Page 27 of Marry Me Tomorrow
“Exactly,” Gwen says, her tone decisive. “This could open a whole new revenue stream for the marina. With the cabins for overnight stays, this field for ceremonies, and the barn you have for events, you could corner the market for weddings. Especially for couples who want to get out of the city but stay close.”
“Oh wow,” I say, my mind spinning.
“Do you really think so?” Jenny asks, her voice tinged with excitement.
“Absolutely!” Gwen says. “There are a few minor adjustments we’d need to make, but nothing too invasive.” She flips open her notebook and jots something down. “I think we will have time for what is needed, but we’re going to be pushing it. You all sure you don’t want a fall wedding? This place would be just as gorgeous in the fall.”
We both shake our head in unison.
“What would need to be done to it?” I ask, frowning slightly. “I don’t want to ruin the beauty of this place.”
“Well, for starters,” she says gesturing toward the edge, “we’d need a fence to block off the drop to the lake. But a small white picket fence would do the trick—simple yet effective.”
I nod as she continues, “We’d also need an arch for the ceremony. Nothing permanent, just something that can be stored and set up to match each wedding.”
“That seems reasonable,” I agree.
“It would be adorable with tree-stump seats,” Jenny chimes in, her eyes lighting up. “Not just for weddings, but schools could use it for field trips or outdoor classes.”
“The chairs could be dual-purpose,” Mom says. “They’d work for weddings and educational programs alike. I think it’s a brilliant idea, Jenny.”
I glance back out over the field, picturing the stump seats scattered around the clearing. The idea starts to take root, and I already know where I can source the wood and preserve the seats so they stay nice.
“That all sounds very doable. I’m in,” I say finally.
“Great!” Gwen claps her hands together. “Now, for your wedding. We won’t have the chairs in time, but I’ll arrange for some to be brought in. What do you think about setting the arch here?” She points toward the opening, where the lake serves as a stunning backdrop with the cherry blossoms framing it.
“Yes!” my mom says enthusiastically. “And the chairs could fan out like this.” She gestures with her hands, walking around the field to map out an imaginary setup. “Jenny could make her entrance from the path we just came down.”
“That sounds lovely,” Jenny says, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. The small gesture pulls me back to the moment, reminding me that we’re in this together—for better or worse.
Later that evening, after locking up, I scan the marina grounds for Jenny. I’d planned to walk her to my house so she could get a feel for it and figure out what she wants to change, but she must have already left. With only two weeks until the wedding, there’s still so much to do.
I glance toward her cabin and see a soft glow through the window. The light’s on, so I head over, the crunch of gravel under my boots the only sound in the still evening air.
About ten feet from the cabin, I catch sight of Jenny painting through the window. My steps falter, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. I’ve never seen her while she paints before.
She’s a vision. Wearing paint-splattered overalls, her hair tied up in two messy braided pigtails, she looks completely at ease. The sight makes my heart lurch in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
Through the window, I watch as she paints, her movements fluid and rhythmic, like a dancer lost in the music. One hand holds a palette, dabs of color bright against its surface, while the other sweeps the brush over the canvas in gentle, precise strokes. It’s mesmerizing. She’s mesmerizing.
The intensity on her face, the way her lips purse ever so slightly when she concentrates—it’s like she’s poured every ounce of herself into the art. I have no idea what she’s painting, but whatever it is, it’s clear it holds a piece of her heart.
Realizing I’m just standing there staring like some kind of creep, I shake myself and step up to the cabin, knocking lightly on the door.
“Just a minute!” Jenny calls, her voice muffled but warm.
A moment later, she opens the door. Her cheeks are flushed, and there’s a streak of paint smeared across one of them. Specks of color dot the backs of her hands, and a stray lock of hair slips from her braid, curling against her temple.
“Oh, hi!” she says, a little breathless. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Were you expecting someone else?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.
She rolls her eyes and swats my arm, the corners of her mouth twitching in a barely restrained smile, before turning back toward her easel.
Yeah, I deserved that.
“I mean,” she says with a playful smile, “I wasn’t expecting you until later.”
