“Emma Rae and her friends are as unforgettable as my childhood friends! Always the Baker, FINALLY the Bride, the final book in the Emma Rae series, provides immense satisfaction as a series-end. This is romantic comedy at its best! Novel Rocket and I give it our highest recommendation. It’s a must read!”
—Ane Mulligan, Novel Rocket
“Only a few times have I experienced reading a book, falling asleep, and having the book’s words follow me to dreamland. Sandra D. Bricker’s Always the Baker, FINALLY the Bride did just that. Bricker’s newest Emma Rae book reminds readers (those of us who have done all this) of all the joy and angst of wedding planning, and that life goes on in spite of our long list of ‘to-dos.’ But health and wealth aside, the big day comes, whisking us away to happily ever after. Filled with recipes, trivia, and wedding cake drawings. Put this book on your ‘to-do’ list!”
—Eva Marie Everson, author of The Cedar Key Series
“Sandra D. Bricker has delivered the goods once again! Always the Baker, FINALLY the Bride offers readers a delightful story, sweet characters, and enough romance to make the heart flutter. In between chapters, readers will find surprise ‘slices’ of yummy goodness—recipes, wedding tips, and much more. What an enjoyable and satisfying read!”
—Janice Thompson, author of the Weddings by Bella Series
“This is a story with heart and humor, love and romance, a cake dilemma and a pig on a leash. Plus enough roadblocks on the pathway to wedded bliss to bring a runaway train to a screeching halt. But Emma Rae and Jackson have friends and family, love, determination, and God to help them overcome any barrier that gets in their way.”
—Lorena McCourtney, author of The Ivy Malone Mysteries and The Cate Kinkaid Files
“I always know I can count on Sandra D. Bricker to make me smile as I join her characters on their journeys to find love, and she didn’t let me down in Always the Baker, FINALLY the Bride, the final book in the Emma Rae series. However, there is one problem: I’ll miss Emma, Jackson, and all the other delightful people who grabbed my heart and still haven’t let go.”
—Debby Mayne, author of the upcoming Class Reunion Series
“Sandra D. Bricker writes charming, engaging stories with witty elements, large doses of romance, and a refreshing thread of non-preachy inspiration. Always the Baker, FINALLY the Bride brought the Emma Rae series to a delightful and wonderfully satisfying conclusion. I highly recommend the entire series for your keeper shelf.”
—Sharlene MacLaren, author of The Little Hickman Creek and The Daughters of Jacob Kane Series
Other Abingdon Press Books by Sandra D. Bricker
Emma Rae Creations
Always the Baker, Never the Bride
Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride
Always the Designer, Never the Bride
The Big 5-OH!
Always
the Baker,
FINALLY
the Bride
Sandra D. Bricker
Always the Baker, FINALLY the Bride
Copyright © 2013 by Sandra D. Bricker
ISBN-13: 978-1-4267-3227-0
Published by Abingdon Press, P.O. Box 801, Nashville, TN 37202
www.abingdonpress.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form,
stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or
transmitted in any form or by any means—digital, electronic,
scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without
written permission from the publisher, except for brief
quotations in printed reviews and articles.
The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction
are the creations of the author, and any resemblance
to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Published in association with WordServe Literary Group, Ltd.,
10152 S. Knoll Circle, Highlands Ranch, CO 80130
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been
requested.
Scripture quotations on pages 258 and 300 are taken from the New
Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright 1989, Division of
Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ
in the United States of America. Used by permission.
All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations on pages 316-17 are taken from the New King
James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by ThomasNelson, Inc. Used by
permission. All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 / 18 17 16 15 14 13
Barbara Scott
You saw the beauty in Emma before anyone else did
—the beauty in me as well—
and I love you more than this writer has words.
Rachelle Gardner
As my agent, you make it all come together
with such grace and charm.
I’m proud and humbled to call you my friend
as well.
Marian Miller and Jemelle Tola
I just don’t think I could do it without you.
I love you so much.
And to D.
the voice in my head
(and the music in my ears since the iPod).
You’re a true believer in this dream of mine.
Every writer chick needs a soft landing place like
the one you’ve given me.
Acknowledgments
Gratitude and appreciation to
Hanna Sandvig,
the artiste who took the cakes in my head
and put them on Emma’s sketch pad.
See more of Hanna’s artwork at
www.hanna-sandvig.com
Deepest thanks to my most delicious reader and friend,
Kris Bakken Mooney,
without whom there would be no final recipe
for Emma Rae’s fabulous crème brûlée cake.
I forget how many stabs Kris took at this,
but she’s a cake GENIUS!
Kris, Emma Rae and I salute you!
Love and appreciation to all of my readers, book clubs,
blogs, and reviewers who have supported and encouraged
me through this series.
And thanks to those who entered the contest to choose
Emma’s final wedding cake, especially Bonnie Cordova,
the winner . . . and my new pal.
And finally to my Abingdon crew:
Ramona, Pamela, Julie, Teri (and Maegan).
Thank you so much for the ride of my life.
Bringing Emma and friends to the light of day
has been the best writing experience of my career.
Prologue
A champagne flute of vanilla bean gelato topped tableside with a shot of espresso.”
“Seriously?”
“Chocolate chip bread pudding drizzled with warm caramel.”
“Oh. My.”
“Tiramisu lady fingers in coffee liqueur and cocoa.”
Emma balled up the lapel of her jacket in her fist and whimpered. “Jackson. My heart.”
Jackson leaned toward the waiter and clicked his tongue. “I’m thinking we should just move on to the sugar-free menu. She’s diabetic.”
“Oh. All right.”
The gentleman pointed at the other side of the dessert cart as Jackson interrupted. “But I’ll have that bread pudding,” he whispered.
“Yes, sir. And for the lady, our sugar-free menu includes a warm berry tart with frozen vanilla yogurt.”
“Oooh!”
“A red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing sweetened with agave.”
“You can stop right there,” Jackson told him. “You had her at red velvet.”
“Not so fast,” she countered, and Jackson’s heart began to thump. “Go on. What else?”
“Pumpkin spice cake with creamy buttermilk icing.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely.”
Perspiration puddled over his top lip, and Jackson wiped it away with his napkin. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Red velvet is your favorite.”
“Yes, but I can make my own sugar-free red velvet. The pumpkin sounds—”
Jackson’s attention darted to the waiter, and they shared a lingering exchange before the waiter offered, “The red velvet is our specialty. It comes highly recommended.”
“Really?” she reconsidered. And by the time she nodded, Jackson’s heart had begun to pound at double-time. “Okay. I’ll try the cupcake.”
“Very good.”
“Coffee for me, and a pot of tea for my date, please,” Jackson said, leaning back against the leather booth with a sigh.
“Are you all right?”
“Hmm? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” Emma replied. “You seem a little tense tonight.”
“Oh. No. I don’t know. I guess—”
Fortunately, the waiter reappeared so that he didn’t have to concoct some lame excuse. He stopped breathing as the waiter set the beautiful red velvet cupcake down in front of Emma. A shiny pink cupcake tin held the confection, and a ring of intricate white chocolate made to look like a crocheted doily surrounded it. The carefully chosen diamond ring shimmered on top of it, catching the light from the chandelier overhead and reflecting the glint of recognition in Emma’s brown eyes.
She looked up at him, and the expression in those spectacular eyes of hers crested into turbulent waves of gold-flecked understanding. Her perfect lips parted, but not a single syllable passed over them. She blinked several times before glancing back at the cupcake, and Jackson knew this was his moment. He slipped from the booth and hit one knee beside her.
“What . . . What are you . . . Jackson?”
He took her hand and grinned at her.
“Are you serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life. You’ve changed me, Emma. You are the center of everything for me. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here, but I can’t even think of living without you. Will you marry me?”
With that, she turned her head away from him and began to sniffle.
“Are you crying?” he asked on a laugh. “Emma, this is not a night for tears.”
“I can’t help it,” she chuckled, and he watched her struggle to pull herself together. “You’ve really surprised me here.”
“In a good way, I hope,” he said, and he plucked the ring from the icing and gave it a quick lick.
“Frankly, I thought the best part of this night was going to be the cupcake.”
“Emma. Will you give me an answer, please?” he asked, wiping the ring clean with the corner of a napkin. “Before my legs go numb?”
“Oh. Sorry.”
He waited. “Is that a yes?”
A mischievous glint betrayed her amusement. “Can I let you know after I eat the cupcake?”
Jackson laughed. “I’d kind of like to hear it now, if you don’t mind.”
“If you insist,” she told him, and she tilted her head slightly and smiled. If he’d been standing, he thought his knees might have gone weak under the weight of that sweet little smile.
“You’re killing me here,” he said with raspy emotion. “But I adore you.”
“You do?”
“Oh, now you’re just messing with me.”
“You really do adore me?”
Jackson sighed, glancing at the floor.
Emma touched his jaw with one finger and nudged his face upward. “Yes, Jackson. I’ll marry you.”
1
Dude. When you said your family had a summer cottage near Savannah, I pictured something kind of different. More galley kitchen and bunk beds than Great Gatsby and mint juleps.”
Emma smiled and yanked the camouflage duffle out of the back of Sherilyn’s Explorer, heaving it into Fee’s arms.
“The Great Gatsby was New York, wasn’t it?” Sherilyn asked as she pulled her two floral overnight bags from the back. Leaning on the rear bumper, she wrapped both arms around her large pregnant belly and sighed as she gazed at the house. “It’s been such a long time, Em. Are you glad to be back?”
Emma hummed her reply, slinging a burgundy tote over one shoulder and a brown leather bag over the other. She made her way across the sandy driveway and up the white-railed steps to the wraparound porch and pressed her grandmother’s birthdate into the security pad. Once the beep of acceptance squawked its approval, Emma pushed open the massive double doors and turned around to grin at Sherilyn.
They sang it together: “Wipe yaw fee-eet.”
How many times had they heard those same three words over years of spring and summer holiday visits! They scampered into a quick, animated run-in-place atop the large straw welcome mat while Fee stood behind them, eyeing them curiously over the bridge of square black sunglasses.
Emma dropped her bags at the foot of the staircase and hurried toward the vistas calling to her from fifty yards beyond the wall of windows. She unlatched the French doors at the top, and again at the knobs, and shoved them fully open with dramatic flair, expectant and eager. The salty sea breeze caressed her face just as she’d imagined, and the distant purr of the rolling ocean waves brought the perfect music to accompany the lyric of chattering gulls.
Emma approached the porch railing and leaned against it, mesmerized by the foam-capped dance on the white sand shore. Aunt Sophie had always called it “Atlantic Therapy,” a term that had popped immediately to mind when Sherilyn had suggested they go away somewhere relaxing where Emma could pull her thoughts together and make some solid wedding plans after months of avoidance.
Well. Not avoidance, really. More like . . . inertia. A numb sort of wedding paralysis that seemed to set in whenever key decisions needed to be made. Like the cake.
She wiggled the fingers of her left hand, allowing sunbeams to bounce off her beautiful engagement ring. She wondered for the hundredth time how Jackson had known that she’d always wanted a princess-cut diamond. She would have been pleased with a little square solitaire, of course, but the frame of smaller round diamonds that surrounded the stone and worked their way down to the platinum band caused the ring to catch that much more light. It was an exquisite ring. Perfect in every way.
“Sher, I never asked you before,” she said as Sherilyn stepped up beside her. “Did you tell Jackson I wanted a princess diamond?”
“No, of course not. I was as surprised as you.”
“Mm.”
“Why?”
“No reason. I’ve just wondered, and I keep forgetting to ask him how he knew.”
“Hey,” she said after a moment’s thought. “What do you say we unpack? Then we can head into town and get some groceries.”
“No need,” Emma said, breaking her gaze from the ring and fixing it on the sweeping blue horizon. “I faxed a list to Elmer and Louise. They took care of everything.”
“Elmer and Louise!” Sherilyn exclaimed. “They still take care of this place? Are they still alive?”
“Twenty years connected to the Travis clan when they actually had a choice not to be,” Emma summarized. “Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?”
“Not really,” she replied. “I’ve stayed connected without being required by blood.” Emma glanced at Sherilyn, whose turquoise eyes were dancing with amusement as she mindlessly scratched her protruding stomach. “It’s not such a bad deal, really.”
“What’s with this new move of yours?” Emma asked her, nodding at Sherilyn’s belly.
“Oh, the scratching?”
&n
bsp; “Uh, yeah!”
“I can’t help it. My skin itches all the time now.”
“You’ve got, what, a few more weeks? If you’re not careful, you’ll wear down the skin and the baby can step right out on her own.”
“Stop,” Sherilyn groaned, smacking Emma’s arm playfully. “Wait! You said on HER own. Do you have a feeling? You think it’s a girl?”
“If you wanted to know the sex, you should have had them tell you at the doctor’s office, Sher.”
“We want to be surprised,” she sort of whined without conviction.
“You mean Andy wants to be surprised.”
Twisting her red hair around one finger, Sherilyn shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Well, I can tell you this with total conviction. I absolutely know it’s either a girl . . . Or a boy!”
Sherilyn swatted her arm again, and Emma rubbed her friend’s stomach lovingly.
“Em,” Fee called from inside. “Hey, Emma!”
Emma and Sherilyn went into the house, both of them looking around. When she spotted Fee standing at the top of the stairs leaning over the banister, Emma laughed.
“Can I have the blue room with the shells on the wall?”
She nodded, and Fee hopped away before she could utter the s in “Yes.”
“Cool. This place has a lot of happy-looking rooms. But I think I can live with this one.”
“What about you?” Emma asked Sherilyn. “Do you have any preferences?”
“Is the green room still green?”
“It is indeed.”
Sherilyn grabbed her bags and waddled up the stairs. “I get the green room across the hall,” she called out to Fee as she reached the landing, breathless.
Emma padded across the great room and through the open doors. Leaving her sandals behind on the porch, she rushed down the three wooden stairs and took off at a full run across the sand. She unzipped the heather-gray hoodie, discarded it at the halfway mark, and left her khaki shorts on the sand about three yards from the water’s edge. She stopped where the sand darkened from a recent overflow of surf and adjusted the bottom of her red bathing suit. Knee-deep in the icy ocean, she tugged at the suit top before diving in and swimming out against the brisk green-blue current.
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