Seabreeze Wedding (Summer Beach #5) - Jan Moran Page 0,1

we have to fill rooms during the off-season, but we should be careful that wedding parties don’t take over the inn. Remember what happened at Carol Reston’s daughter’s wedding? Our other guests played along only because Carol is a huge celebrity, but many won’t be crazy about rowdy wedding parties.”

“That one was different,” Ivy said. “They’re not always that rowdy.”

“I worked plenty of weddings in New York.” Shelly arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know why we need any wedding parties in the summer anyway. We were booked solid last year.”

“Weddings are scheduled year-round, and that’s business we need,” Ivy said firmly. “We can charge more fees for the use of the ballroom and dining room—and you can make extra money on the flowers.”

“We can be selective,” Poppy said, sounding conciliatory.

Ivy threw a look at her niece. They couldn’t afford to be too choosy. This month marked the first anniversary of the inn, and as with any new business, it had been a challenging year.

Summer Beach was a seasonal spot for summer tourists. Ivy and Shelly had made it through the lean winter months by creating special events that Poppy promoted. They had hosted a Halloween sleepover for kids and their parents, a Christmas and New Year’s week for singles, and a romantic Valentine’s weekend. They’d planned spa weeks and featured cooking classes. The last event was a family Easter egg hunt on the grounds, followed by a luncheon that Mitch catered from his Java Beach kitchen.

Poppy handed Ivy the message. “Eleanor York. She made sure to intimate that she is related to the royal Yorks.”

“See? I smell trouble already.” Shelly clipped the end of another sturdy rose stem with force and shot a look at Ivy. “With an attitude like that, she has to be a bridezilla.”

Poppy held up a finger. “Except she’s not the bride; she’s the bride’s mom.”

“A momzilla, then,” Shelly said. “They’re even worse. I handled flowers at enough weddings to know to steer clear of those designer-clad monsters.”

Poppy giggled. “Actually, she introduced herself as Mrs. Churchill York. The third.”

Shelly grimaced. “Does that mean she’s the third Mrs. Churchill? Or is Churchie the third unfortunate soul to bear that name?”

“The latter, I think.” Poppy’s eyes flashed with laughter as she joined in the merriment. “And who names a baby Churchill?”

“Enough, you two,” Ivy said, lowering her voice. “Remember what we agreed? No talking about the guests.”

“They’re not guests yet,” Shelly said, grinning.

Poppy blushed. “You’re right, Aunt Ivy.” Turning to Shelly, she added, “Eleanor loved your floral arrangements posted on our website. She said she hadn’t seen anything that creative outside of the pages of Town & Country.”

Shelly sniffed. “What she saw in that magazine was probably my work. The staff photographer was a friend and often came to shoot events where I’d provided flowers.”

Ivy seized on that. “See? You could make a lot of money from a job like this.” She turned to Poppy. “Have you searched them online? Surely they can’t be too hard to find.”

Poppy’s eyes widened. “Aunt Ivy, you told us not to look up guests.”

“She’s not a guest yet, is she?” When Shelly chuckled, Ivy quickly added, “This is business.”

“On it,” Poppy said, sliding behind the reception desk and flipping open her laptop.

Shelly rolled her eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She filled in bare spots in the arrangement with the remaining lacy fern fronds before brushing discarded leaves and stems into a paper bag.

Ivy touched Shelly’s shoulder. “A big floral job could help pay for the wedding and honeymoon you and Mitch want.”

Over the New Year’s holidays, Shelly had drummed up the courage to propose to Mitch Kline, the proprietor of Java Beach, the town’s most popular coffee shop. Although at twenty-nine, he was younger than Shelly, the two of them had grown close over the past year. They were both creative free-spirits with a strong work ethic. Ivy felt they were a good match. At thirty-eight, Shelly was eager to start a family.

As for Ivy, she and Bennett—the town’s mayor—had yet to set a date for their wedding. This wasn’t the first marriage for either of them, so Ivy wanted Shelly to celebrate her wedding first.

Shelly lifted her eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “We could use the money. But the wedding guests had better behave themselves. You remember what happened at the last one. Fishing drunks out of the pool isn’t my idea of a great event.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Ivy spread her hands. “Let a famous