Page 3 of A Smart Girl's Guide to Second Chances
As I shimmied back into my silk camisole and suit skirt, I checked my phone and smiled when I saw that Matt had messaged.
Ready to woo celebrant number two?
Love you.
I made a mental note not to mention to Mum that our original wedding celebrant had cancelled on us.
That evening Matt and I met in Northcote for an appointment with Belinda, our second-choice celebrant. She’d asked us to meet her in a wine bar, which was filled with the type of people who own rescued greyhounds, and clearly doubled as her office.
‘Now, I only agree to marry couples when I feel confident about the strength of their relationship,’ Belinda said. ‘I’m not one of those celebrants who will marry justanyone.’
I caught Matt’s eyes and swallowed a smile.
‘If we decide we want to work together, I like to start each ceremony by telling the guests your love story,’ Belinda continued as she scrutinised us. ‘So perhaps you could tell me how you met?’ She ran her slightly nervy hand through her long, grey hair.
We nodded respectfully; this was Belinda’s test.
When we’d set out to book a celebrant, the person who would bind us for life, we’d agreed we wanted someone without a trace of insipidity and ideally with a sense of humour. Now, with just weeks to go until our ceremony, the main quality we werelooking for was availability. After many frantic phone calls, we’d found Belinda, who, despite having the aura of someone who’d been repeatedly disappointed by love, met this brief.
The clock was ticking. The law required that our Notice of Intended Marriage be lodged at least a month before our wedding date. And to complete this official document we needed a celebrant. If we didn’t submit it soon, we wouldn’t be able to get legally married at our wedding ceremony. We needed Belinda more than she needed us.
‘We really respect that position,’ I said with the pacifying smile that I used when clients made outrageous demands.
I looked at Matt to get the ball rolling. He was a great storyteller. He wasn’t gregarious, but because of his gentle yet sharp wit he would find himself holding court at any event we ever attended. And telling stories was his job – he was head of communications for a giant wine company. Plus, older women loved Matt – I think it was the winning combination of the perennial twinkle in his eyes, broad shoulders and a genuine interest in other people.
Matt took a sip of his drink – a blush-pink cocktail. One of Matt’s special skills was that no matter what cocktail he ordered at any bar, it turned up in a shade of pink (and was invariably put in front of me). But whether his drink was fuchsia or baby pink he wasn’t bothered – he knew what he liked and didn’t care what anyone thought. He placed his highball glass back on the table.
‘When we met, we were both working in the same building in the city, one that has faux-Grecian columns that hold up the fragile egos of the people who work inside,’ Matt began in his typically self-deprecating style, with an easy smile at Belinda. ‘Next to the building is a food court, which has a cinema in it. And cinemas are my favourite places in the world. So sometimes when I need to focus at work, I take my laptop and buy a ticketto whatever cinema is empty in the middle of the day. Then I set up in the back row, dim my screen and quietly work away.’
Belinda nodded. Matt had her hooked. I exhaled.
‘So, one day I was working in the back row. And I was the only person there until, about twenty minutes into this terrible French film, a woman walked in. She went straight to the front row and fell asleep.’
‘In my defence,’ I interjected, ‘I’d worked through the night but didn’t have time to go home before a client presentation. Sometimes when I need a few hours’ sleep I go down to the cinema to have a cat nap before I go back to the office.’
Belinda’s forehead creased. Evidently exhaustion from overwork didn’t have a place in her version of a fairy-tale romance.
‘I was meant to be writing an important speech for our CEO,’ Matt continued. ‘That’s the whole reason I was there. But I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was the glimpse I’d had of this beautiful woman.’
Belinda’s expression softened. Matt turned towards me and smiled. I felt my cheeks warm. Would his smile, the one that lit up the golden specks in his deep-brown eyes and made a small crinkle at the top of his left cheek, always have this effect on me?
‘I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder,’ I said, picking up the story. ‘The movie had finished, even the credits, and the house lights had come on, but I was so tired I’d kept sleeping. A man was standing over me, holding a cup of coffee. That was the first time I saw Matt – a handsome, thoughtful angel, bearing caffeine. If he hadn’t woken me up, I would have missed my presentation.’
Matt went on: ‘We walked back to our building’s lobby together, talking the whole way. And not only was she beautiful, she was smart and funny too. I asked her out, gave her my number. And that was it.’
Had it been that simple for Matt? Had he just seen me – panda rings under my eyes after working for ten days straight, scuffed ballet flats kicked off under the cinema seat, no doubt some dribble – and known I was the one? Or was he such a natural raconteur that he’d turned us into a story?
I watched Belinda closely to see if we’d cleared her hurdle. Another couple, who I assumed were Belinda’s next appointment, already hovered awkwardly nearby. They were younger than us, in their late twenties I’d guessed, but looked like they’d been together forever. He held her bag, as she offered him a taste of her white wine, though I could tell they were watching us too. It was a bit like that on the wedding circuit, as you ran into other couples at venue viewings and stationery shops – a performative show of togetherness and adoration was expected.
I leaned into Matt and he put his arm around me. I took a deep breath and felt heady for a moment. How did he always still smell good after a full day’s work – an intoxicating mix of the spices and citrus in his aftershave (a present he’d been genuinely happy to receive for his birthday), the wool wash he used on his cloud-soft jumpers and original–flavoured Fisherman’s Friends?
Belinda rummaged in her enormous cotton tote and pulled out a stack of documents.
‘Over the next week I’ll need you to fill out the official paperwork, and I also require my couples to complete a detailed questionnaire to help me write my script,’ she said as she handed the forms to Matt.
I exhaled a sigh of relief. We were on! One wedding crisis averted, just the rest of them to solve.
Chapter 2
