honestly, I think that’s all I could manage.”
Molly laughed and took a seat in an
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