Seabreeze Wedding

Chapter 1-1

1

Summer Beach, California

Fresh spring breezes tinged with salty ocean air swept through the old beach house. As Ivy descended the stairway, she drank in the soul-cleansing air that held the aromas of sun-warmed sand and fresh flowers. They’d had a marine layer for several days that kept the beach pinned under a blanket of gloomy gray and cool days, so this was a welcome change.

As she cleared the last step, she imagined the day ahead. On such a perfect spring day such as this, anything seemed possible. Yet with each passing day, it was one day fewer until her parents departed on their around-the-world sail. Although Ivy was thankful that they were fit and healthy enough for this adventure they’d longed for, she would miss them.

At a table in the foyer, her younger sister Shelly was arranging a bouquet of yellow and white blossoms she’d clipped from the garden. “What do you think of this arrangement?”

“You’ve brought the sunshine indoors,” Ivy said, pausing near the reception desk they’d placed near the entrance to welcome guests.

With an expert motion, Shelly stripped leaves from a creamy white rose before inserting it among a cluster of yellow roses and white daisies. “The morning sun flooded my room, so I woke up feeling this yellow-and-white theme.” Sweet scents were already permeating the fresh ocean air flowing through open windows.

Shelly grew most of the flowers and herbs they used on the property, and she was happily putting her horticulture degree to work. She nodded toward Ivy’s lemon-yellow sundress. “Looks like you’re channeling the sunshine, too.”

“I suppose I am. This is another dress Mom sent over.” Ivy touched the cotton seersucker fabric, soft from frequent washings.

Their mother had given them some of the clothes she couldn’t fit onto their new boat. Although Carlotta and Sterling Bay were in their seventies, they were still vibrant and adventurous. They had been planning this trip for more than a year, and their excitement was palpable.

Ivy couldn’t help but worry about their safety, and now she knew how her parents must have felt when each of their children set off on adventures. While Carlotta and Sterling were experienced sailors, unexpected winds could transform a calm sea into a hungry, treacherous creature.

“I’m going to miss Mom and Dad,” Shelly said, continuing to strip leaves from roses.

“We all will,” Ivy said. “But we’re adults, and this is might be their last chance for a long trip like this.”

Seeking to change the subject, Ivy picked up a glossy fern frond and idly twirled it. “How’s your new vegetable garden coming along?”

Shelly brushed back strands of chestnut hair that had escaped her messy topknot. “Thanks to the seeds I started in the hothouse, the cherry tomatoes should be ready next week, along with several types of lettuce. My big heirloom tomatoes still need a few more weeks.”

“I can hardly wait for those,” Ivy said.

Shelly drew her lower lip in and frowned. “Do you think we should be worried about Mom and Dad at their age?”

“They’re in better shape than I am,” Ivy replied as she stuffed the fern frond into the vase. She hated to think about anything that could happen to them.

Shelly curved her lips into a knowing half-smile. “You didn’t answer my question, so that’s a definite yes.”

“This journey is their dream,” Ivy said. “They’ve always supported ours. And they’re not leaving until after you and Mitch get married. Which we’re all guessing will be pretty soon, right?” Shelly and Mitch liked spontaneity, but Ivy wished they’d decide on a firm date. They had already pushed back one date Shelly had wanted. Ivy wondered if anything had changed between them.

Shelly cast her gaze to one side and drew in her lip. “This trip is different,” she said, avoiding Ivy’s question. “It’s such a long one. What if they—”

“Here you are,” Poppy called out, bounding around the corner. With her long blond hair swinging around her shoulders, she waved a message slip in her hand. “I’ve been looking for you, Aunt Ivy.”

Ivy turned toward her niece, an energetic young woman who worked at the inn between her marketing jobs in Los Angeles. “What’s up?”

Poppy grinned. “I just spoke to a woman who wants to talk to you about having a wedding here at the inn. And I also want you to review the story I wrote for my blogger friend—the one about the Seabreeze Inn being the perfect small wedding venue. Looks like we’re diving into the wedding business.”

Shelly shook her head. “I know 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 actor drown? That would’ve landed us on the celebrity graveyard tour list.”

Shelly laughed. “I can just imagine how that would go.”

Poppy snapped her fingers. “Hey, that might be an idea. With such an old house, I wonder if anyone famous has ever died here?” Her eyes glittered at the possibilities. “Or even better—murdered? What with Amelia Erickson’s ghost already here, I could really promote that—”

“No,” Ivy and Shelly cried in unison, holding up their hands.

Ivy shivered. “There is no ghost. No spirits, no apparitions. Nothing. Rumors like that can chase away potential guests. Besides, we all have to sleep here.”

Shelly and Poppy suppressed smiles.

“I mean it.” Glaring at them, Ivy took her phone from her pocket. “Now, if you’ll watch the desk, Poppy, I’ll call Mrs. York. We’re also expecting that group from Los Angeles any time now. They called and asked to check in early.”

“All the rooms are ready,” Poppy said as she peered at her laptop screen. “Wow, the Yorks look loaded. Billionaire-rich. But I wonder why they’d want to have their daughter’s wedding here?”

“People have their reasons,” Ivy replied, though she was curious about the couple, too. “Maybe they want an intimate setting. Just because they’re wealthy doesn’t mean they want an extravagant affair.”

“I have to clip flowers for the guestrooms,” Shelly said, disappearing through the front door with her shears and pail.

A new guest strolled in, and Ivy nodded in greeting. Mrs. Mehta was a retired schoolteacher from Seattle and still had the sweet voice and manner of the kindergarten teacher she had been for years. She and Ivy had chatted at length over breakfast. Mrs. Mehta had spoken so fondly of her young students, many of whom still kept in contact with her. She had even taught the children of former students.

Meeting interesting people was a bonus that Ivy enjoyed, and their stories often moved her.

“Could one of you help me with the coffeemaker in the dining room?” Mrs. Mehta asked. “I don’t know how to use those new-fangled machines with those little cups. I’m afraid I’ll break it, but I sure would like another cup of that delicious coffee.”

“I’ll help you,” Poppy said. “Those are coffee pods. It’s easy to use them once you know how.”

Ivy eased behind the desk. “I’ll watch the front.”

Mrs. Mehta told Ivy she had traveled the length of the western coast from Seattle to see her children. She planned to go first to San Diego and then continue to Phoenix to visit another child. Although Summer Beach was just an hour north of San Diego, the older woman said she needed to rest from her drive before taking on five grandchildren.

Ivy could only imagine, but with Sunny and Misty now in their twenties, she might soon be a grandmother, too. Still, with Sunny in college and Misty determined to make a career out of acting, even marriage was on the distant horizon.

After Poppy left, Ivy put down her phone and glanced at her niece’s computer screen, squinting without her reading glasses. Images of Eleanor York dressed in eveningwear filled the screen, although photos of the husband weren’t clear. “Hmm, you certainly go to a lot of fancy parties. Who are you?”