I moved the boxes containing the order of the service to the recycling bin and tidied up the bedroom, stripping the bed, closing the drawers and putting everything away in cupboards, including the stunningly untouched wedding dress. I needed to busy myself, distract my mind from the conversations of the evening and the realisation that Drew wanted to be nothing more than friends because he didn’t believe a happily ever after existed for him.

I couldn’t get on board with that. My mind and body were screaming at me to challenge him, the romance writer in me was horrified, but I wasn’t sure how I could help him change his mind.

Drew was still sitting in the same chair, staring into space, sighing occasionally and rubbing his hands across his forehead. He looked unruly and deep in thought. His hair was all over the place, his eyes tired like he needed to sleep for a week. I left him there and went downstairs, dumping the dead flowers from the vases into bins, dragging the enormous walls of crispy flowers to join the larger bins outside. As I was putting the glasses away, I heard the door upstairs and watched as Drew walked down the staircase, one thud at a time.

‘I’ve just been tidying. You don’t need to see any of this,’ I said, hiding the deflated balloons behind the bar until I knew it was safe to get rid of them.

‘Thanks, Cal. I can’t tell you how much you’re helping me.’ He bashed a chair with his hand and a plume of dust wafted into the air.

‘I could do some cleaning while I’m here.’

‘You’ve done enough. Thanks for hiding the evidence,’ he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he sat down.

‘I’ve been thinking while you’ve been upstairs.’

‘Never good,’ he mumbled as I ignored him.

‘Can I ask you something?’ He leant back, nodded once and closed his eyes. ‘Why did you leave it like this? Everything untouched, just as it was left.’

His eyes remained closed, but his fingers twitched. ‘At first, I couldn’t face it. As more time passed by I couldn’t see the point. It was a crime scene. I didn’t want anything to do with the place. I busied myself with the cottages and ignored this completely. I allowed Gerry to use the front barn for the author retreat in the spring, but apart from that, I haven’t been back here since that day.’ I dropped myself down on the chair opposite and watched as he sat forward, both hands running through his hair leaving peaks where his fingers had been. ‘I knew Meghan was struggling. The isolation was too much. She was unhappy and I didn’t do a thing to help her. I should have done more.’

‘Let’s not do that,’ I replied. ‘You can’t blame yourself.’

‘I was obsessed with making this work. Not making us work.’

‘Perhaps you didn’t want to,’ I said.

He glanced at me like I’d found his secret. ‘You should be a detective.’

‘I’m good aren’t I?’ I replied as he chuckled.

His laughter always seemed to warm me despite the chill of a winter’s day.

‘I started to have some doubts about where things were going,’ he replied. ‘Nothing huge. Just a feeling that wouldn’t go away.’

‘You settled. Like the character in my book,’ I said, remembering his words.

‘Like you,’ he corrected. ‘Didn’t you settle?’

‘When I was young, yeah, but not now. That’s probably why I’m still single. Can’t find a catch,’ I smiled.

‘They’re missing out,’ he replied, catching my eyes again. I didn’t know what to do with that statement. It seemed the wrong time and place to start talking about our imaginary relationship when the aftermath of his wedding nightmare surrounded us. Grabbing the untouched guestbook, I stood up and put it away in a cardboard box that I’d found behind the bar. The writer in me couldn’t help but wonder about the shards of story Drew wasn’t willingly talking about. There was an elephant in the room, and ignoring it wasn’t going to be as easy as covering it with a dust sheet or packing it away in a cardboard box.

I perched down on the side of his chair and took a breath. ‘Did you have doubts about your relationship with Meghan before you moved here?’

‘No. We were in love.’ That stung harder than I thought it would.

‘The doubts only started when you came here?’ He nodded. ‘I think there were bigger complications.’

‘Yes,’ he admitted.

‘She was an essential part of the business. Perhaps you were scared about what would happen to Karensa if she left?’

‘I can’t say that thought hadn’t crossed my mind,’ he replied.

I was impressed with his honesty.

‘Thank you,’ I said as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

‘For what?’ he asked, taken aback.

‘Being so honest.’

I looked around the room as I held him. Karensa made a beautiful wedding venue. Perfect really. But for Drew, it was tainted. The dream he envisaged, built and developed was destroyed through two people and one bad choice. I imagined him on that day, devastated and lost, the images of Meghan and his mum’s partner spliced between the decadent flowers and ivory balloons.

‘What did you tell your guests?’ I asked.

‘I called them together in the atrium like I was making the bloody groom’s speech. Told them she’d left and the wedding was off. Yeah, that wasn’t fun. I still had friends who were staying here with nowhere else to go. The food had been prepared. I had no choice but to go ahead with the meal. I had to wait on them, bring them fucking breakfast the next day as I tried to hide my heart trailing behind me in a bloody heap. Excruciating. Humiliating,’ he grimaced.

‘Oh, Drew.’

‘It was a shit show all round. Still is,’ he said, getting up and wafting a cobweb from the light on the wall.

‘So yours was the last wedding?’

He had always been reluctant to talk about when the last wedding had been held here. Now, it made sense.

‘Yeah. October last year. We had to wait until the wedding season was over to ensure we were both free,’ he replied, looking around like it was the first time he had really looked. ‘It’s like my version of Great Expectations in here. Miss Havisham’s wedding dress is hanging on the back of the door.’

‘Was,’ I replied. ‘It’s stored away in the cupboard now.’

‘I’m sure she’ll find it,’ he quipped.

‘Personally, I love the book.’

‘Better than A Christmas Carol?’ he asked.

‘Not as light.’

We laughed lightly, and as I noticed a card addressed to Meg and Drew, I swept it to the floor with a brush of my fingertips. His eyes followed the paper and he frowned.

‘Fuck me. What a mess. You must think I’m mad.’

‘No. I think you’ve been hurt.’

‘But leaving all this,’ he replied, circling the room.

I shrugged. ‘Slightly worrying, but…’

He smiled shyly.

‘How do you like the colour scheme we went with? Is it weddingy enough? Too blingy? Maybe the flowers need a little pick-me-up.’

‘Don’t do that,’ I said, shaking my head.

‘What?’

‘Use humour to hide how you’re really feeling.’

‘It’s never let me down before.’

‘Think of it like this. If your story was a book idea, you would be pitching it as rom-com, but your novel would bomb because you’re not marketing in the right genre,’ I replied.

He put his feet up on the coffee table and chuckled. ‘I’d pitch it as horror. It would be a bestseller.’

‘Doing it again!’ He pushed the table with his feet and started brushing the rug underneath, coughing from the dust that flew up as he did. I knelt down in front of him to get his attention, to make him listen. When he wouldn’t look at me, I held his face in my hands and brought him back. ‘Pitch it as an angsty romance, not a rom-com. All you need to do is find the right words.’

‘I thought romance had to have a happily ever after.’

‘Perhaps your story isn’t finished,’ I replied, smiling as his eyes roamed my face. He had a look of admiration that was so tender and pure like he was staring in wonderment at something fanciful and ornate. Precious.

‘Rom-coms are lighter to read,’ he replied. ‘Easier to digest.’

‘You don’t always have to turn to humour,’ I said. ‘Sometimes you need to be true to your story. Tell it honestly.’

As his thumbs stroked my cheeks and he leant in closer to drop his forehead to mine, I let go of another perfect-kiss moment, one that would undoubtedly please the page turners and keep readers rooting for the characters. I let it go because we weren’t in the pages of a romance novel, this was reality and I knew Drew wasn’t ready for that perfect kiss—maybe he never would be. Instead, I could capture this almost love story in the words of my book, and when I was sitting at my shabby chic desk, writing the final chapters, I could let myself wonder if we could ever be something more than just friends.