He glanced around the room, then found his sisters and Susannah standing in a small swarm at the edge of the stage.
“The place looks pretty good, doesn’t it?” he asked the crowd with a grin, and they erupted into applause. “Well, believe me, it didn’t get this way by my hands. I’ve been fortunate enough to have some women around me with magnificent taste and astounding commitment to bringing this dream to life. Please join me in thanking a group of stunning women—my sisters, Georgiann Markinson, in charge of staffing the place, and putting together that amazing auction in the other room to benefit ovarian cancer research; Madeline Winston, our wedding coordinator; and Norma Blanchette, event planner extraordinaire. We also have my assistant Susannah Littlefield, and the very beautiful baker Emma Rae Travis. And what chef Anton Morelli lacks in beauty, he makes up for with talent. This group of people has been instrumental in putting this place, and this night, together in honor of my late wife, Desiree.”
Applause thundered, and Jackson’s chest constricted with emotion.
“Desiree used to work here, as many of you may know. Somehow, she caught a vision of converting a perfectly fine boutique hotel into a spectacular wedding and event destination. Once she caught hold of that picture,” he added, shaking his head as he remembered, “there was just no going back. She spent countless hours cutting out magazine photos, and making notes about how she would do it. She left me with a sort of blueprint, actually. And tonight, everyone in this room plays a part in seeing Desi’s dream come true. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”
Jackson let the applause die down before announcing, “Dinner is about to be served. And afterward, you’ll be dazzled by Emma Travis’ award-winning dessert, and the musical stylings of Mr. Ben Colson. Enjoy! And welcome to The Tanglewood Inn.”
Initially, Jackson had thought Madeline’s idea of each of them hosting a different table was a good one. It would be a nice way to mingle with the guests during dinner, answer any questions they might have, network a bit with the members of their community. But as soon as he sat down at his table, and saw Emma making her way to another one at the other side of the room, Jackson began to rethink that choice. He’d have preferred to have dinner with Emma at his side. In fact, he considered a complete overhaul of the plan that involved him walking over there and sitting down in the empty chair beside her.
The thought had no sooner materialized than a sandy-haired stranger in an expensive Armani suit appeared out of nowhere and snagged that chair. Jackson craned to see if the chair on the other side of her was open. To his disappointment, he saw that it was occupied by his niece Janelle. On the other side of her sat her husband, Miguel.
Georgiann had managed a perfect score: flanked on one side by Avery and Gavin Travis, and the deputy mayor and his wife seated on the other.
“Is seating arranged? Or can anyone sit here?”
Jackson glanced up to find an attractive redhead standing with her hand on the back of the chair beside him. He rose and held out the chair for her. “Please. Join me.”
“The best seat in the house,” she said as she sat down. “I’m sitting next to the Man of the Hour.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jackson teased. “Ben Colson is somewhere else. I can’t sing, but I’ll try to be interesting. How’s that?”
“Deal,” she beamed. She extended her hand toward him once Jackson sat down. “Christina Valentine, Channel 12 news.”
“Good to meet you, Christina. Do you know the others at our table?”
Emma struggled to rid herself of the movie montage flashbacks flipping through her head. Growing up as Avery Travis’s daughter hadn’t left much room for being a klutz at the dinner table, but most of Emma’s finer clothes ended up with a splatter stain of some kind on them just the same.
“Do you have a hole in your chin?” her mother asked so often that her ears tingled with the instant replay, even now.
I know this is a wacky time to start praying again. But please don’t let me slop anything on this dress. A large, supernatural bib would be greatly appreciated.
“Gravy?”
“No thanks.”
Stephen West touched her arm. “No. I mean, would you pass it?”
“Oh!” Emma tried to smile. “Sorry.”
She cringed as she reached for the gravy boat, hoping the sleeve of her jacket didn’t come back with some of her salmon hanging from it.
Victory.
She handed Stephen the gravy, and he thanked her with a warm smile. Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever seen teeth as white as Stephen’s.
“The food is spectacular,” he commented, filling a ridge cut across his potatoes.
“Chef Morelli is a genius. You should see what he’s planning to do with simple barbecue.”
“Barbecue!” he exclaimed. “I wouldn’t think of Morelli as a barbecue kind of guy.”
“Oh, he’s not. Definitely not,” Emma chuckled. “We have a wedding coming up that is sort of sports themed. He’s adapting.”
“A sports-themed wedding.”
“Baseball. Atlanta Braves, to be precise.”
“Romantic.” Stephen curled his upper lip and shook his head. “Not.”
“I guess it is for the couple who met at a Braves game.”
Stephen considered that, and then shook his head again. “Not.”
Emma flaked another bite of salmon with her fork and popped it into her mouth.
“So, what do you do, Stephen?”
“I own the staffing company the hotel worked with,” he replied. “For the housekeeping staff, the waiters, that kind of thing.”
“Oh! You’re that West,” she said with a nod. “Georgiann said you were really great.”
“Did she? Nice to know. Thank you.”
With her fork in midair and her wandering thoughts jumping from the Falcons sideline package on the auction table, Emma just happened to glance toward the door, and she did a double take.
“Uh oh.”
“What is it?” Stephen asked.
Emma dropped her fork, pushed back her chair and popped to her feet. “Excuse me.” Before he could reply, she was on her way across the ballroom toward the door where her Aunt Sophie was standing in her mint green ball gown, white satin gloves and crooked tiara. As she got closer, Emma realized Sophie was also wearing white terrycloth bed slippers.
Jackson must have seen her too because he appeared at Emma’s side just a few yards away from the door, and they both hurried toward Sophie without actually running.
“Aunt Sophie!” Emma hugged her and then kissed her on the cheek. “How did you get here?”
“I took a taxicab,” Sophie stated. “Just like last time.”
Emma and Jackson looked at one another.
“A taxicab,” Emma declared. It was clearly a revelation for them both.
“Sophie, you look exquisite,” Jackson told her. Offering his arm to Sophie, he turned to Emma and said, “Get your mother.”
Emma nodded and turned to scan the room.
“Ten o’clock,” Jackson directed. “At George’s table.”
Emma scurried off in that direction and sighed when she caught sight of her mother.
“Emma, darling. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I really am,” she said, her smile just a little too wide to be genuine. “Mother, could I see you for a moment?”
“Now? We’ve just started—”
“I know, I’m sorry. But there’s someone here you’re really going to want to see.”
Avery regarded her daughter’s concrete smile for several beats, and then she returned it with a slightly more normal one. “Of course. I hope you’ll all excuse me for a moment.”
The instant they stepped away from the table, Emma linked her arm with her mother’s and whispered, “Aunt Sophie is here.”
“What?” Avery replied softly, the elegant just-right smile still pasted to her face.
“And get this. She took a taxi.”
�
��Where did she—”
“I have no idea. But she’s here.”
“Oh, good grief,” Avery said as soon as she caught sight of her sister. “Jackson, I just could not be more sorry.”
Jackson shook his head. “No need at all. Sophie has just been charming me with stories about growing up in Savannah.”
“Sophie,” Avery enunciated. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw the announcement about the party on the evening news,” she told them. “I don’t remember getting my invitation, but I knew I had to be here to help Jackson and Emma Rae celebrate their wedding.”
“Oh no, Darling, it’s not a wedding. It’s just a party to mark the opening of the hotel.”
“Don’t be silly, sister.”
Sophie was already holding Jackson’s hand, and she took Emma’s with her other. “Isn’t Emma Rae the most beautiful bride you’ve ever seen? I wish you’d have told me about your dress, sweet pea. My bridal veil would have been perfect. It’s made out of real Chantilly lace from Paris. Our grandmother wore it for her wedding too.”
“That’s such a sweet thought, Aunt Sophie.” Emma covered Sophie’s hand between both of hers and kissed her. “But honestly, this isn’t my wedding. It’s a party for Jackson’s hotel opening.”
Sophie looked at Jackson and cocked her head to the side. “Jackson. You own a hotel?”
Creating Delicate Sugar Roses
For small, detailed rosebuds, it is best to use gum paste or sugar paste, colored in green (for the leaves) and pink (or whatever color you want your roses to be).
Prepare a flat Styrofoam holder for the roses.
Create foundational cones that are slightly smaller than the petals you’ll be using.
Insert a toothpick into the bottom of the cone, and poke the cone into the holder so that it stands upright. You can do this 24-48 hours ahead so that the cone will dry completely.
Roll out the colored sugar paste and cut out three petals.
Using a dog-bone tool, bend the edge of the petal so that it takes on a realistic curve. If you’re making a volume of roses, place the petals in a plastic container so they don’t dry out.
Brush the cone with a layer of sugar glue, and wrap a petal around it tightly, covering the pointed end.
Brush with sugar glue again, and wrap two more petals into place.
Use your fingers to create a flutter shape in the petals and allow them to dry for 30-45 minutes.
While drying, cut out three more petals and repeat the sugar glue treatment.
Place the next layer of petals so that they overlap.
Brush with sugar glue and dry completely.
17
I appreciate this so much.”
Emma removed the tiara from Sophie’s head and set it on the nightstand next to the bed. Stroking her aunt’s silken hair, she asked Fee and Peter, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” Fee replied. “Go downstairs and present the cake. We’ll be quiet as church mice while Sophie sleeps.”
“Thank you.” Emma squeezed Fee’s hand. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”
Standing in the doorway, Emma took one last look at her aunt. The green taffeta dress looked oddly out of place poking out from beneath the quilted bedspread, loosely grasped with satin-gloved hands.
“Sleeping Beauty,” she commented, and Fee grinned.
The moment the elevator doors opened on the lobby level, Avery was there to meet her.
“She’s fine, Mother. Already asleep.”
“Emma Rae, I’m so sorry. I hope this hasn’t ruined your party.”
“No worries. Fee and Peter will watch over her until after the cake is served. Then I’ll stay in her room overnight, and we’ll take her back in the morning.” The two of them walked side by side down the carpeted hallway leading to the ballroom. “But you really have to talk to the administration, Mother. She can’t just come and go as she pleases.”
“I know.”
“We might have to think about moving her—”
“Oh, I’d hate to do that. She’s already made friends, Emma. You should see her when she’s there. She’s at peace.”
“But not peaceful enough to stay on the premises, Mother.”
They reached the ballroom entrance, and Avery hesitated. Pressing two fingers to her temple, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were misted with a glaze of emotion.
“It’s going to be all right,” Emma promised, taking her hand. “We’ll make adjustments. Everything will be fine.”
“She’s my big sister,” Avery remarked. “It’s difficult to see her this way.”
“I know. But she’s still the same Sophie inside.”
Avery lifted a tired smile and gave a fragile stroke to the bend of one of Emma’s wavy curls. “You look so pretty tonight, sweetheart.”
“Thank you. But you’re the most beautiful woman in that room.” Emma grinned. “In any room.”
“Well, now you’ve just gone crazy,” Avery teased.
“I’ll have them serve you a warm dinner.”
“I couldn’t eat.”
“You have to eat, Mother.”
Avery raised a perfect arched brow, then she smoothed her hair as if it might be out of place. “Role reversal doesn’t suit us, Emma Rae.”
Emma chuckled. “Then don’t make me do it.”
“Where did you two get off to?” Gavin asked them as he stalked toward them.
“Aunt Sophie’s here.”
He stopped in his tracks and heaved a sigh as he scratched his head. “Well, Nell’s silver bells.”
“It’s fine now. She’s upstairs in a room.”
“Alone?”
“No. Fee is with her.”
Gavin angled his head toward Avery and cinched up his mouth into an odd little grimace. “Can I do anything?”
“Not by all prior proof to the contrary. And really, Gavin … why start now?”
Gavin and Emma stood by and watched her as Avery floated across the ballroom toward her table.
“Funny. I didn’t even see that one barreling toward me,” he said.
“Yeah. She’s sneaky like that.”
Emma poked her head inside the door to the kitchen with a wary smile.
“Is it safe to enter?” she asked Pearl, Anton’s sous chef.
“At your own risk,” she replied, wrinkling her nose and grinning from ear to ear.
“I missed most of dinner,” Emma announced. “And I’m ravenous.”
“Well, we can’t have that. Let me get you a plate.”
Pearl’s salt-and-pepper hair, mostly salt, seemed to push against her white chef’s cap in an overt desire to break free, and her very blue eyes shimmered with a blend of amusement and wonder.
“Oooh, you look pretty. Is the dress new?”
“Thanks. Well, it’s new to me. Fee took me to one of her secret consignment locations.”
Emma scraped a stool across the floor and sat down at the center island where Pearl smoothed a linen napkin into a makeshift placemat. With meticulous care, she set out flatware and presented a plate of salmon with all the accoutrements, including a sprig of parsley atop the potatoes.
“How do you think it all went tonight?” Emma asked her as Pearl poured cold water into a crystal goblet.
“With Anton?” Emma nodded. “He was … Anton Morelli.”
Emma chuckled. “How long have you been working with him?”
“Eleven years. He took me right out of cooking school and put me to work in his kitchen. I’ve gone from cleaning vegetables and doing prep work to full-on eye-of-the-storm assistance.” Pearl leaned on the counter and smiled at Emma. “He’s a genius, you know.”
Emma did know. With her mouth full, she nodded and waved her fork. “Mm-hmm.”
Pearl folded both arms on the counter and leaned forward. The pride in her indigo eyes was unmistakable and, for the first time since she’d first met Pearl, realization crept over
Emma.
“There’s something going on with you and Chef Morelli, isn’t there?”
Pearl’s gaze sharpened as it darted straight for Emma. “What do you mean?”
“I know that look,” she said, pointing with her fork. “You have a thing for him.”
Pearl hesitated, then shifted, angling her head as her lips tilted into a timid grin. “Do you really want to talk about employees who have a thing for their bosses?”
Emma’s pulse fluttered.
“I mean, if you want to go there—”
“No. You’re right. It’s none of my business.”
“Mm-hm.” It was fragmented and sharp, but pregnant with meaning.
“Is there any more cake?”
“You can’t have cake,” Pearl clucked. “Anton told me you’re diabetic.”
“I just want a taste. That’s why I made sure to eat something first. Ooh, you know, I want to try and make it into the auction room and place a bid on—”
All thoughts of cake and football snapped right out of her mind as the kitchen door blew open and Fee stood there looking like she’d just escaped a hurricane.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sophie,” she panted. “She ditched me.”
Emma sprang to her feet. “What do you mean she ditched you?”
“I was watching television. I heard the door, but I thought it was Pete coming back with ice. Then when he did come back a minute later, we realized Sophie was gone. What do we do?”
“We find her!” Emma cried as she rushed toward the door. With an offhanded wave across her shoulder, she added, “Thanks, Pearl.”
Before Pearl could respond, Emma was down the hall and scurrying through the lobby. At the door of the ballroom, she waited for Fee to reach her and whispered, “Let’s find my mother and bring her right back here.” The two of them flew inside and darted off in separate directions.
Emma scanned the room.
“Where is she, where is she?” she muttered.
Jackson caught her eye from the dance floor. He was holding that woman from the news in a loose embrace. Emma bit her lip and tilted her head, and Jackson excused himself from his partner and headed straight for her.
Always the Baker, Never the Bride Page 17
