Always the Baker, Never the Bride
Page 3
“Will you help me load my car?”
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
It was a simple question, but fully loaded.
“Yes. Why? Is it all wrong?”
“It’s not wrong. It just needs … something. It doesn’t scream, Emma Rae, Cool Baker Dudette.”
Fee’s silent scrutiny caused Emma to look down at her clothes. Navy blue linen trousers and a pale pink silk blouse.
“I know it’s a little more dressy than normal,” she explained, fidgeting with the lone wrinkle she spotted on the sleeve of her blouse. “But this is an important job, in an elegant hotel, and—”
“No, no,” Fee interrupted. “I mean, it’s too much color.”
“Pink and navy blue is too much color?” Emma asked on a chuckle. “This, from the girl wearing so much black that she disappears if the lights go dim?”
“Hey. It’s a look.”
“Yes, it is. But it’s not my look, Fee.”
“Do you want to borrow my choker? Just to jazz it up a little?”
Emma stared for a moment at the jagged silver rendition of thorny barbed wire circling Fee’s throat, and then she shook her head. “Thanks anyway. I’m thinking I’ll go simple. Help me load the car?”
“Sure.”
They carefully transferred the sample tray to the passenger seat, and Emma double-checked the plastic-domed lid to make sure it was secure before setting the lipped platter bearing two miniature wedding cakes on top of it.
“Too bad we can’t belt them in,” Fee observed. “Do you want me to ride over with you and sit in the backseat to anchor them?”
Emma looked at her Mini Cooper, then at Fee, and back again. “Where will you sit?”
“Good point.”
“Besides, you have to mind the store,” Emma reminded her. “I’ll just drive very slowly.”
“Slower than your usual? You should have left yesterday then if you wanted to make your appointment.”
“Hey. I’m careful.”
“You’re in slow-mo, Em.”
“I am a cautious driver.”
“Yes, you are. Cautious and s-l-oooooow.”
Emma chuckled and then closed the bright red door with care. She stood before Fee for a silent moment, trying not to look as nervous as she felt, and then she realized that she was biting her lip.
“You’ll do great,” Fee promised. “Just remember: you’re a confectionary genius!”
“Yes, I am.”
“Knock ’em dead.”
“I will,” Emma stated with gusto. “I’ll knock ’em—” and she jabbed the air with her fist for emphasis “—dead!”
Fee raised two fists before her, and nodded her encouragement. Emma grinned as she tapped them with her own. It was a ritual for them, a secret handshake of sorts that they’d been sharing since very soon after they’d first met. Tap-tap. Then both palms upright, two slaps, two more slaps returned, a couple of quick hip bumps, and “Hoo-yeah!” in unison.
“Go get us that job!”
When she wasn’t shifting gears, Emma kept her hands at ten and two o’clock all the way over to The Tanglewood. It was a short drive, but it seemed like a long winter’s trek with the volatile cargo on the seat behind her. And it didn’t help that the young guy in the SUV on her bumper kept honking his horn. What did he want? She was going the speed limit. Almost.
She’d only just pulled into the circular drive in front of the hotel when a smiling woman stepped up to her car and tapped on the window. Emma rolled it down tentatively.
“Yes?”
“What a cute little car,” the woman said in a deep Southern drawl. “You can park it right heah, sugah. The hotel isn’t open yet, so we don’t have to worry about parking. Just pull it up in line after the others.”
“Oh. Well, thank you.”
Emma did as she was told and then slipped out of the car.
“I’m Madeline Winston. My little bruthah owns The Tanglewood.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Emma Rae Travis. I’m here to interview for the pastry chef position. Susannah Littlefield called me?”
“Good gracious, yes,” Madeline cooed. “You’re the young lady who won the award for the best baker! Susannah was so excited that you agreed to come and speak with us, Miss Travis.”
“Emma.”
“And I’m Madeline.”
Emma tugged open the back door, then slid the trays toward her.
“What have you got there, Emma?”
“Oh, I brought samples.”
“Sam-ples! How lovely! Can I help you carry them?”
“I think I’ve got it. Just point me in the right direction. That would be a great help.”
Madeline took her assignment very seriously, gently touching Emma’s arm and guiding her every step.
“Right ovah hee-ah. A tiny step up. That’s right. Now just let me get in front of you and I’ll open up that side do-ah.”
Over the top of the tray and right between the two small cakes, Emma spotted an arched entry to what appeared to be the restaurant.
“Shall I set up in the dining room?” she asked.
“Please,” Madeline replied. “It’s off to the left. Just be careful as you go through, because there are—”
A sudden crunch against both of her knees sent Emma teetering off balance. As she struggled to keep the trays from toppling, her upper body continued forward while her foot suddenly wedged itself beneath an enormous soft mound.
“Whooooooooaa!”
“Oh, no!” Madeline cried from behind her, but it was too late to stop the crash.
First, the cakes hit the carpeted floor, and then Emma’s body as she demolished one of the cakes with her elbow and landed face-first in the other.
Madeline shrieked, and after several moments, Emma realized the woman was using her own sweater to swipe the streaks of fondant from Emma’s cheek.
“I’m so sorry,” she told her as she wiped off her face. “I’m so very, very sorry. I was just about to tell you the linen company had left a bundle of table linens right in the middle of the lobby.”
Emma glanced back at the toppled mound of tablecloths and embroidered napkins and then clamped her eyes shut so tightly that they ached.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Travis. Are you all right?”
“What on earth is going on out here?”
Emma looked up to find a man standing over her, arms folded and glaring down at her like the giant looking at Jack from the top of the beanstalk.
Except Jack’s giant probably didn’t look like this! This giant bore a striking resemblance to … last month’s cover of GQ!
“This is Emma Rae Travis,” Madeline told him, still wiping Emma’s face with the sleeve of her sweater. “She’s the baker Susannah told you about this mornin’. She was kind enough to bring us some samples of her work, Jackson. But the linens were delivered and left right here in the middle of the lobby. And I think you can guess what happened next.”
“You’re the hazelnut girl.”
Emma looked up at him and cocked her head. “Pardon?”
“The fudge brownies and the hazelnut coffee pusher. From the bakery down on the square.”
Hazelnut—
“Oh! It’s you,” she said as she struggled to find her footing.
“It’s me.”
“You’re the one who made those scrumptious brownies Jackson brought us last week?” Madeline exclaimed. “Isn’t that something, Jack?”
“It’s something, all right,” he muttered and then appeared to compose himself. “Are you hurt?”
“Yes,” she replied. “My ego is crushed. Surgery may be needed.”
He laughed in spite of himself.
“Madeline. Why don’t you call for someone to come and clean up this mess?”
“Wait!” Emma cried. “Let me see if there’s anything that can be salvaged.”
Clearly, the point was moot.
“No. I guess there’s not.”
“Maddie, I don’t think—”
“Hush now,” she chastised. “We’ll meet you in your office in two shakes of a little lamb’s tay-il.”
Madeline placed a firm arm around Emma’s shoulders and led her past the front desk and down the hall toward the elevator. Emma couldn’t help herself, she looked back, wondering for a moment if the storm brewing in Jackson Drake’s chocolate brown eyes would turn her straight to a pillar of salt just for looking.
Espresso Fondant
2 pounds powdered sugar (sifted)
¼ cup chilled water
1 tablespoon gelatin (unflavored)
½ cup white corn syrup
1½ tablespoons glycerin
2 tablespoons shortening
½ cup cocoa powder
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 tablespoons espresso
Sift powdered sugar into a large bowl and make a well in the center. Set aside.
Pour water into a saucepan and sprinkle the gelatin lightly across the top.
Let soften for approximately 5-8 minutes.
Heat and stir until dissolved and clear. DO NOT BOIL.
Remove from heat and add corn syrup, glycerin, and shortening. Blend well.
Pour the gelatin mixture into the sugar well and mix until blended, working from the well out so that the fondant will be pliable.
Knead with your hands until stiff, and then knead in cocoa and espresso.
Use powdered sugar in small amounts to keep mixture from being sticky.
Shape into a ball and wrap tightly with plastic wrap.
Place in airtight container and let it rest at room temperature overnight before rolling out and fitting over cake.
3
Madeline’s sister Georgiann had a pink sweater with pearl buttons in her car that fit Emma as if it belonged on her. Their other sister, Norma, was able to scrub the fondant from Emma’s dark blue trousers and blow them dry with a hair dryer, while Susannah Littlefield helped her brush the clumps of icing out of her hair. Less than twenty minutes later, Emma had reapplied a pink frost to her lips and pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail, and when Susannah escorted her into Jackson Drake’s office, Emma looked for all the world as if she’d just arrived.
“Have a seat, Ms. Travis.”
“Thank you,” she replied, and then slipped down into the leather chair across from him. “I’d just like to say how sorry I am, Mr. Drake.”
“No need to apologize,” he said without looking up from her resumé. “We’ll be lucky if you decide not to sue us.” His eyes darted upward and he regarded her seriously. “You’re not going to sue us, are you, Ms. Travis?”
“Oh! No. I’m not.”
Emma’s heart was pounding so hard against her chest that she could see Georgiann’s cashmere sweater pulsing along with it.
“Good.”
And just like that, his focus was back on the parchment paper in his hands.
“Knock, knock,” Madeline announced in a sing-song voice as she pushed the office door wide open.
She held a small china plate with both hands; on it were several petit fours, two small brownie squares and a hunk of praline espresso wedding cake.
“What’s this?” Jackson asked her.
“Well, everything wasn’t completely ruined,” she explained, setting the plate on the desktop, and then running a reassuring hand over the slope of Emma’s shoulder. “We cleaned up the mess, and then saved a bit of what didn’t hit the carpet.”
While her brother regarded the plate before him, Madeline winked at Emma.
“Thank you,” Emma mouthed with caution.
“Now I’ll just leave you two to your meetin’,” the woman said, rolling around the edge of the door and disappearing without another peep.
Jackson looked up at Emma, shook his head, and peered back at the sweets on the plate.
“Oh, um. Let me just tell you what these are,” Emma stammered, standing up and leaning across the desk. “This is a blonde brownie with walnuts, butterscotch and chocolate, iced with hazelnut cream.”
“Of course it is.”
“And the petit fours are red velvet, carrot cake, and pumpkin spice. It looks like they managed to save the espresso wedding cake with praline filling. The fudge brownie you’ve tasted already, but I didn’t know that when I brought it.”
His eyes felt like a steam iron being pressed against her, and Emma sat down in the chair again and folded her shaking hands in her lap until he looked away at last. She regarded him closely as he reached down and picked up one of the petit fours and popped it into his mouth.
“That one is pumpkin spice,” she commented, but he didn’t reply.
After what felt like a week or so of agonizing silence, the door to his office creaked open again. This time, it was Susannah who peered at them through the crack.
“We’ve got a problem, Jack. Could you step out for just a minute?”
Without so much as a by-your-leave, Jackson Drake got up from his chair, crossed the office, and left Emma sitting there. She turned and looked at Susannah, still standing in the doorway.
“Sorry, sugar. Someone’s caught in the elevator.”
“Oh!”
Emma hopped to her feet and followed Susannah around the corner where Jackson stood at the closed elevator door with Madeline and Georgiann, both of the women cringing at the sounding buzzer.
“Did you push the emergency call button?” he called, and someone from the other side confirmed that he had. “Then someone should be here in just a few minutes. Hang tight.”
The buzzer ceased at last, and Jackson stared at the floor, shaking his head.
“The thing was doing a shimmy earlier in the week,” he told Susannah. “I should have had you call the service company then.”
“Oh, well, that wouldn’t have anything to do with the door being jammed,” Emma stated, and then she realized both Jackson and Georgiann were staring at her as if her hair was on fire.
“How do you know that, pumpkin?” Madeline asked her.
“When the car shimmies,” she began, and then she interrupted herself. “I mean, I’m assuming this is a hydraulic system, right?”
Jackson Drake looked at her as if she’d just spoken to him in a foreign tongue.
“Well, it probably is. Anyway, I’m thinking it’s likely that the rails are just dry. A little oil can take care of that for you. But the door jamming like this is probably your drive belt. The service guy will take care of that when he gets the passengers out.”
“The drive belt,” Madeline repeated. “Aren’t you just the handiest little pastry chef that there ever was?”
Emma shrugged. “My dad was in construction. One of the companies he owned a long time back built elevators for small commercial buildings.”
“My daddy was in banking,” Madeline commented. “But I can’t balance my checkbook without help.”
“Ms. Travis,” Jackson piped up. “I hope you won’t mind if we cut our meeting short.”
“Oh. Certainly. You have things to deal with here, don’t you?”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“Nonsense,” Madeline said, taking Emma’s hand into hers. “Why don’t you come along with my sistah and me, and we’ll go down the street and grab some lunch. Maybe some sweet tea and a sandwich and, by the time we get back, you and my bruthah can pick up right where you all left off.”
“Oh, well, I can’t really—”
“Don’t be silly. Of course you can. Let’s go, ladies. Susannah, will you join us? And Jackson, we’ll bring you something back.”
“Yeah, it’s a simple fix,” the serviceman told Jackson as he scribbled on the yellow paper on the clipboard in his hand. “Just the drive belt.”
“The drive belt,” Jackson repeated. “That’s wh
at kept the door from opening properly?”
“Yep.”
“And the car shaking?”
“Yeah, that’s another issue.”
“Dry rails?” Jackson suggested.
“Right.”
“You’ll see that they’re oiled?”
“That’s my job.”
Jackson wanted to laugh, but instead he just shook his head.
A pastry chef who knows about elevator cables and drive belts. Now if I can just hire a front desk manager who can rotate the tires on my car.
Jackson strode down the hallway and into his office. He’d forgotten about the plate of cakes on his desk until he sat down in his chair, and then his sweet tooth got the better of him, inspiration to fetch himself a cup of coffee.
He popped a square of blonde brownie into his mouth, and then he leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes while he savored it.
What do you know? Hazelnut really could be the answer to all the world’s confectionary needs!
Jackson gulped down some coffee and then picked up the résumé of Emma Rae Travis.
Graduate of Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts; certified in Patisserie and Baking; six years as Head Baker for The Backstreet Bakery in Roswell; three-time finalist in the wedding cakes category of Atlanta’s Passionate Palate Award competition; grand prize winner of the award just this year.
“She is fabulous, Jackson,” Madeline whispered as she stepped into his office. “Is that her résumé? Aren’t you impressed? We all just love her to death, I tell you. If you don’t hire that woman right this very minute, you’re a bigger fool than Catfish Walter.”
Catfish Walter. Jackson hadn’t thought of the old toothless guy who’d worked for their grandfather in more than a decade.
“Why did they call him Catfish, anyway?” he asked.
“You stop that,” she chastised him. “She’s downstairs with Georgiann, looking around the kitchen. You take yourself right on down there, Jackson Drake, and you offer her a job.”
“I’m sorry, Maddie. The last I knew, this was my hotel, and I get to choose the staff.”
“Stop it right now,” she said, and then she gave his hand a quick, tender rub. “You and I both know this was Desiree’s dream, and not yours. And if that angel had had all of the bakers east of the Mississippi to choose from, I’m telling you she would have chosen Emma Rae Travis. Now you go down there right now and offer her the job, Jackson, and make Desi proud.”