Cakes & Cupcakes
Pies & Desserts
Tearoom Fare
The laminated cards inside the boxes—many of them written in the shaky hand of her aunt Sophie or the round penmanship of her grandmother or scribbled by Emma and revised during trial-by-fire tests—were keepsakes that meant as much to Emma as that ring on her finger or her dad’s favorite leather chair; in some ways, they meant even more.
Sherilyn had insisted that they be transferred to a computer disk in case of a disaster like theft or fire, but Emma still lovingly pulled out one of the acrylic display stands and attached a recipe card to it whenever she baked, even though most of them she knew by heart without even looking.
This new recipe, however, she had never used before. Aunt Sophie’s Savannah Tea Cakes—cookies, in reality—had been staples of Emma’s southern childhood. For some reason, they’d danced across her mind that morning when she caught a whiff of Norma’s old-fashioned cinnamon rolls, and she arrived at the hotel intent on pulling the recipe card and putting together a test batch.
The tearoom had been scheduled for a party of twenty-six the following afternoon to celebrate the ninetieth birthday of Ellen Caldwell. The traceable Caldwell lineage reached back to the Civil War, and the family boasted Atlanta residence from then until now. In light of the fact that the tearoom had been chosen for the celebration, Emma thought the birthday girl would surely appreciate traditional southern fare such as Aunt Sophie’s tea cakes. If they turned out well, she might pack up a few and take them with her to Sophie’s when she went over later that day.
The original version of Nat King Cole’s song, “Unforgettable,” played on the small, bright-red radio on the recipe shelf, and Emma hummed along above the whir of her favorite commercial stand mixer.
Relaxation took many different forms for different people—for instance, her mother liked to paint; Aunt Sophie crocheted; Sherilyn munched on chocolate—but as for Emma . . . she spelled relaxation with a simple four-letter word.
B.A.K.E.
The textures, sounds, and fragrances of a baker’s kitchen came together to form the ideal playground. Emma couldn’t comprehend the thinking of anyone who didn’t appreciate the seductive and attractive language of baking.
She dumped the soft, wet dough from the mixing bowl on the floured worktable and formed it into a large disk with her hands before transferring it to a sheet of plastic wrap. As she lovingly tucked away the edges, the kitchen door flapped open and Fee breezed in.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, shedding her jacket and purse and tossing them onto the chair inside the door of Emma’s office.
“You’re not late. I’m early. How was Hildie’s soccer match?”
“Oh, I didn’t go. I just had to drop her off so she had time to get ready for it.”
Emma nodded, completing the secure wrapping of the dough as she walked it to the refrigerator.
“What are you making?”
“Savannah tea cakes,” she replied, and she carefully placed the dough on the top shelf. “It chills for an hour or two before I can do anything with it. I remembered the recipe this morning and thought it might be right for Ellen Caldwell’s birthday tea.”
“Yeah, okay. Sounds good.” Fee shrugged into an apron and fastened the ties. “I covered the red velvet in fondant yesterday. It should be ready for decoration. Want me to start there?”
“Sure.”
Emma approached the cake fridge alongside Fee, and they pulled open both doors. The gorgeous ivory cake appeared flawless, a perfect canvas for the delicate red scrolls that would soon cover every inch of it before the red chocolate roses, gracefully formed by the interns, surrounded the base of each of the three layers. It took both of them to lift the board and carry the cake to the stainless steel table.
“Listen,” Fee said as she massaged the pastry bag of red icing, “I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while.”
“If you say you’re quitting, I’ll come across this table and strangle you.”
Fee chuckled. “Nah. Where would I go?”
“Wherever you went, I’d hunt you down and bring you back.”
“Sean and I will be moving into the new house soon, and we . . . uh . . . Well, don’t laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“We’ve been talking about . . . kids.”
Emma sat down on the closest stool. “Fiona. Are you . . . pregnant?”
“No!” she exclaimed, and she aimed the pastry bag at Emma for a few seconds. “No, we’re in the process of . . . well . . .”
“Fee, just spit it out, will you? You’re freaking me out here.”
“We’re gonna adopt Hildie.”
Emma sat there for a moment. Despite the fact that Fee behaved as if this news would somehow come across as shocking, it didn’t seem to Emma in the least bit surprising.
“I think that’s great.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do,” she said, grinning. “The three of you are a perfect fit, Fiona. I’m so happy for you, and for Hildie.”
“I know she’s rough in places,” Fee said, “but at the heart of her, there’s a really great kid.”
“Just like you,” Emma said, and the validation brightened Fee’s whole demeanor. “And you are going to be the best mom ever.”
“Dude. You mean that?”
“Yes!”
“Good. Then . . .” Fee set down the pastry bag and glared at it. “Do you think you and Jackson could write us letters of reference?”
Emma laughed. “Of course! Just tell me what you need and when.”
“Just, you know, saying we’re like these stellar people with impeccable integrity, and how we’ll make the best parents since June and Ward Cleaver. That kind of thing.”
“Then . . . lie.”
“Right.”
“Sure. We can do that.”
Aunt Sophie’s Savannah Tea Cakes
4 cups all-purpose flour
(plus another ½ cup for rolling)
2 cups granulated sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 eggs
½ cup buttermilk
2 sticks butter, softened
1 teaspoon vanilla
Sift flour into a large bowl, and mix in the dry ingredients.
Add the remaining ingredients and mix well.
Transfer the mixture to a floured board and
shape into a thick disk.
Cover the dough with plastic wrap and
refrigerate for 1-2 hours.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Roll out the dough on a floured surface.
The dough should be about ¼ inch thick.
Cut the dough into desired shapes.
[Note: A round-rimmed glass works well;
also, thick cookie cutters or rippled biscuit cutters
create nice shapes.]
Bake on a lightly greased cookie sheet for 10 minutes.
21
Just calm down, Emmy. Deep breaths.”
Emma’s father stroked her arm, and she marveled at the way the sound of his voice transported her back to childhood in only an instant.
“Just tell us what happened.”
Her silent mother sat erect in the chair across from her, rubbing her hands as she waited, and Gavin remained perched on the edge of the plastic chair beside her.
“I stopped by like I always do,” Emma told them, and a nurse behind the desk interrupted her to call out the name of Samuel Something, who hurried across the waiting room lobby toward her. “She didn’t answer when I knocked, so I went inside. When she wasn’t sitting in her chair, I called out to her, and she still didn’t answer. So I went into the bedroom, and there she was, lying on the floor.”
Emma’s hands shook, and she pressed them against her trousers in the hope of making the trembling stop. “I tried to bring her around
, and she stirred a little, but then she moaned and I was afraid she might have broken something. That’s when I called 911.”
The emergency room doors suddenly slid open, and Jackson rushed through them and headed straight for Emma. She jumped to her feet and hurried into his arms.
“Is Sophie all right?” he asked as he held her. “Is the doctor with her?”
“They herded us out of the examination room,” she told him, her arms tight around his midsection. “They’re doing some tests, and she should be back down in a few minutes.”
The moment she released him, Jackson headed for Avery and sat down next to her. He took her hand and rubbed it affectionately. “Do you need anything?” he asked her.
“No, no, thank you, Jackson. I’m just eager to hear what the doctor has to say.”
Jackson looked up and nodded at Gavin.
“Thanks for coming, my boy.”
Emma heard Jackson’s reply before he’d even spoken it. “Of course. Where else would I be?”
They settled into the hard waiting room chairs—except for Gavin, who paced in front of the glass window—and Jackson loosely held Emma’s hand. The activity around them hummed, but the quietude of no answers about Aunt Sophie was mostly all that Emma could hear. When the nurse finally called out to them, she sensed a break in the silence that shattered like glass.
“Miss Sophie is in the third exam room to the right. Just one person can go on back and sit with her until the doctor comes in a few minutes.”
Emma’s mother didn’t hesitate; she simply headed toward the door. “Third on the right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Emma and Jackson returned to their chairs, and this time Gavin followed suit, occupying the chair his wife had vacated.
Emma realized that the distant thumping she heard was her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, and she inhaled sharply and closed her eyes. She couldn’t shake the memory of Sophie’s very pale face as she lay there on the floor, her eyes closed and her clothes uncharacteristically disheveled.
Nearly an hour ticked by before Avery reappeared, her porcelain face drained of color, nearly as pale as Sophie’s had been when Emma found her. All three of them snapped to attention like family soldiers, waiting for the “At ease” command from Emma’s mother.
“She has a mild concussion,” she told them, and Emma gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “She’s going to be all right, and she’s awake and talking. I had a little difficulty following her, but it seems she may have been trying to heat up some soup for dinner and got confused.” Avery paused, sniffing back her emotions. When her husband placed an arm around her shoulder, Emma’s mother broke down. “Gavin, she said she couldn’t remember where she was. She didn’t recognize her own apartment.”
Emma’s heart broke, both for her mother and for her aunt. How horrible to experience that kind of confusion, to become disoriented in what should have been the most familiar place.
“He says the Alzheimer’s has obviously advanced to the place where very soon she won’t be able to live on her own anymore, not even with assisted living. She’s going to have to have care twenty-four hours a day.”
“We’ll figure it out, then,” Gavin reassured her. “I promise, Countess. We’ll figure it out.”
Emma hadn’t heard her father refer to her mother as “Countess” since her teen years. She’d forgotten all about the loving nickname he’d given Avery while their romance was still young, and it warmed her heart to witness their loving exchange now.
“They want to keep her overnight,” Avery told them. she sniffed again and recovered her familiar stoic expression. “But you never know if it will extend to a couple of days or more. I’m going to stay with her until she’s settled. Emma Rae, will you go to your aunt’s apartment and pack her a bag, please?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jackson told her.
“She’s going to need her bathrobe, and those embroidered slippers that she likes.”
“Mother. I’ll bring everything she needs.”
Emma kissed Avery’s cheek as she hugged her, and Gavin embraced her before she and Jackson headed out the door.
“Let’s take my car,” Jackson said, leading her by the hand. “You don’t need to drive right now.”
She slipped into the passenger seat and fastened her seatbelt. After a moment, she glanced over to find Jackson watching her.
“What?” she asked him.
Just one twitch, a minute little shift in his facial expression, and Emma caved into him, crying.
“I know you love her,” he soothed. “We all love her.”
“I don’t even know if there’s anything you can do. But I just have to do something to get more storage space in here.”
J.R. tapped on the wall of Emma’s office and listened to it like a doctor with a stethoscope.
“This wall is hollow. What’s on the other side?” he asked her.
“I have no idea. Maybe Anton’s back office?” She tried to visualize the layout on the other side of the wall. “Or it could be his pantry.”
“All right, I’m going over to have a look. I’ll be right back.”
He ran a hand through his mane of shaggy hair and headed out of her office, leaving his leather jacket behind, draped over the corner of her desk. Half an hour later, he returned, grinning at her, his blue eyes sparkling.
“You are a very lucky baker,” he told her. “There’s a storage closet on this side,” and he tapped on the far wall. “And over here is the storage shed on the back end of the courtyard. If we knock out the wall behind you and build into the storage shed, we can extend your office that way so that you’ll have more space. Then we can push into the short wall and build some storage shelves and cabinets, whatever you need.”
“Really?” She tried to imagine it, but felt turned around.
“All you really heard,” he teased, “was ‘blah-blah-blah storage shelves,’ right?”
She chuckled. “Yeah, kinda. Maybe you’d better work something up and show it to Jackson?”
“Glad to.”
“Will you be able to do the work?” she asked.
“Maybe. If we time it right. I’ve got a couple of obligations this month that I have to take care of out of town. I’ll run upstairs and see if I can talk to Jackson now, and we’ll go from there. Sound good?”
“Very. Thank you, J.R.”
“Any time,” he said, and his cell phone jingled an interruption. “Sorry. Just one sec.” He checked the screen of his phone and raised his eyes to look at her. “Audrey wants you to call her.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you later.”
Once J.R. had gone, Emma called his wife.
“I can’t find your cell number, Emma,” Audrey said as she picked up the call. “Can you text me so I have it in my phone?”
“Sure. J.R. said you need to talk to me. What’s up?”
“Don’t panic, okay?”
Emma’s stomach did a little somersault. “Oh, no. Something happened to my dress?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “No, not at all. The alterations are done, it’s pressed and beautiful. Just tell me whether to deliver it to your place or to the hotel.”
“The hotel, if you don’t mind. I’ll be getting ready here.”
“You got it. I’ll make sure it arrives the day before the wedding.”
“Great, Audrey, thank you.”
“Well, don’t thank me just yet.”
Emma swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Why not?”
“I have to fly to Chicago tomorrow, Emma. There’s some sort of problem with the show we’re preparing for, and Riley needs me back there.”
“For how long?”
“Well, that’s the thing. It could be a day or two, or it could be longer. I just won’t know until I get there.”
“You’ll miss the wedding?”
“I don’t know,” she hedged. “But maybe.”
>
Disappointment pressed down on Emma’s ribs. “Oh, I hope not, Audrey.”
“I know. I’ll do everything I can to be there, but I just wanted to tell you up front . . . I just don’t know.”
“It’s okay. I understand. We’ll hope for the best.”
Kat had dropped by just that morning to confirm the menu for the reception: a perfect duplicate of the one served at the gala hotel opening. She and Jackson had only just begun falling in love back then, and the exquisite menu seemed like a good representation—and reminder—of their romance. Emma still kept one of the menus tucked in her desk drawer as a memento, and she’d produced an engraved table card from that night’s event that included the mouth-watering menu and showed it to Kat. She ran a finger over it before placing it back into the drawer.
Kat had also delivered a polite, watered-down reminder from a frantic Sherilyn about the design for the cake, and then they’d reviewed the guest list. It seemed a lot of their friends had sent sincere regrets; and now with her aunt in questionable health, Russell caught up in Brazil, and Audrey heading out of town . . .
After she texted her phone number to Audrey, Emma composed a second text for Jackson.
You don’t have the measles, do you?
A few moments later: Why? Do I look spotty?
No, but they’re dropping like flies as the wedding approaches. I just want to make sure you’ll be there.
Who dropped today?
Audrey. Going to Chicago, doesn’t know how long.
More cake for me.
Emma giggled. And me.
As long as u marry me, I’m good with no one showing. And after a few seconds he added, Just u, me, a big cake and 2 forks.
U assume I’ll have a cake. Need to design it first.
Love u. How about dinner?
U can’t, she typed, chuckling. U have a meeting in a few.
I do?
J.R. on his way up. Wants to knock out a wall or 2.
After a long pause, the reply arrived. Here now. I’ll get my hard hat and gear.
Jackson followed J.R. out of his office and said good-bye to him in front of Susannah’s desk.
“You know,” Jackson said to Susannah after J.R. had gone, “I don’t think we’ve exchanged ten words since you got back.”
Always the Baker, Finally the Bride Page 22