watched as they gazed around the carefully laid-out markers. On top of the moss-infested grass, rows of red twine were interspersed by seed markers. Jacob knelt down to read one, then looked up in amazement. “A vegetable garden?”
Nate nodded. “You tell me what you need me to grow, and I’ll grow it.”
The faraway look in Jacob’s eyes suggested he was already imagining a seasonal home-grown menu. Nate saw many more vegetarian options on the Avalon Inn specials board in the future.
“This looks great, Nate,” Moira said, but Nate could hear the ‘but’ coming next.
“But?” he prompted her.
“Did Carrie ask you to do this?”
“Not as such,” Nate hedged, unsure how many people knew about Uncle Patrick’s garden-selling plans. “I just think it’s important the gardens earn their way around here.”
Jacob nodded. “Makes sense to me,” he said, but Nate knew he was just thinking about the fresh produce. “Might need to get a greenhouse, too,” he suggested. “Tomatoes and such.”
“Next on the list,” Nate promised him.
“When are you going to show her?” Moira pressed.
Without really thinking, Nate answered, “As soon as she gets back.”
Moira nodded, but she still didn’t look entirely reassured. The sound of tyres on the gravel drive distracted her, though. “That must be them. I’ll go and see.”
Nate watched Moira head back to the inn, thinking that if even his grandmother, who traditionally thought he hung the moon, wasn’t impressed, what hope did he have with Carrie?
Jacob’s voice jerked him out of his rather depressing musings. “What have you got planned for the lawn at the back?”
Nate shrugged. “Nothing, yet. Maybe some sort of display garden? Might be good for photos.”
Jacob shook his head. “I’ve got a much better idea. One Anna bloody Yardley would love. Bring your twine and pegs.”
“Did you empty out every charity shop in North Wales?” Stan asked as he met them at the door on their return to the Avalon, eyeing the boxes of plates, bowls, and glassware.
“Near enough,” Carrie said, passing him a box, while concentrating very hard on forgetting her entire discussion with Cyb.
“China and glass only,” Cyb told him. “And a few more tablecloths.”
Moira came trudging up the path from the gardens. “Good grief. That should keep us going.”
“That’s the hope,” Carrie muttered, and Moira gave her a sympathetic smile.
“Where’s that grandson of yours, Moira?” Stan asked, his booming voice making Carrie jump. Just as well she was holding tablecloths, not wine glasses, at the time.
“He and Jacob are working on something in the garden,” Moira said. Carrie wanted to ask what, but Moira was already moving towards the inn with a hastily grabbed box of glasses. It made Carrie nervous. She knew Nate wasn’t happy about the possibility of selling some of the grounds. She just wasn’t sure how far he’d go to stop it.
“Maybe I should go and see what they’re up to,” Carrie said, edging over to the path down to the gardens.
Stan stopped her with a scathing glance. “You forgotten so soon, girl? You can’t go now. We’ve got an appointment to keep.”
It took her a moment, but then it clicked. Stan was taking her to meet his grandson, who happened to run a discount carpet store two towns over. And getting rid of the hideous purple and green paisley on the floor of the dining room trumped whatever Nate was plotting in the gardens.
“Carpets,” she said, resigned. “Of course.”
Stan nodded. “Just take the last of these boxes in and we’ll go.”
“Great.” Carrie went to get back in the car. Somehow, she’d thought the Seniors helping would mean less work for her. As it was, she barely remembered what her tiny attic room looked like. But it would all be worth it when she saw Graeme gaze lovingly across the Willow Room at Ruth on their wedding day.
Hopefully.
Carpet Madness specialised, it seemed, in exactly the sort of carpets Carrie was trying to get rid of. At least now she knew why they were so cheap.
“This one is very popular,” Stan’s grandson told them, pointing at a heavy roll of turquoise and purple paisley.
Carrie stared at it and tried to be tactful. “Actually, I’m looking for something a bit...plainer.”
Stan looked worryingly taken with the paisley. Carrie wondered if he’d somehow been involved in picking out the original. “Can’t go with anything too plain in a hotel,” he told her, stroking the roll of carpet. “Need something with pattern. Something with colour. Something to hide the food stains and the spills and the baby vomit.”
Carrie wasn’t sure which of those was supposed to be turquoise, but she figured it might be safer not to ask. “Still, maybe something a little less bright would work.”
Stan’s grandson shrugged, then looked away as another customer came in. “Why don’t you take a wander around and see if anything catches your eye.” He was already halfway across the store before he finished speaking.
“I’m going to...” Carrie waved a hand over at the other side of the store, and, at Stan’s nod, moved away, leaving her companion looking longingly at the turquoise paisley.
Somewhere amongst burgundy pile and cream shag, Carrie’s phone rang.
“Oh, God, Carrie, I’m so sorry, but...” Ruth trailed off.
“What?” she asked, steeling herself. Because, whatever it was, two phone calls in one day meant it clearly wasn’t going to be good.
“The parents have been reviewing the guest list again, and they think they’ve found a few more families that they need to invite.”
“How many?” Carrie asked, already doing the maths in her head. They were already at full capacity with Selena’s existing list. Unless they wanted to put tables in the bar...
“About another thirty people,” Ruth said, the words sounding like stones. “Give or take.”
“That’s three more tables!”
“I know!” Carrie would have been angrier if Ruth didn’t sound so upset. “And now Graeme’s saying maybe we should postpone until next year, if we can’t get this sorted out.”
“Maybe there’ll be an epidemic of chicken pox or something, and some will have to cancel.” It was only
