“Hellooooo,” she called out, and the whole group fell silent and all eyes landed on Emma.
Her father was the first to speak. “Princess, there you are. I want you to—”
And then she was lost again beneath the tangle of voices and questions and accusations.
“Did you do this because of me?” she heard Pearl exclaim before tugging at Anton’s arm. “You did this, didn’t you? Because I talked to you about Jackson and Emma—”
The roaring hum of other voices drowned them out, and Emma couldn’t focus in on any one of them.
“Hold it!” she shouted, and they faded once again. Before they could resume the craziness, she insisted, “One at a time, please. Daddy, what are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
“And Fiona, why are you shouting in Italian?”
“I’m trying to make Anton understand that he can’t just call his friend into this hotel and help him drag you away by the hair like some … some … culinary caveman!”
“Who are you?” she asked the stranger in the very expensive blue suit.
“I am Luc Granville, and I’ve come to steal you away, Emma Travis!” he announced with very French flair.
She immediately wished she hadn’t paused to think that over because the cacophony of voices rang out again, and she couldn’t understand a single phrase of it. In desperation, she cut through them toward Jackson. Tugging at his hand, she dragged him behind her by the wrist across the kitchen and into her office, where she closed the door.
“What on earth!” she exclaimed as she plopped down in the chair behind her desk. “Who is the French guy, and why does he want to kidnap me?”
Jackson folded into one of the chairs flanking her desk and groaned. “Luc Granville is evidently an old colleague of Morelli’s. He has a fleet of bakeries across France, Anton told him you’re some sort of pastry genius, and now he’s here trying to hire you away from me to start a franchise here in the States.” Before she could open her mouth to respond, he quickly wound himself up tighter than a wristwatch. “And if you’re thinking of taking him up on his offer, let me remind you that we have a contract. You are exclusive to The Tanglewood for three years and—”
“Jackson, please!” she interjected, raising one hand in the air. “I know we have a contract.”
“And while I have you here behind closed doors,” he added and then softened, “I’d like to speak to you about our date last weekend.”
She eyed him for a long moment.
“Oh. Was that a date, Jackson? I thought it was just two friends going to a football game.”
“Well, I sort of thought of it as a date,” he remarked.
Emma felt her blood pressure bubble upward toward the top of her head.
“No. That wasn’t a date. I know this for certain because, once you dropped me off at my door, I never saw or heard from you again.”
“Emma—”
“Now I’m going out there to meet Mr. Granville. You are free to stay in here, or to come out there, either way. I don’t care, as long as you don’t continue shouting at me or talking about nonexistent dates.”
Ten minutes later, the group of them was gathered in the restaurant, except for Fee, who looked on from the kitchen, and Emma and Luc Granville were seated in her office behind a closed door and too many windows. Fee’s scowl cut straight through the glass and pressed in on Emma’s forehead until it throbbed.
“You’ve caused quite a stir, Mr. Granville.”
“Luc.”
“Luc,” she enunciated. “May I ask why you chose to talk to my co-workers and family before you brought your offer to me?”
He grinned at her. “Enthusiasm?”
“Well, thank you. However, I hate to burst your enthusiastic bubble, but I’m under contract to The Tanglewood. I couldn’t leave and come to work for you even if I wanted to.”
“If you want to come to work for me, Miss Travis,” he declared in bumpy English, “I can make this happen.”
“Again, thank you. But I really don’t want to go anywhere, Luc. I’m afraid you’ve wasted a lot of time. And generated a lot of grief and lung power.”
“I am assured by my friend Anton that Miss Bianchi is more than capable of taking over for you here. And if you will only consider making this very lucrative move—”
“Anton is correct. Miss Bianchi really is more than capable,” she told him. “But I don’t go anywhere without her, and I’m certainly not going to leave Mr. Drake and his hotel in the lurch. So you can see how that creates a rather insurmountable problem.”
“Nothing is insurmountable, Miss Travis. There’s more to hear about my offer. You listen five more minutes, and then you decide if the problem is truly insurmountable.”
When Emma finally emerged from her kitchen, Fee was on her heels. Emma didn’t even make eye contact with Jackson as she passed him; she simply paused in front of Anton, planted a kiss on his cheek and squeezed his hand.
“Il mio tesoro,” he said, and they exchanged smiles that looked to Jackson to be almost loving.
“Emma, I think we should talk about—” Jackson began.
“I’m going home,” she announced. “And Fee is going with me.”
With that, she resumed her staunch mission toward the lobby.
Fee turned back toward them for an instant, then she fumbled to catch up to Emma.
“Emma,” he called after her, but the solid brace of her shoulders told him she had no intention of slowing down. Turning back to Anton, Jackson sighed. “Why would you bring this on? Haven’t we treated you well here? Haven’t we given you everything you’ve asked for?”
“Sì veramente,” Morelli replied stoically. “This has nothing to do with me.”
“It has everything to do with you,” Jackson corrected him. “You brought this down on me, but why?”
“Una questione del cuore,” he answered as if Jackson might know what it meant.
In desperation, he looked to Pearl, and she nodded knowingly and touched his hand. “A matter of the heart, Jackson. Anton feels Emma’s heart is no longer safe here.”
“Her what? What are you saying?”
“Lei è un uomo molto egoistico,” Anton growled, pointing a solid finger at Jackson. Then he turned to Pearl and softened as he added, “Sono qui finito.”
The two of them swept out of the room and into Anton’s kitchen without so much as a glance back at him.
Jackson took three short steps backward and plopped into the nearest chair. After a moment, Gavin sat down on one side of him and Miguel on the other.
“What just happened here?” he asked them.
“Hah! Schah,” Gavin puffed out as he scratched his head.
“Not one clear clue,” Miguel added, and the three of them just stared ahead, toward the closed door to Anton Morelli’s kitchen.
The door on the other side of it popped open just then, and Luc Granville stepped out of Emma’s kitchen. He paused just long enough to straighten his tie and shoot Jackson a fleeting glance, then he sauntered through the lobby and out the front door of the hotel.
Important Translations for the Savvy Hotel Owner
English Italian French
Wedding cake
Bridal hotel
Gourmet meals
Happily ever after
Bumpy road ahead Torta nuziale
Hotel nuziale
Pasti di buongustaio
Felicemente mai dopo
Le strada ineguali avanti Gâteau de noce
Hôtel de mariée
Repas de gourmet
Heureusement jamais après
Les route irrégulières en avant
26
Are you going to say something eventually? Do you need some insulin?”
Emma blinked. She looked over at Fee, perched on the arm of the sofa. “Sorry. I was just processing.”
“Dude. I wanna process too.”
Emma chuckled. “Sorry.”
“So turn on the light. It’s dark in here,” Fee teased, tapping her temple with her index finger. “What did Granville say to you, and how is this going to play out?”
“Could you sit on a cushion?” Emma asked, cringing. “Maybe a chair?”
Fee slid down the arm of the couch with a plop. Seated at the opposite end of the sofa, she looked at Emma over the bridge of her square glasses. “Spill.”
“Okay!” Emma leaned forward and rubbed her hands together. “So it’s really all about Jackson.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Anton has been watching us, and I suspect that Pearl has filled him in as well.”
“Loose lips.”
“Mm,” Emma said with a nod. “Well, Luc Granville and Anton have apparently known each other since they were knee-high, and Anton called on his friend for help after he cooked up this whole thing in hopes that Jackson would come to his senses in the face of possibly losing me, face what he’s feeling about me, confess his undying love—”
“And you both live happily ever after,” Fee finished.
“I guess. Blah blah blah.”
“Kind of ironic, coming from someone who’s had a decade-long turtle race toward love himself.”
Emma giggled. “Very ironic.”
“So there’s not really an offer on the table from Granville.” Fee sighed.
“That’s the interesting part.”
Her eyes darted toward Emma, and she waited.
“Granville did some research, and now he really wants me to come to work for him.”
Fee pressed her lips together and her eyes widened.
“He’s offered to buy my three-year contract from Jackson, and double my salary, and pay my expenses to move to Paris for six months.”
Emma raised her palm in the air, expecting a high-five slap. When it didn’t come, she lowered her hand and shrugged.
“Well, what do you think of that?”
After a long moment’s thought, Fee cocked her head and sighed. “I think I’d like to know what you think first.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning … Are you going to abandon everything for a trunk full of francs and a view of the Eiffel Tower?”
“Fee—”
“Really!” Fee exclaimed, then popped up from the couch and stood there, at the other end of it. “Is this what you’re telling me, Emma?”
“Fiona.”
“And forget me for a minute. You would do that to Jackson? To his sisters? Just to … to tango with … with … a Frenchman?!”
“Settle down, will you? We’re just talking here.”
“Talking about what?” she asked her. “What exactly are we talking about here?”
“We’re talking about a successful French businessman looking at me and seeing someone worth a gazillion American dollars to him. That’s all. I am sharing that excitement with my best friend. This guy looked at me … at what we do, Fee, and he thought it was valuable enough to buy out a three-year contract and double my salary! Do you know what that means? Well, I’ll tell you. It means that two girls making pastries at The Backstreet Bakery one day are now on the map the next day!”
“So you’re not thinking about accepting his offer, then?”
Emma stretched out and propped her feet on the sofa and crossed them at the ankle, then folded her arms behind her head and grinned. “Of course not.”
Fee picked up Emma’s feet and nudged them back to the floor before occupying the space where they’d been on the other end of the couch.
Emma leaned over and took her friend’s hand and jiggled it. “Fee. We’re building something here. You and me, together. I’m not going anywhere that you aren’t going too.”
Fee smiled. “Well, you’ve just saved yourself from a hard sock in the gut.”
“Besides, not only wouldn’t I ever think of doing that to you, but I couldn’t do it to—”
When she paused, Fee laughed.
“Jackson?”
Emma tilted into half a shrug. “I love him, Fee.”
Fee straightened. “You love him? Like with sugar sprinkles and chocolate sauce, and the whole big shebang?”
She nodded. “Something awful. I think this is the first time I’ve said it out loud, but my heart’s been screaming from the top of its lungs for weeks now.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard it a few times,” Fee admitted. “I think it’s like when you shout down into the Grand Canyon. It echoes for all of the rest of the world to hear.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Emma groaned and tossed her head back against the arm of the sofa and flung her feet up into Fee’s lap. “What am I gonna do, Fee?”
Fee patted Emma’s ankles several times. “You know how those burros take you right down into the canyon?”
Emma grimaced. “Not really. I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon.”
“Well, they offer you all kinds of ways to get your canyon on. In your case, you don’t want to take a helicopter ride over Jackson, Em. You want to rent a donkey and go right down in there and get him.”
Emma’s eyes narrowed, and she gave her forehead a brisk rub. “English, Fiona.”
“You love him, right?”
“Right.”
“Does he love you back?”
“Some days, I think he might.”
“Well, I know he does.”
“Really?”
“And we’re just going to go digging into that big old cavern known as Jackson’s heart and excavate!”
“How?”
“Prayer.”
Emma dropped her hands from her face and stared at her friend. “Pardon?”
“What, you don’t think prayer works? How do you think you two have gotten this far? Jackson’s sisters, Miguel, me, Peter … We’ve all been praying you into this canyon, Em. Now you just grab Jackson, and we’ll pray you both right back out to solid ground.”
Each of them jumped at the knock on the door, and Fee grabbed Emma’s hand.
“Let’s start now.”
Dragging her hand from Fee’s grasp, Emma tripped toward the window and peered outside to see Jackson’s car parked at the curb behind Fee’s. She twirled around and pulled a face of panic.
“Is it him?” Fee asked, and she nodded.
Emma took in a deep breath before she tugged open the door. Fee slid into her jacket.
“Can I talk to you?” Jackson asked Emma, and she nodded. When he noticed Fee behind her, he hesitated. “I’m interrupting.”
“Nah,” Fee said, and she eased past him. “We were just talking about the Grand Canyon. Have you ever been, Jackson?”
“When I was a kid,” he remarked.
“Overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“I guess.”
“But worth the trip. Don’t you agree?”
“Oooo-kay!” Emma interjected, and she crossed back to Fee, tugged her by the arm, and nudged her to the door. “See you tomorrow, Fee.”
She chuckled as she pulled the door shut behind her. “Later, you two. Happy trails.”
Emma leaned against the closed door and looked up at Jackson. She heaved in a deep breath and then used it to puff air up under her bangs to lift them out of her eyes. Then she just waited.
And waited.
Finally, she padded across the living room and eased into the chair. She sat on the edge and crossed her legs, then folded her hands and rested them on her lap.
“You wanted to talk to me?”
Jackson just stood there, staring at her. He looked like he was about to say something, then he sighed and put his hands on his hips. When she was almost certain he’d turned to stone in that position, he dropped his hands and sighed again.
“It was a date,” he said, his voice tight against his throat.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The football game,” he said as he slowly approached her. Sitting down on the corner of the coffee table, he added, “It was a date.”
“Really.”
“Really. And if you’re actually going to still be around in the future, I’d like to ask you out on another one.”
“And it took you all week to sort that out, did it?”
“Well,” he began, and then swallowed hard before continuing. “It was really my talk with your father that—”
“My father!”
She stared him down until the heat of it melted him. “He told me about his first wife, and how she died unexpectedly.”
Emma’s heart beat double-time. “He told you that? Daddy never talks about her.”
“I think he thought it might help me. You know. After Desi.”
Emma nodded, wondering what her father had in mind with a conversation like that one.
“And did it?”
“What?”
“Help.”
“Oh. Yes, actually. It did.” Emma sighed. “I’m glad.”
“He doesn’t want me to make the same mistakes with you that he made with your mother.”
Emma thought that over. “There are too many to choose from. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“All that really matters, Emma, is that I have very deep feelings for you, and I haven’t been able to reconcile them to the residual ones still banging around in here.” He tapped his chest several times, and then arched his eyebrow at her. “You know what I mean?”
“I think so.”
The rhythm of her pulse started to pick up as Emma speculated about where the conversation might be headed.
“Are you going to leave, Emma? Do you want out of your contract with me?”
She smiled. “No, Jackson. I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, it was a great offer,” she told him, shaking her head. “It’s not easy to turn it down.”
“But you’re going to turn it down,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“I already have.”
“Can I ask why?” he said softly, and then he reached out and took her hand between both of his. “Why do you want to stay?”
“Why do you want me to stay?”
Jackson grinned. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
“Not at all.”
He broke eye contact for a moment, and she got the sense that he was trying to compose himself. She considered putting him out of his misery and just telling him how she felt. Maybe putting it right out there on the table would—
Always the Baker, Never the Bride Page 24
