Always the Baker, Never the Bride

by Sandra D. Bricker

  “It sounds lovely.”

  “We thought we’d have the ceremony in the courtyard, around one in the afternoon. And then we could have a traditional English high tea for the guests at the reception: finger sandwiches and scones with Devonshire cream. Madeline said you’d work out a menu with me.”

  “That’s my department,” Emma said with a grin. “Do you know what you have in mind for the cake?”

  “Something elegant,” she replied thoughtfully. “Rather traditional. Lots of roses.”

  “And your colors?”

  Emma’s meeting ran long and, by the time she said goodbye to Beverly Branson in the lobby, she had to scurry into the courtyard where Madeline’s run-through with Callie Beckinsale was almost certainly winding down.

  She pushed through the glass doors and hurried toward them.

  “I’m so sorry. That last consultation was more involved than I’d expected.”

  “Emma Rae Travis.”

  It had been twenty years since Emma had heard her name come from those lips, with just that precise Southern inflection.

  “Danny!” she exclaimed, and then stopped in her tracks, hand to thumping heart.

  His crystal blue eyes still shimmered, and his square jaw still set slightly off center when he smiled. He ran a suntanned hand through his wavy blonde hair, and the sixteen-year-old heart still beating within Emma started to pound.

  “You haven’t changed,” he seemed to sing. “Not one bit.”

  He moved toward her without warning and swept her into his arms for a colossal embrace, rocking her from side to side with the rhythm of her name.

  “Emma—Rae—Travis.”

  “Hi, Danny,” she said when he let her go.

  “I couldn’t believe it when Callie told me who was bakin’ the cake for our weddin’.” Danny shook his head at her and clicked his tongue. “Emma Rae Travis. You’ve hardly changed one iota since high school.”

  “You either.”

  “It’s just the most amazing coincidence,” Callie said as she got up from the table and joined them. “I mean, really! What are the odds?”

  Her wide, starch-white smile and Southern charm didn’t deflect the trace of disappointment in Callie’s voice, and Emma didn’t blame her a bit. How many brides want their fiancé’s first love to be involved in their wedding plans?

  “Emma Rae Travis.”

  Okay. You can stop saying my name now.

  “I just can’t get over it.”

  Why don’t you try?

  “So,” Emma said, locking arms with Callie and leading her back toward the table. “Not long now, huh? You two will be married before you know it.”

  Callie beamed. “I know. I can hardly believe it.”

  “I’m going to leave you in Emma Rae’s capable hands,” Madeline said as she excused herself. “I think everything is in order, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Callie replied, bobbing her head and pumping Madeline’s hand with enthusiasm. “Thank you so much for everything.”

  “I’ll see you on the big day,” Madeline told her. “You call me any time if you have any questions or concerns, you hear me?”

  “Yes. Thank you again.”

  Emma and Callie sat down at the bistro table, but Danny just stood there over them, his hands on his denim-clad hips, shaking his head.

  Please don’t say my na—

  “Emma Rae Travis.”

  She gave an inward groan and then disguised it with a wide smile. “Would you like to see the final sketch of the wedding cake Callie’s chosen?”

  Danny sat down at last, and Emma pushed the pad toward him. He picked it up and stared at the drawing. “You can do this with a cake?”

  “Sure can.”

  “How? I don’t understand. I mean, what’s the process?”

  “Dan, what’s it matter how it’s done?” Callie asked him. “That’s what Emma does.”

  “Yeah, I know, but … Have you done this particular cake before?”

  “This is a one-of-a-kind cake, Danny. It’s going to be created just for you and Callie.”

  “But how?”

  Emma’s foot started tapping just an instant before Callie drummed her fingers on the tabletop.

  “Dan.”

  “Funny, you baking cakes and all,” he pointed out. “Bein’ a diabetic.”

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “That is funny.”

  “But you can do this,” he clarified, holding up the sketch pad, “with a cake?”

  “Yes. I can. It’s baked and filled, and then sculpted.”

  “Honey,” Callie chimed. “Emma has won awards for her cakes.”

  Danny scratched his head. “Really. Awards?”

  Emma nodded, lifting one shoulder into a shrug.

  “But not with this particular cake, right?”

  The sixteen-year-old inside Emma got up and walked out of the building just then. Never to be seen or heard from again.

  “Ooo-kay,” she said with a sigh. “So this is your cake. It will be ready for your reception. And I think that’s about it. Callie, do you have any more questions for me?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Good to see you again, Danny.” When he headed toward her with plans for a hug in his eyes, Emma grabbed his hand and shook it. “I wish you and Callie all the very best in your life together.”

  Now, don’t let the door hit you in the—

  “Great Scott. Am I having a senior moment?”

  Emma noticed her father standing at the entrance of the courtyard, his arms folded across his chest as he stared Danny down.

  “Hey, Mr. Travis. Long time, no see.”

  “Yes.”

  Emma could read her father’s mind, and she was marginally happy that he didn’t complete the thought.

  “Dad, this is Danny’s fiancée, Callie Beckinsale.”

  Gavin shook her hand and then kissed it. “My condolences, child.”

  Callie giggled.

  “Do you have some time for your old man?” he asked Emma, and she nodded.

  “We were just finishing up.”

  The timing couldn’t have been better had they planned it, but as the revelation dawned on Emma that she was going from one uncomfortable conversation to another, her expression soured. By the time Danny and Callie finally headed out the door and Emma fetched a cup of tea for herself and some coffee for her father, the full impact of the coming discussion sat on her chest like a gorilla with a glandular problem.

  “What’s up, Dad?” she asked, although she really didn’t want to hear his answer.

  “I think you know.”

  Emma shrugged. “You want to apologize for traumatizing me? Embarrassing Jackson on the opening night of his hotel?”

  “Oh, I think you’ve been far more traumatized than that,” he pointed out. “And as for Jackson, he handled the whole thing just dandy. It was you standing there screaming like a girl and—”

  “I am a girl, Dad.”

  “—calling attention to it that embarrassed him, I suspect.”

  “What were you thinking, Dad?”

  “I was thinking that my wife looked staggering that night, and I wanted to kiss her.”

  “Ex-wife.”

  “Well. That’s the thing.”

  Emma’s blood pressure whooshed, and her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach as she waited.

  “Princess, your mother and I never did actually … officially … divorce.”

  “What are you talking about? You’ve been apart for years.”

  “Apart, yes. But not as apart as you think.”

  “Do I even want to know what that means?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  Gavin leaned back into the chair and sighed. “I love your mother, Emmy. Always have. But she’s not as mild mannered as she likes to let on.”

  “You just bring the worst out in her. With everyone else, she’s—”

  “Mother
Teresa. I know.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Nice to know you haven’t lost all perspective.”

  Emma chuckled, then she reached across the table and touched her father’s hand. “Give it to me straight, Daddy. What don’t I want to know?”

  “Your mother and I have been married for forty years next month.”

  “Straight?” she asked, miming out a long, straight road with her hand.

  “One after the other.”

  Emma fell back against her chair. “Huh. Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “Your mother didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “By telling me that my parents were still happily married?”

  “I don’t think anyone said anything about being happy.”

  “She thought I’d be less disappointed if I went on thinking you were divorced.”

  Gavin shrugged. “You did seem to embrace the idea, Princess.”

  “That’s only because you seemed to hate one another so much.”

  “Now, there’s one thing I’ve never felt toward your mother, Emmy. I love that woman as much as the day is long.”

  Emma gasped and cocked her head. “You do?”

  “I do.”

  Emma considered that for a very long moment.

  “Does she know?”

  Gavin laughed. “Yes. I think she does.”

  “And she loves you?”

  “Passionately.”

  Several more beats ticked by as Emma thought it over.

  “Well, no wonder.”

  “No wonder, what?”

  “No wonder I’m so messed up.”

  “Oh, that’s messed up.”

  “I know.”

  “And you think I’m psych.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Emma and Fee sat on opposite sides of the desk in Emma’s office, staring at one another and occasionally shaking their heads.

  “Seriously. Messed up.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “What’s messed up?” Pearl asked from the doorway. “Emma’s parents.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re married,” Fee told her. “Can you believe that?”

  Pearl’s expression told them that she was making every effort but just couldn’t catch up to the conversation.

  “Oh!” Fee exclaimed. “Pearl! I heard Anton fired you last night!”

  “What?” Emma gasped.

  “It’s true,” she replied, smiling back at them.

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “Prep work for the dinner crowd. We’ve got a full house tonight for the opening.”

  “But he fired you?” Emma enunciated.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. He fires me all the time. It’s foreplay.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “He’s leading up to taking another stab.”

  Emma grimaced. “This is what I have to look forward to?”

  “With Jackson? Not at all. He’s much more balanced than Anton.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Pearl chuckled. “Yes. I’m sure. Anton fires me, then I come back to work and act like nothing’s happened. That goes on for a couple of days, and then he asks me to dinner or to go with him to a food show. We have a wonderful time, and then he withdraws again.”

  “That seems like a lot of work.”

  “Oh, it is. But he’s worth the effort.”

  Fee and Emma exchanged glances, and they both shrugged.

  “Well, to me, anyway.”

  “I feel like a freak for having such a normal relationship with Peter,” Fee pointed out. “We just hang out and tell each other what we’re thinking. It’s very low drama.”

  “Wait,” Emma said, shaking her head. “You’re the conventional one in the room?”

  “I know. It’s shocking.”

  Norma stepped into the kitchen and ambled up behind Pearl in the doorway. “Can I have a word with you, Pearl?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Anton’s temper.”

  Pearl nodded knowingly.

  “Any chance you could go in there and talk him down?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Pearl turned back toward Emma and Fee, straightened her clothes and stood erect with a mock-serious expression as she told them, “Cover me, ladies. I’m goin’ in.”

  Devonshire Cream

  for serving with scones or fresh berries

  Beat a 3-ounce package of softened cream cheese on high.

  While mixing, add 2 teaspoons of sugar, ½ teaspoon vanilla extract, and a pinch of salt.

  Gradually add 1/3 cup whipping cream and mix until stiff. Store in the refrigerator overnight.

  21

  They were waiting in line Monday for the opening of the restaurant,” Norma said, “and the manager told me we had nearly a full house last night.”

  Jackson leaned back into the leather desk chair, and it groaned under the pressure. He raked a hand through his hair and smiled at her. “Morelli is a very big personality, but what he brings to the table far exceeds the challenges.”

  “That’s my thinking too.”

  “Do you have any information on the hotel side of things?”

  “I do,” she replied, and then flipped through the stack of paperwork in her hands. “We had twenty-three rooms occupied on Monday night, and eighty-one last night.”

  “Eighty-one?”

  “George was able to send me that group in town for the food and beverage convention. Even with the group discount, they’re getting us off to an amazing start. And they’ll be here through Friday.”

  “Do we have anything else coming up?”

  “A full house at the end of the month with the home improvement show, and I’m working on something with the Atlanta Symphony.”

  “Outstanding, Norm. Weddings?”

  “Madeline’s doing a last-week’s-status kind of thing now every Monday. It should be sitting in your inbox.”

  “That works. What’s our first wedding?”

  “Beckinsale-Mahoney.”

  “The baseball couple.”

  Norma nodded. “I just hope the wedding takes place. The groom turned out to be an ex-boyfriend of Emma’s.”

  “She mentioned that.”

  “Well, he was here yesterday, and Maddie said he was falling all over himself to talk to Emma, right in front of the poor little bride.”

  Jackson grimaced. “Class act.”

  “He even came back this morning with an armful of roses.”

  “Roses,” he exclaimed. “You weren’t kidding when you said the wedding might not happen?”

  “The boy is smitten all over again. But who can blame him, really. Emma is such a little doll.”

  Jackson leaned forward, wondering about Emma’s reaction to her first love coming back into her life. “Are we through here?”

  “I think so. Do you have anything for me?”

  “No,” he replied. “You’re doing a great job, Norm. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Jackson stalked through Susannah’s office and down the hall. He decided not to wait for the elevator and took the stairs instead.

  “Good morning, Mr. Drake.”

  Jackson nodded to the desk clerk and strode through the lobby and into Emma’s kitchen, where she and Fee were bellied up to either side of the island, kneading balls of different-colored dough.

  “Hello, Jackson.”

  Her nose and cheeks were dusted with flour, and her silky hair was pulled back into a folded ponytail with ends poking out in several different directions. Her glasses hung around her neck on a knotted chain, and her apron was splotched with bright colors of dye.

  “Do you need me for something?”

  “Uh, no.” He didn’t really have a reason for the visit. Not one he could confess, anyway. “I just hadn’t seen you in a few days, so I thought I’d stop in and see how things are going.”
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  “Just dandy,” she replied, and then she turned her attention toward Fee. “Can you pull the cake, Fee? We can get the fondant over the first couple of layers, anyway.”

  “You got it.”

  Fee freed her hands from the dough then went to the sink to wash them.

  Jackson glanced around the kitchen, and peered through the doorway to Emma’s office.

  “So where are they?” he asked.

  “Where’s what?”

  “The roses. I heard there were quite a few of them delivered this morning.”

  Emma looked up and stared at him intently. He was just about to fidget beneath her gaze when she broke it and returned her attention to the bowl before her. She grabbed the ball of dough and threw it against the floured surface of the island.

  “I gave them to Lucille so she could put them out at the front desk.”

  She pushed at the dough until it flattened, and then she dusted the rolling pin with flour and began to roll it out.

  “Mm-hmm.” Jackson nodded. “Nice. Do we still have a baseball-themed wedding to look forward to?”

  “I think so.”

  “You think so?”

  “Well, I can’t really speak for Callie or Danny, but it was just a momentary lapse. He got caught up in the whole nostalgia thing.”

  “But you shot him down,” he stated, hoping that she had just told him that she had.

  “Well. Yes. I mean, it’s been twenty years since then.”

  “So the whole nostalgia thing; you didn’t get lost in it along with him?”

  “Maybe for a minute,” she said as she rolled and rolled the dough. “But in the end, no.”

  Emma pulled her hands from the fondant and let them flounder in midair above it. Jackson saw the disappointment in Emma’s green eyes, and it pinched at him.

  “I showed him the sketch of his wedding cake.” She shrugged, as if she could push the memory from her shoulder and let it drop to the floor. “He couldn’t seem to wrap his brain around the idea that I could make it, that I could … do something extraordinary.”

  When she looked up at him, she tried to smile, but it was lost before it ever reached her eyes. Then she shrugged and took hold of the rolling pin and started pressing the dough again.