Always the Baker, Finally the Bride (23 page)

Five Important Tips for the Diabetic Bride
Who Wants to Eat Cake on Her Wedding Day

If you’ve been diabetic for a long time, you know that there are certain things you can do to incorporate treats into your diet. By carefully managing nutrition and exercise in the weeks leading up to the big day, you can safely indulge in the wedding cake.

1. Keep a journal of your food intake for two weeks prior to the wedding, carefully monitoring carbohydrates. Typically, 35-40 carbs per meal is safely consumed. By adjusting your intake at mealtime, you can lead up to a dessert allowance.

2. Use wisdom in the amount of low- and non-calorie sweeteners you use as well. Be certain to read labels on these items, always remaining aware that they do not necessarily equate to fewer carbohydrates. Packaged snacks labeled “No sugar added,” for instance, are not free of carbohydrates. Every carb should be counted and assessed in the weeks leading up to the wedding.

3. Include your daily glucose levels in your journal so that you can easily compare the types of carbohydrates consumed with spikes in glucose numbers. For instance, some diabetics tolerate carbohydrate consumption better when it is combined with a protein; others may do better to reduce carbs at mealtime and spend their carb allotment on a sweet, stand-alone snack.

4. Pay close attention to portion sizes. For instance, a piece of fudge can be thoughtfully incorporated into your daily menu as it consists of only 15 grams of carbohydrates; however, the portion size is only one square inch.

5. Step up your physical activity in the weeks before the wedding. Exercise is an effective tool in burning calories as well as maintaining blood sugar control.

The shadow of Emma’s sweet face moved over him before Jackson had even opened his eyes that morning. And now, sitting behind his desk, his eyes closed again and his folded hands pressing against his face, Jackson still couldn’t shake the sight of her, rushing across the gym toward him, thudding against him, crying and pleading with him not to go through with the sale of the hotel.

He’d had the same desperate feeling a dozen times since Rod had issued the unexpected and lucrative offer, feeling like a bit of an emotional pendulum, swinging from
Yes, of course!
to
No, how could I?
with little actual provocation. But now . . .

How could he say no to Emma?

They had prayed with Miguel before leaving the gym the night before, and they had promised one another they’d sleep on it and see how they felt in the morning. The only thing Jackson had felt completely certain of upon waking, however, was that Emma had asked him not to sell, and he couldn’t bear the thought of refusing her anything. Since they’d settled into their relationship, Emma had never been one to ask for much beyond the basics: loyalty, truth, maybe a little extra understanding on the rougher days.

At the same time, Jackson couldn’t help counting off the list of things they’d give up if they decided not to sell The Tanglewood. And the list grew pretty lengthy.

No living in Paris for a year
, he thought. Which meant none of those cooking classes for Emma, and no leisurely writing time in Jackson’s future. He’d had such clear visions when they began dreaming their dream . . . images of early morning walks, wardrobes consisting of jeans and tennis shoes, a laptop and too many cups of coffee at charming French cafés.

Profound financial security
. The deal Allegiant had offered exceeded Jackson’s wildest dreams. Neither he nor Emma actually hurt for money or worried about the specifics of their future, but with this deal . . . they would find themselves set for life. In such a precarious economic climate, a guy couldn’t discount the importance of that kind of security.

Continued stress for Emma
.

And that final point poked him in the chest with a sharp finger. She had no intention of slowing down, no matter what she promised him, and probably herself. It wasn’t in her chemical makeup to cut back on hours, delegate some of the load to others, or generally shift her focus to looking after
herself
for a change. But if she didn’t, the ramifications could be staggering. And one thing to which Jackson would never surrender:
Losing Emma
. They had to realistically consider her unique challenges as they constructed the plans for their future. Selling the hotel and moving to Paris for a year to regroup might just have been the only solution to that particular challenge.

Jackson groaned softly and leaned back into his creaking chair.

Waiting for an answer to all of this
, he thought.
Any time now, Lord
.

“Excuse me. Mr. Drake?”

He jerked toward the door where a young woman stood facing him. Her hair snagged his immediate attention; about seven different shades of brown, all of it slicked into short, spikey little pigtails. She wore about six pounds of glittering bangle bracelets, earrings that dragged over the slope of her shoulders, black trousers and a zebra-print blouse that tied above the waist, revealing just the slightest peek of skin at the midriff. He figured her klunky black shoes added about five inches to her diminutive height.

“Are you Jackson Drake?” she asked him.

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“I’m Lauren Franks. Your temp?”

His heart sank just a little. One more in the long line of oddballs, none of whom could ever replace Susannah. He wanted to ask her if she was even old enough to hold a full-time job but decided against it.

“There’s a blue binder on the desk, Lauren,” he told her. He paused, then added, “At least I think it’s still there.”

She turned back toward Reception and nodded. “Yes, it’s there.”

“All of the notes are there for the day-to-day duties. Have a look through it, and let me know if you have any questions.”

“Okay,” she said, and her bright smile caught him a little off guard. “Can I get you some coffee first?”

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, and he turned it into a smile. “No. But thank you.”

“Door closed or open?”

“Closed. Thank you.”

“Sure thing.”

Jackson leaned back in his chair again and scratched the side of his jaw. She had seemed almost normal there at the end.

Dare to dream
, he told himself.

Even if just for an hour or so, before Lauren Franks fired up the hibachi on her credenza or strung colored lanterns around the reception office.

The subject line simply stated, “Hey.”

J.R. had always been a man of few words, but this took the cake. Emma opened the e-mail and scrolled.

Audrey doesn’t want you to worry about the delay in her return. We should roll in on Thursday. She has a very fine excuse, btw. See attached
.

She’d only just begun to wonder about Audrey’s return that morning when one of her brides mentioned faulty tailoring on her bridal gown. They’d tentatively scheduled a final fitting for that afternoon, but it looked like J.R.’s e-mail changed that plan.

She clicked on the attachment, and a beautiful image filled the screen: a sweeping panoramic background . . . sunrise—or sunset?—beyond a stunning green hilltop . . . Audrey wore an exquisite beaded dress and held hands with J.R. as she faced him. J.R.’s uniform had always been jeans, a dark T-shirt and a leather jacket; however, in the photo he wore what appeared to be a tuxedo without the tie.

Emma leaned forward, scrutinizing the photograph. They weren’t just holding hands, after all; they were . . . 
exchanging rings!

J.R. and Audrey . . . got married!

Emma popped to her feet and clanked open the door to her office. Fee jumped at the clatter and dropped the piping bag she was holding.

“Dude. What the hey?”

“Come in here, Fiona. You’ve got to see this!”

Fee peeled the plastic gloves from her hands and tossed them to the stainless steel tabletop before following Emma into her office.

“Look at the monitor,” Emma urged. “You’ve got to see this.”

Emma remained in the doorway, watching with breathless anticipation. Fee adjusted her square glasses and cocked her head slightly as she gazed at the screen.

“Is that—?”

“Audrey and J.R.,” Emma finished for her. “They got married!”

Fee slowly dropped to the desk chair and clicked the mouse for a zoomed-in look at the image on the screen. “I’ll be.”

“I know! They’ll be back in two days. We have to give them a party!”

Fee rushed past her. “I’ll call Carly,” she said on her way out the door. “You call Sherilyn.”

Emma had only just settled behind her desk and reached for the phone, when it rang. She sighed, snatched the receiver and answered.

“Emma Travis.”

“Hello, Emma. This is Delores Troy.”

“Mrs. Troy!” she exclaimed, quickly changing gears. “Are you calling about Hildie?”

“I am. I wanted to let you know that I’ve found a very good new placement for her. A young couple out in Buckhead. They have two children, the daughter just a little bit older than Hildie.”

“That’s . . . wonderful.”

“I think it’s going to be a good fit for her. I’ll drive her over there this afternoon.”

“I’m so happy about that,” Emma told her with a sigh. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Hildie is here in my office,” the woman added. “She’d like to speak to you, if you have the time.”

“Of course!”

“All right. Hang on for just a moment.”

Emma held her breath as she waited, wondering if Hildie might try to solicit her help to form a plan of escape.

“Hey, Emma.”

“Hi, Hildie. Are you all right?”

“I guess.”

“Mrs. Troy says she has a great place for you. I hope you’re excited.”

She sighed. “I guess.”

“Hildie,” Emma said. “Try to go into this with the anticipation of meeting some great people and getting a whole new start. Can you do that?”

After a long pause, the girl repeated her mantra. “I guess.”

“Pretty soon, you’ll be in a new school and meeting other kids your own age. It’s going to be an adventure, Hildie.” For nearly thirty seconds, only the rumble of Hildie’s breathing sounded on the line. “I hope you’ll call me, if that’s allowed. Let me know about all of your new friends, and about the family? . . . Will you do that?”

Another noisy silence followed. “Yeah. I guess. Is Fee there?”

Emma craned to look into the kitchen. “No, she stepped out. But I’ll tell her you asked about her, Hildie. We both think you’re just going to thrive with this new family.”

“Yeah. Okay. See ya.”

And before Emma could say another word, Mrs. Troy came back on the line.

“I’ll keep you posted, Emma.”

“Thank you so much.”

An unexpected wave of sadness washed over Emma as she hung up.

Eleven years old. Such a young age to have to develop a game face
.

The kitchen door whooshed open and clacked back and forth behind Fee as she breezed through it with Kat in tow.

“I can’t believe she didn’t even tell Kat!” Fee exclaimed, squeezing into one of the two chairs jammed against the back of Emma’s desk. “They only just called her this morning. Can you believe that?”

“I sort of had a suspicion,” Kat said as she took the other chair. “She was very tight-lipped about this trip to Vegas. She only said she could hardly wait to catch up to J.R., but there was a little something more. I could see it in her eyes.”

Emma chuckled. “Well, at least they didn’t get married in one of those Las Vegas quickie places.”

“No,” Kat said, pulling up the same photo on her phone that J.R. had sent that morning. She angled the device toward them as she grinned. “This looks fairly well planned with that gown, a reverend, and a hilltop at sunrise.”

“Her dress is beautiful,” Emma noted. “Is it one of her designs?”

Kat nodded. “She told me this morning that they only decided to do this two weeks ago, and she designed and made the dress herself, in the midst of everything else she had to do.”

“Well, it’s exquisite,” Emma told them.

“Speaking of dresses,” Fee interjected, “weren’t you supposed to have the final fitting of yours today?”