Page 40 of A Wedding in a Week

A laugh rings out before I can say we were just leaving. I don’t need to look to know who that laugh came from—that’s Marc, delighted to be with the people who first brought him to us.

To me.

Hurrying him away seems wrong, so I make a decision that I hope Lukas never hears of. He’ll only say I’ve blown my big chance to monopolise my date. “Let me just check—”

Rebecca holds up a hand. “That you’re welcome?” She’s blunt, but that’s farmers for you. “Of course you are. I know you’re a chip off your dad’s shy block.”

Shy? Dad was self-contained, that’s all, intent on keeping the farm going for us, but I wonder if that’s how people see me.

Rebecca must do. “It’s good to see you out and about. Everyone was happy to help while you were in the hospital, so if you ever need anything again in the future, don’t be shy about it. All you have to do is reach out like John and your mum did after the accident. She’ll be along later.”

“My mum?”

Rebecca nods, and that fact does fill me with horror. “We won’t be here that long.”

“So make the most of it.” She nudges her lodger closer to me. “Talk to Hayden here about his tents before you go.”

I do, and Hayden isn’t only tall, dark, and handsome, he’s knowledgeable about exactly the kind of bell tents I’d pictured for wedding parties. I tell him all about my plans, and he nods.

“So, you’re looking for something romantic-looking? A little bit boho, only with five-star comforts? How about these?” He also has photos on his phone, showing me exactly what I’d envisioned. “Give me your number. I’ll link you to my website.” I do, my phone pinging in my pocket. “Take a look when you have time, and let me know if I can help you out with that. Or with pretty much any kind of tent.”

“How come?” I ask over the din of a party in full swing.

“Because I started out running outdoor courses as a side hustle when I worked for the forestry commission. That was when I lived away, but I always wanted to come home to Cornwall, so I found a way to make it happen.”

I can’t help liking that. It reminds me of Marc’s drive to come back. “How?”

Hayden leans against the bar, relaxed and easy. “By offering what tourists wanted. My setup was pretty basic to start with—more wild camping than anything fancy like glamping—but summer is short, so investing in bigger tents meant I could teach more people.”

That’s smart thinking. So is what he says next.

“Plus I found I could charge more for prettier accommodation, so decent bell tents were worth the investment. I’ve grown out of some that might suit you for weddings. Big enough for a double bed though. Help your newlyweds have a happy ending to their big day.” He winks, and I can’t help warming to him.

“You said you started out running outdoor courses. You don’t anymore?”

“I do anything that pays.” Hayden’s smile is rueful, and I also can’t help nodding—he’s just described my own business model up until now, scattershot and running to keep up. He confirms that by adding, “I’m always looking ahead, trying to guess what will make a profit. Courses still take up most of my summers. I’ll teach anything relating to nature. It’s trickier in winter. I’m still trying to find a balance that isn’t all feast or famine.”

That sounds right up Marc’s alley. “You should talk with my—” I stumble over what to call him.

I look for Marc again, only catching a partial glimpse of hair I’m sure would glint if I was closer, and that’s what I wish—that I was closer to him even though I’m close to someone who doesn’t hide their interest when I turn back. Hayden lets me know by asking a question that sounds like fishing. “With your partner?”

I settle for saying, “With an enterprise consultant.” I offer more of an explanation. “There’s a practice in Penzance that works with people like us. Finds grants and funding sources. Works on rural diversification plans.” Everything Marc’s told me comes back. “They help keep local talent in Cornwall.”

“I don’t know about talent.” Hayden’s self-deprecation makes him seem a kindred spirit, especially when he adds a quietly voiced, “I don’t want much.” His voice lowers so much I move closer to hear him. “Just a home of my own instead of lodging would be good. Regular work that’s worth rolling out of bed for, and—” He meets my eyes, his own warm and crinkling. “—someone of my own to roll back into bed with when work is finished. You know, the basics, along with earning enough to build a future.”

“And you’re doing that?”

“Partly. At least it feels like I’m getting closer.” He takes a sip of his drink before tipping his glass my way, silently asking if I’ll join him.

I look over my shoulder again. Marc’s still chatting, but he breaks off to yawn like he did in the snug, so I turn back and shake my head. “Better not. Got an early start tomorrow.”

“Joys of farming, eh? That’s how I fill the rest of the year.”

“For Rebecca?”

“And with relief work on other farms.” He tilts his head, and yes, his gaze is warm, but it isn’t as lively as Marc’s. He blinks, and it takes a moment to tune into him asking, “Whereabouts are you?”

“Oh, my farm? Across the moor from Rebecca’s. Kara-Tir.”

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