The Wedding Promise by Thomas Kinkade Page A

hoping the Bennet wedding would come through. But now that she had met Sylvia, she wondered if she ought to be more careful about what she wished for.
     
     
    “Now, this place had a very pretty pond in back with a gazebo where we could hold the ceremony. Or Jen and Kyle could just take photographs there.”
    Jennifer watched her mother hand her father a brochure from the Spoon Harbor Inn. They were all sitting around the kitchen table, discussing the wedding venues that Jennifer and her mother had visited after meeting with Liza at the inn the day before.
    “And it’s a much larger space,” Sylvia continued. “I don’t think the inn can really accommodate the number of guests we’ll have.”
    “But Kyle and I really want a small party, Mom. We don’t need a restaurant the size of Fenway Park,” Jennifer countered. “That’s not what we’re thinking of.”
    “Please, Jennifer, let’s be realistic. There are friends and relatives we have to invite. It would be rude to exclude them, even if they aren’t on your list.” Jennifer’s mother glanced at her father, sending a distinct, “Help me out on this, would you?” kind of glance.
    “Let’s talk a little more about the location and then worry about the guest list,” Frank suggested, spreading the brochures out on the table in front of him. They all showed smiling brides posed in gardens and gazebos.
    “I spoke to the manager of the Spoon Harbor Inn this morning,” Sylvia continued. “He has a cancellation in August. The groom got cold feet. Someone’s misfortune, our good luck.”
    “How did you like the place, Jen?” her dad finally asked.
    “It was okay, I guess. I think it’s a little hokey. Kyle will, too,” she said.
    “And the Angel Island Inn isn’t hokey? It’s seedy and run-down,” her mother said. “You’d rather be married in that empty lot she calls a garden than a lovely, picture-perfect setting?”
    “Now, Sylvia, calm down. We need to try to figure this out,” her father cut in.
    “It’s not that bad, Dad,” Jennifer insisted. “You can go see it for yourself. I don’t want to be married in some cookie-cutter, Barbie-bride factory.”
    “No chance of that if you get married at the inn. It looks like a hotel in a horror movie,” Sylvia railed.
    “Fine. Just . . . fine. This conversation is getting us nowhere.” Jen jumped up from her chair and marched toward the doorway.
    “Where are you going, Jen? Kyle’s train won’t be in for two hours yet,” her mother reminded her. “You say you want to get married tomorrow, but you won’t talk with us long enough to make plans.”
    “Let her go, Sylvia,” Frank urged. “You’re both upset now. We’re not getting anywhere.”
    He picked up the folder with the inn logo on front and opened it, looking over Liza’s proposal. “You didn’t like this woman. Is that it?”
    “She was very professional,” Sylvia admitted. “Though I know she’s never done a wedding before. That fact alone should make us steer clear—if we had any common sense about this situation.”
    “Well, what didn’t you like? The information she put together seems reasonable,” he said, putting the folder aside. “The prices look good, too. She’s also offering a discount for guests who need to stay over. We do have a lot of out-of-town relatives,” he reminded her.
    “Well, believe me, you won’t want your mother staying over at that place once you see it.” Sylvia dropped down in an armchair across from her husband. “I guess some people would call it charming or quaint. Some of the rooms were presentable. But whenever I’ve imagined Jennifer’s wedding, I pictured something much more elegant and . . . polished. She’s dreamed about her wedding day ever since she was a little girl. Remember how she used to play bride all the time?”
    “Yes, I do,” Frank said with a soft smile. “I had to hum the music. ‘ Here comes the bride, all dressed in white . . . ’ I never knew