Always the Baker, Finally the Bride (34 page)

“You’ll miss the wedding?”

“I don’t know,” she hedged. “But maybe.”

Disappointment pressed down on Emma’s ribs. “Oh, I hope not, Audrey.”

“I know. I’ll do everything I can to be there, but I just wanted to tell you up front . . . I just don’t know.”

“It’s okay. I understand. We’ll hope for the best.”

Kat had dropped by just that morning to confirm the menu for the reception: a perfect duplicate of the one served at the gala hotel opening. She and Jackson had only just begun falling in love back then, and the exquisite menu seemed like a good representation—and reminder—of their romance. Emma still kept one of the menus tucked in her desk drawer as
a memento, and she’d produced an engraved table card from that night’s event that included the mouth-watering menu and showed it to Kat. She ran a finger over it before placing it back into the drawer.

Kat had also delivered a polite, watered-down reminder from a frantic Sherilyn about the design for the cake, and then they’d reviewed the guest list. It seemed a lot of their friends had sent sincere regrets; and now with her aunt in questionable health, Russell caught up in Brazil, and Audrey heading out of town . . .

After she texted her phone number to Audrey, Emma composed a second text for Jackson.

You don’t have the measles, do you?

A few moments later:
Why? Do I look spotty?

No, but they’re dropping like flies as the wedding approaches. I just want to make sure you’ll be there
.

Who dropped today?

Audrey. Going to Chicago, doesn’t know how long
.

More cake for me
.

Emma giggled.
And me
.

As long as u marry me, I’m good with no one showing
. And after a few seconds he added,
Just u, me, a big cake and 2 forks
.

U assume I’ll have a cake. Need to design it first
.

Love u. How about dinner?

U can’t
, she typed, chuckling.
U have a meeting in a few
.

I do?

J.R. on his way up. Wants to knock out a wall or 2
.

After a long pause, the reply arrived.
Here now. I’ll get my hard hat and gear
.

Jackson followed J.R. out of his office and said good-bye to him in front of Susannah’s desk.

“You know,” Jackson said to Susannah after J.R. had gone, “I don’t think we’ve exchanged ten words since you got back.”

“You’ve been quite busy,” she replied, smiling at him in that knowing way only Susannah could. “Did I overhear that you’re going to expand Emma’s office?”

“It’s more like a closet,” he said, perching on the outside corner of her desk. “I think we’ll put that off until after we get back from Savannah. I don’t think she can take any more upheaval at the moment.”

“That’s probably a very wise choice.”

“You know,” he said, reflecting on the parade of replacements who had occupied that desk while Susannah was gone, “I am really happy you’re back. In fact, I can hardly express to you how much.”

“A little birdie or two has told me you had quite a few undesirable temporaries while I was away.”

“You have no idea. I can’t even remember how many.”

“Lauren sounded very competent when I spoke with her last week.”

Jackson got up and headed for the door. Rather than sharing the sordid details, he leaned into the doorjamb and simply said, “Not a good fit.”

“No? I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m sure I’ll be able to find someone before I—”

“Don’t say it! Can we please just not think about your retirement right now?” he interrupted, and he waved his hand at her over his shoulder as he walked away. Her laughter followed him down the hallway, and it seemed a little like music to him.

When he reached Emma’s kitchen, he found it bustling with people and activity. Fee directed a line of three at the
worktable in the center of the room, and two others faced the sinks and loaded the dishwashers on either side of them.

“Emma around?”

“Nope,” Fee replied. “She’s been naughty. Sherilyn has relegated her to the courtyard with a sketch pad and a pot of tea. She’s not allowed to come home until she’s chosen a wedding cake design.”

Jackson chuckled and sang, “Thank you,” and he left in pursuit of the site of her punishment. He crossed through the lobby and stopped at the courtyard, his hand poised over the brass doorknob as he peered through the glass at Emma.

With her hair piled into a messy bun at the back of her head and fastened with what looked like a pen, she leaned back into one wrought iron chair with her feet propped up on another. She nibbled her lower lip as she busily sketched on the pad that rested on her bent knees. An assortment of papers covered the tabletop.

No way was he going to disturb her now. Jackson simply turned and sauntered away.

Welcome to the Gala Opening
of
The Tanglewood Inn

Your Menu
Award-Winning Chef
Anton Morelli
Celebrates Southern Cuisine

Starters

Proscuitto-wrapped Figs with gorgonzola and balsamic vinegar
Fried Green Tomatoes with buttermilk bleu cheese
Heirloom Tomato Salad with hearts of palm, candied pecans, and
citrus vinaigrette

Entrée Choices

Your Dessert
From this year’s recipient of
The Passionate Palette Award
Emma Rae Travis’s
Crème Brûlée Cake

Your Entertainment
Grammy Award-Winning Performer
Ben Colson

Emma scribbled the title underneath the latest iteration of her wedding cake and tossed the pencil to the tabletop. She yanked the pen out of the twist at the back of her head and dropped it there as well, using both hands to tousle her hair.

She groaned as she arranged the various sketches she’d been carrying around for so long. First, the
Once Upon a Time
cake, beautiful in its romantic simplicity. She pushed the
Topsy Turvy
cake next to it; more and more, that aptly described their lives. Possibly her favorite of them all, she placed the
Classic and Simple
sketch next to the others.

She started a new row with the
Non-Traditional
cupcake-cake; she and Jackson were nothing if not unique. Next to that one, the scrunched-up-and-ironed-out sketch she’d made on the paper towel at her slumber-shower:
Pure and Uncomplicated
. And to complete the pattern, she tore the top page from her sketch pad and set the newest contestant into place with the others.

“My, how lovely!”

She nearly shouted in surprise and jerked her neck as she looked up to find a woman standing next to her, inspecting the cake design offerings before her.

“I’m sorry. Did I startle you?” she asked. “I wandered out here to wait for my husband, and I couldn’t help noticing your project.”

Emma sighed and leaned back against the cool iron chair to inspect the tabletop. “Tell me, do you have a favorite out of these?”

“Hmm,” the woman said, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses as she scrutinized the sketches, one at a time. “Are they all wedding cakes?”

“Yes. I’m a little decision-challenged, and my wedding is this weekend.”

“Oh, dear! I hope you have a very understanding baker.”

One corner of Emma’s mouth tilted upward, and she groaned. “I’m not just the bride. I’m the baker, too.”

The woman gasped, and she scraped the nearest chair close to the table and sat down. “Don’t tell me you’re Emma Rae Travis!”

Emma looked closely at her. “Do I know you?” she asked.

“No,” she replied, pushing her light hair away from her round face, grinning sweetly at Emma. “My name is Bonnie Cordova. My husband and I are visiting the area to celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary.”

“Then you’re a good person to talk to about a wedding cake, aren’t you?”

“I read about the award that you won for your crème brûlée cake. Will that be your wedding cake?”

“Yes. That’s the one decision I
have
made about it.”

“Ben and I know someone who visited the hotel when their daughter got married last year.” Her brown eyes twinkled as she leaned forward. “You’re the whole reason we’re staying here at The Tanglewood. We’re having tea right out here tomorrow afternoon, in fact. I can hardly wait to sample your
baked goodies! . . . Probably no surprise, right? I wouldn’t be this
fluffy
without enjoying baked goodies.”

The twinkle in her eye charmed Emma, and she reached out and touched Bonnie’s hand. “My grandmother used to have an embroidered sampler in her bedroom in Savannah,” Emma told her. “It still hangs there to this day. A little round lamb, with cross-stitched words underneath that say,
Ewe’s not fat . . . E.W.E. . . . Ewe’s fluffy
.”

“I just think
fluffy
is a far friendlier word than any of the alternatives.”

“I have to agree,” Emma said on a chuckle. “So, thirty years, huh? How did you and your husband meet?”

“It’s kind of a funny story, actually,” Bonnie told her. “Ben worked with my mom, and he saw my picture on her desk. I was fifteen, and he was eighteen, and my mother set us up on a date. We went to the drive-in movies, and three years later . . . we got married! Would you like to see a couple of family photos?”

“I’d love to.”

Bonnie produced a burgundy wallet from her large leather bag and opened it to reveal several photographs. “This is my Ben,” she said sweetly. “And this is our son, Brandon, and his wife, Staci, our daughter, Brena . . . and here are Ceejay, Jayton, Kayla, and Leah.”

“They’re lovely. And they all resulted from a blind date to the movies,” Emma remarked. “That might be one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard.”

“Our wedding wasn’t elaborate or anything,” she went on. “In fact, the pastor’s wife made my bridal gown, and a woman in our church made the cake.”

“And thirty years later,” Emma surmised, “you wander into the courtyard at just the moment that I’m trying to figure out
which of these cakes best represents Jackson and me. So tell me . . . which one?”

“Tell me a little about your intended,” she prodded.

“His name is Jackson—”

“Not Jackson Drake,” she cut her off. “The owner of the hotel?”

Emma nodded. “The very same.”

“Talk about romantic.”

She chuckled as she continued. “He’s handsome and wonderful. Probably the most amazing man I’ve ever met. He’s thoughtful in ways that you just don’t expect. Do you know what I mean?”

Bonnie nodded. “I think so.”

“He’s so easy to be with, Bonnie. No demands or high expectations, just . . . easy. All of my past relationships have been so tangled, you know?”