Always the Baker, Finally the Bride (8 page)

“Yes, it—” Fee was on her way before Emma could complete the thought. “—will.”

Emma guessed that was the simplest discussion she or Jackson would have with anyone in the hotel on the subject of the possible sale of The Tanglewood. The relief hadn’t had a chance to settle in when—

“Emmy, where’s that fiancé of yours?”

Her heart tapped out a beat against her temples at the unexpected arrival of her father.

“I want to talk things over with him,” Gavin announced as he filled the doorway to her office. “Has he got an attorney to walk him through the sale?”

“Hi, Daddy,” she said, kissing his cheek.

“You can’t be too careful when those corporate raiders come swooping in, Emmy.”

“Jackson used to be one of those corporate guys, Daddy.”

“Yeah. That’s right. Still. Can’t be too careful. Jackson in his office?”

She considered an outright lie. Instead, though, she just nodded. “I think so.”

Audrey Regan had become a bit of a phenomenon since taking her mad design skills to the renowned house of Riley Eastwood last year. She’d left New York and settled in the Atlanta area to be closer to her friend Carly, but she hadn’t been in town much since Thanksgiving, when Carly’s military husband returned from the Middle East. In February, she debuted on a London runway with Riley’s grand finale piece, a spectacular couture gown to announce House of Eastwood’s new plus-size label.

Emma knew how fortunate she’d been when Audrey agreed to design her wedding dress. She hadn’t exactly been great with the planning details—flowers, music, and, of all things, the elusive wedding cake!—but Emma had a clear picture of how she wanted to look in her gown. And Audrey Regan was just enough of a genius to take the picture out of her head and sketch it into reality.

Kat had phoned from the airport to say they were on the way to the hotel, and Emma made every attempt not to hover over the entrance like a nervous bride. Instead, she’d been casually pacing between the vicinity of the door and the front desk for the last fifteen minutes.

A ruckus at the desk dragged her attention to Mrs. Montague, the mother of next Saturday night’s bride with the seven-tier lemon-filled cake. The woman inched her way toward the manager as she pinched the ear of a young girl and pulled her along.

“Let go!” the child cried, wincing and flailing her arms at the woman in slaps that never quite hit their target. “Let go of me!”

“I caught this ragamuffin pawing through the leftovers on our room service cart,” Mrs. Montague explained as Emma joined them at the desk.

“Let go of my
eeeeeear
,” the girl squealed as she wriggled and twisted in a jagged circle until she managed to escape the woman’s grip. “Dang!” she groaned, rubbing her ear.

Glaring at the child, Mrs. Montague spoke in quiet, unmistakable syllables. “I hope someone will call her parents before she gets into some real trouble.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” the girl said. “It smelled good and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Well, someone should have taught you to try harder.”

“I’m . . . 
sorrrry
.” It almost seemed like she’d choked on the word. “I won’t do it again.”

“See that you don’t.” The woman shook her head at Emma before glancing at the front desk manager. “You’ll call her parents, won’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Montague adjusted her large designer handbag and headed off toward the front door, her high heels clicking on the tile floor, the child she left behind doing a cartoonish impression of her as she went.

“Hey,” Emma said sharply, and the girl stopped in her tracks. “What were you doing going through the room service cart?”

“You answered your own question,” she snapped, pushing a mass of tight, reddish-brown curls away from her face. Emma noticed a smear of what looked like barbecue sauce or ketchup on the side of her chin.

“Don’t be smart,” she said as she wiped it away. “What’s your name?”

“You first,” the girl snarled, backing up.

“Emma Rae Travis.”

“You work in this dump?”

Emma glanced at the manager before she replied, “I’m the baker. Now it’s your turn. What’s your name?”

“Hildie.”

“Hildie. That’s pretty.”

“It’s stupid. Sounds like an old southern fart.”

Emma couldn’t help herself, and she popped with laughter. “Hildie what?”

“Just Hildie.”

“And how old are you, Just Hildie?”

“How old are
you
?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “I’m guessing you’re, what, around ten?”

“Eleven!” she corrected.

“All right. Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me, eleven year-old Just Hildie, what room are you in, and where are your parents?”

“Well . . . I . . .”

“Emma!”

She pivoted toward the call and saw Audrey make her way into the lobby behind Kat, who waved her arm and grinned from one ear to the other. Tomás, one of the day shift bellmen, pushed a loaded brass cart behind them.

“Hey!” the manager called, and when Emma turned back around, Hildie had disappeared around the corner and up the stairs.

“Find out who her parents are,” Emma told him before hurrying across the lobby to greet her friends.

The closer she got to her, the more profoundly Emma felt the impact of Audrey’s beauty. With her platinum blond hair, voluptuous curves, and catlike eyes, she looked like an
updated version of a 1940s pinup girl. And Kat, Audrey’s former assistant, looked like a fresh-faced model in an ad for peach shampoo or some great new minty toothpaste.

“Look at the two of you!” Emma exclaimed as they exchanged embraces. “Together again, and walking through the doors of The Tanglewood Inn.”

“It’s so good to be back,” Kat said with a wide grin. “And wait until you see your dress!”

Audrey beamed, her full red lips stretched out into a perfect smile. “Let us get checked in and you can come up to the room for a fitting.”

“That works!” Emma replied. “Half an hour?”

“Perfect.”

Kat followed Audrey toward the desk, then stopped abruptly and turned around. “Emma, is Fee in the kitchen?”

“She is. I’ll bring her with me.”

“Great!” Kat wrinkled her nose and shot Emma a crooked grin. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“You too.”

“Your wedding invitations are here,” Sherilyn told Jackson as she poked her head through the door. “Would you like to peek, or shall we wait for Emma Rae?”

She looked harried as she rushed through the door with a small cardboard box under one arm, her infant child cradled across her in a strange sideways sack. She wore a floor-length paisley dress, her hair was knotted into something slightly resembling a ponytail, and a large quilted diaper bag was slung over her shoulder.

“Emma is having her dress fitting at the moment,” he replied with a grin. “She may not come up for air until who-knows-when. Let’s have a look.”

“Audrey and Kat are here? Why didn’t she call me?” she exclaimed as she thrust the box toward him. “Here, can you just pull one of those out so I can show it to her? What room is Audrey in? Do you know? Oh, never mind, I’ll call Kat’s cell.”

Jackson chuckled as he pulled out one of the invitations from the top of the box and handed it to her.

“I hope you like them,” she called over her shoulder as she scurried out the door.

Ivory linen set against a black card border held the raised black letters inviting their chosen few guests to join them in celebrating their nuptials. A silk ribbon wrapped cleanly around the invitation, tied in a bow.

“Pale orchid” was the label Emma had given the light purple ribbon when she’d presented the option to him. “Kind of elegant, very classic. This one’s my favorite.”

She’d gone on about something having to do with hydrangeas and centerpieces, but he’d zoned out a little on the rest of it. Frankly, she’d sounded more like Sherilyn than his Emma.

“Then pale orchid it is!” he declared when she’d finished.

It turned out to be a fine choice he realized as he looked at it, and his stomach squeezed a little as he traced the glossy raised letters of their names on the card.

Finally. Emma will be my bride
.

Jackson felt as if he’d been waiting a lifetime to see those two names sharing the same invitation card. He asked himself why he’d waited so long.

Desiree flickered across his mind with a sweet, gentle smile, and his stomach squeezed again. She’d looked so beautiful on their wedding day, like a princess in a ball gown, a strand of
her grandmother’s pearls around her neck, and a long veil that brushed the floor. He struggled to remember what their invitations had looked like, but he couldn’t quite nail down the image. It felt a little disloyal for a moment before he realized Desiree wouldn’t care in the least whether he remembered the invitations or the flowers or the cake, as long as he remembered her. And Jackson did.

He remembered every curve of her face, every freckle on her arms, every single one of her always-readable expressions; and as he mentally browsed over each memory, he landed on what Emma had promised him early on in their romance.

“There’s room enough for all three of us in this relationship, Jackson. There’s you and me, and there’s your memory of your late wife. You don’t have to choose.”

He’d already known he loved her by then. He just hadn’t known quite how much.

You’d actually like her, Desi. If you’d have met somewhere, you might have been friends
.

Warmth surged through Jackson, and he closed his tired eyes for a minute and leaned back until his desk chair creaked. He felt pretty certain that she’d have encouraged him to move on without her. But he couldn’t help wondering about something else . . . hoping that Desiree would understand . . .

Tips for Choosing the Best
Wedding Invitations

It used to be that all wedding invitations were formal:
white or ivory paper with raised black lettering.
Guests wore formal attire, such as evening gowns
and tuxedos.
Today, however, the wedding invitation is a reflection
of the bride and groom’s personal style
as well as the theme, tone, and location of their wedding.

• The invitation should match the tone or theme
chosen for the wedding.

• Today’s wedding invitations can include such personal
choices as dried flowers, recycled papers, and gilt edges.

• Traditional and formal weddings usually require a
more formal invitation with engraved lettering,
a technique that raises the letters slightly.

• For a more casual invitation, a professional portrait
of the bride and groom can be a nice touch to make
a personal statement, and it is a particularly nice touch
for those invitations going to out-of-town recipients who
will likely not be able to attend the wedding.

• The wording of the invitation may also vary;
however, the name of the hosts should always be
included in addition to the date, time, and location.

• When cost is a priority, some lovely invitations can be
created with a little imagination and a good-quality printer.
There are many templates available, and a fine stationery
store will offer everything from cardstock to
linen papers and vellum overlays.