Page 24 of Marry Me Tomorrow
“Hi, Gwen. Hi, Mrs. Hughes,” I call out, grabbing a bait bucket for Carlton, one of our regulars. “I’ll be right over.” The faint, salty scent of fresh bait fills the air.
“Have a great day, Carlton,” I say as I hand him his bait bucket. “And good luck out there! I hope you catch something big.”
“Thanks, Jenny,” he says. “Looks like you’ve got a busy day ahead of yourself.” He nods toward the office door where Mrs. Hughes and Gwen have disappeared.
“A busy day for sure. I’ve got a wedding to plan.”
“Ah, yes, I did hear that through the grapevine. Seems like it just took a great gal like yourself to get ol’ Trent to finally settle down.”
I laugh and wave Carlton off, cheeks warming. Stopping by Greg’s desk, I tell him, “I’m stepping away from the shop for a bit. I’ll be in the back with Gwen and Mrs. Hughes. Let me know if anyone gives you any trouble.”
“Trouble?” he teases, leaning back in his chair. “You act like I wasn’t handling things just fine before you started here.”
“Sure,” I say with a playful smile, “but the customers like me better than you.”
Greg waves me off good-naturedly as Trent walks in, Trent’s hair slightly mussed and cheeks flushed from the brisk marina air.
“I saw Mom and Gwen pull up,” Trent says, “and tried to hurry over as fast as I could without skipping the safety rundown for the pontoon rental.”
“No worries,” I say. “I just finished with Carlton and let Greg know I wouldn’t be in the shop. We’re good to go.”
“Great. Let me wash my hands, and we’ll dive into the wedding planning,” Trent says, heading toward the sink. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms dusted with faint streaks of grease—proof of his earlier work on the marina’s boats.
“As long as you don’t get cold feet, I think we can manage waiting for you to wash up,” I tease, earning a laugh as he disappears into the back.
When I step into the office, the sheer volume of materials on the table freezes me in place. Magazines, fabric swatches, and floral arrangement books are strewn across every available inch, and the faint scent of freshly printed paper mingles with the citrus notes from earlier.
Footsteps behind me make me glance back as Trent joins me, his hands still holding a towel after a quick rinse. “Looks like they’ve got the works for us today,” he says.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out smaller than I intended. Trent sets the towel down on a nearby table, then he turns to study me.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now?”
“What? No! Especially not after you just promised me my own art studio,” I say. As we step forward to claim out seats in front of the table, I shake off some of my nerves.
Mrs. Hughes doesn’t waste a moment. “Alright, now that you’re both here, let’s start with the most important question,” she says, clasping her hands together.
Trent leans back in his chair, a grin tugging at his lips. “She already agreed to marry me. Isn’t that the most important question?”
“Of course not,” Gwen interjects, her tone light but firm. “We need to set a date.”
“Oh, that.” Trent says sheepishly.
“Yes, that,” replies Mrs. Hughes sweetly.
My stomach drops. A date! How did we not settle on a timeline for the wedding when we were planning for this fake marriage?
Gwen fills the silence easily, pulling out some pictures of weddings with reds, oranges, and yellows. “How about a nice fall wedding? In the background, you could have the leaves changing colors, and we could transform the barn to an elegant yet rustic vibe to add to the fall theme.”
“Well,” I say timidly, “we aren’t looking for a long engagement.” I glance at Trent for confirmation.
“Definitely not,” he agrees quickly.
Gwen and Mrs. Hughes exchange looks. “Is there some other news you want to tell us?” Mrs. Hughes asks.
Realizing how our eagerness to get married so soon might come across, Trent’s ears turn red and my face flushes. “No, nothing like that!” I say.
“What we mean,” Trent says, “is we’re already working together and living so close. Why drag it out?”