Always the Baker, Never the Bride

by Sandra D. Bricker

  “Can I help you?” Emma offered.

  “Don’t bother telling me who you are,” the man demanded. “Just leave my kitchen at once!”

  The smile Edward Beemis had pasted on his face melted away the instant he swaggered out the front doors of the hotel. Jackson felt pretty certain Beemis thought he hadn’t spotted it, but he caught it all right. Insurance guys and realtors—they all had the same air about them as far as Jackson was concerned. Unfortunately, they both were quite necessary in his new world.

  Just as he turned back with the intent of heading toward the staircase and back up to his office on the fourth floor, an explosion of voices erupted and the kitchen doors flew open.

  “Come osarla!”

  “Chef Morelli, please come back!”

  Jackson looked on as Anton Morelli skidded to a stop a few yards ahead of him, followed by Emma and a strange-looking character out of a gothic nightmare he’d once had.

  “Sono uno dei massimi chef nel mondo!” Morelli shouted at them, waving his arms, his face turning a scarlet shade of frustrated.

  The Goth with the silver hoop through her nose whispered something to Emma, and then Emma responded, telling Anton, “I know! You are!”

  Her helpless, hopeful eyes landed on Jackson, and he asked, “What did he say?”

  “Oh,” said the Goth in monotone, “he’s appalled. And he’s the greatest chef in the universe.”

  “Oh,” he replied. “WHO are you?”

  “Fee Bianchi,” Emma said. “Meet Jackson Drake.”

  Fee nodded at him with limited interest.

  “Bianchi,” Morelli repeated. “Il suo nome è Bianchi?”

  “Yep,” Fee answered. “That’s my name.”

  “Italiano?”

  “Si.”

  “E lei parla la lingua?”

  “Yep. I’m fluent.”

  Morelli moved in on the woman as if she were his long-lost daughter, grabbing her with both hands and dragging her into an awkward embrace. The two of them began chattering unintelligibly while Jackson and Emma looked on.

  “Fee is my assistant,” Emma told him.

  He blinked hard and swallowed his initial impression. “She any good?” he asked in hope.

  “The best. I met her straight out of cooking school. She applied at the bakery, and I snapped her up. She’s been my right hand ever since.”

  Jackson lifted one shoulder into a shrug. “Good.”

  “I know!” Fee exclaimed. “But your kitchen is even better than ours. We’re just pastry chefs. You’re The Big Cheese. Il Formaggio Grande!”

  Morelli clanged like a fire engine, and then he tugged Fee toward him again and kissed her cheek. As an afterthought, he held her away from him and looked her over.

  “You look very interesting,” he told her in English, with only a slight Italian accent. “Do you do this on purpose, this look?”

  “Oh yeah,” Fee told him. “It’s my personal style.”

  Morelli considered it, shrugged and then laughed again. “Si. You do have the style. Now you show me my kitchen, Fee Bianchi.”

  Fee looked back at them over her shoulder. Softly, toward Emma, she asked, “His kitchen is better than ours, right?”

  Emma looked at Jackson, and he nodded.

  “Yes!” Emma reassured her, and Fee disappeared around the corner, swept along by Hurricane Anton Morelli.

  Jackson sighed. “Have you got this?”

  “Well,” she said, glancing down the hall toward the kitchen. “Fee seems to.”

  “Good.”

  He started to turn away when Emma reached out and touched his arm. “If you have a minute?”

  He didn’t, but he didn’t tell her that. “What’s up?”

  “I was thinking about the opening. Your sisters mentioned that you want to have some sort of party to introduce the new Tanglewood to Atlanta.”

  He sighed again. “It seems to be the consensus that this is a necessity.”

  “I have an idea about that.”

  “You do?”

  He looked at Emma, and collided with the excitement sparkling in her stormy green eyes.

  “I was thinking, since this is going to be a wedding destination hotel and everything, maybe we could have a sort of wedding reception. You know, following the marriage of the new Tanglewood with Atlanta. We could have a live band and dancing, and we could send out wedding-type invitations to everyone on the social register. It could be a sit-down dinner to show what Anton can do for a really elegant reception, and I can make an elaborate, one-of-a-kind wedding cake to—”

  “You know, that’s a pretty great idea,” Jackson admitted, a little surprised to feel his own enthusiasm kicking in. “Could you run that by my sisters?”

  “Sure,” she said, and a smile peeled across her face, from one apple cheek to another.

  Jackson started away from her, and then stopped in his tracks. Turning back, he said, “Thank you, Emma. And welcome to The Tanglewood.”

  The grin deepened across her fresh face. Something about it pinched him, and in that moment he was reminded of Desiree.

  “Thank you, Mr. Drake.”

  “Jackson.”

  “Thank you, Jackson.”

  He nodded before heading for the stairs. Emma Rae Travis was quite a surprise. She hadn’t turned out to be at all like his first hazelnut impression of her, and he was relieved about that. He could only hope her assistant turned out to be a surprise too. Black eyeliner, a nose ring, and fluent in Anton Morelli. The big picture didn’t compute, but it didn’t have to, as long as she lived up to Emma’s confidence in her.

  As he turned the corner, Norma met up with him and matched him stride for stride.

  “Emma had a pretty great idea about the opening night shindig,” he said.

  “Well, for starters, let’s not call it a shindig.”

  “Point taken,” he replied. “How about the very elaborate opening night hootenanny?”

  “Oh, Jackson,” his sister sighed.

  “I want you to talk to her more about it.”

  “Got it. And what about the restaurant? Have you made any decisions about opening it up to the public?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s schedule a meeting with Anton once he’s calmed down.”

  “Calmed down?” Norma glanced over at him as they walked along. “He’s not calm?”

  “Some mix-up about the kitchen.”

  “He’s here?”

  “He is.”

  “Two weeks early.”

  “Yes.”

  “We were also discussing the possibility of opening the courtyard a couple of afternoons during the week for high tea.”

  Jackson stopped, and then just stood there, kind of frozen. “High tea?”

  “Emma had some really good ideas about it, and I thought—”

  “She is just a font of inspiration, isn’t she?”

  “She’s fantastic, Jack.”

  “Have you met her assistant?” he asked her.

  “Fee?” Norma chuckled. “She’s unique.”

  “She is that.”

  They reached the elevator and Jackson pressed the call button. “Let’s schedule a meeting with Emma too. We’ll discuss what she has in mind.”

  “Great!”

  “But don’t get your heart set on high tea, Norm.”

  “As long as you don’t set your mind against it.”

  “I will listen with an open mind.”

  “Sure you will.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  Norma sniggered. “You don’t want me to answer that, right? It’s rhetorical?”

  “Right.”

  “Thought so.”

  Afternoon High Tea at The Tanglewood Inn

  An Assortment of Tea Sandwiches

  Asparagus & Prosciutto ~ Cucumber Mint ~ Chicken Almond Salad

  Scotch Eggs and Dijon Deviled Eggs Blueberry Scones with Devonshire Cream

  An Assortment of Delectables

 
Miniature Fruit Tarts ~ Petits Fours ~ Cashew Fudge Brownies Chocolate-drizzled Strawberries ~ English Shortbread Cookies

  5

  I was thinking something midweek, like Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons in the courtyard, weather permitting; in the restaurant, if not. Something very special, by reservation only. We could set the tables with fresh flowers in crystal bowls, and mismatched place settings of china with Battenberg lace table linens. The biggest expense is for a couple of misters.”

  “Misters?”

  Georgiann patted Jackson’s hand. “Outdoor fans with a faint mist to keep things cool, sugah.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “We could easily wait until the spring to get them, though,” Emma added, “before the weather gets too warm. I left those in the column on the right as a future expense.” She waited a moment for some reaction, but nothing came. Jackson Drake’s handsome face was a blank canvas. “So. What do you think?”

  “Oh, honey, Jackson didn’t understand a word you said other than afternoons and weather permitting,” Georgiann teased. “We’ll leave the style to the women in his life and just let him make the business decisions. What do you say, Jackson? Is there a little money in the budget to light a fire under this good idea?”

  “I think it would be a great sideline for bridal showers, or bridal party and mother-daughter events,” Emma added. “It could be a great resource to build clientele if we offered this as a little something extra.”

  Jackson leaned back in his chair and sighed. He propped his chin atop his clasped hands and looked at Emma until she felt a spark ignite from the heat of it.

  “And this will be separate from the restaurant,” he clarified. “Anton will not be involved at all.”

  “Right. I’ll hire just one server. Fee and I will do all of the prep work and the baking.”

  “Fee?” Georgiann asked, looking around at them. “Who’s Fee?”

  “My assistant.”

  “You met her,” Norma reminded her sister. “Yesterday in the kitchen.”

  Georgiann thought it over, and then the light appeared to dawn with the odd expression that rose over her. “Oh. Really? That’s your assistant, Emma Rae? She’s … she looks interesting.”

  “Fee is a dream,” Emma assured them. “She’s gifted, and she’s my right arm.”

  “Well, all right. I suppose if—”

  “And you think you can manage this, along with the wedding cakes and the daily desserts for Morelli’s restaurant.”

  “I do,” she replied. “It’s not really that much more work, just a couple of days a week.”

  “Exactly how much would you need to set this up?” Jackson asked Emma. “Table doo-dads and the like.”

  Emma pulled the budget sheet from the file folder in her lap and slid it across the desk toward him. “The setup is on the top, then a small amount for advertising and staples.”

  Jackson picked up the paper and turned it over. “This is it? This is all you’ll need?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He glanced at Georgiann, and his sister grinned at him. “It’s a dazzler of an idea, Jack.”

  “It’s got our vote too,” Madeline announced from the sidelines, where she and Susannah were quietly seated.

  Emma hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until Jackson smiled and the air sputtered out of her lungs.

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Oh, that’s great!” she exclaimed, hopping out of the chair to her feet, and Georgiann clapped her hands.

  “I’ll rely on you to set it up and keep to this budget,” he said, holding up the sheet of paper she’d handed over. “Not a nickel over these figures without coming back to me first.”

  Emma nodded. She could hardly wait to tell Fee. Their own kitchen, a line of specialty wedding cakes, and now their own tea room? It was almost more than she could contain, and she wanted to burst out of there and take the stairs in leaps, two at a time. Instead, she dropped back down into the chair and sighed happily.

  “That’s just great,” she told him. “Thank you.”

  “Now let’s move on,” Jackson said, all business once again. “Let’s review the plans for the opening. You’re up, Maddie.”

  Madeline dragged her chair over to the side of the desk and opened a thick file folder. “All righty,” she said as she began handing over paperwork. “Emma and I have been kicking around some really wonderful ideas to expand on her wedding theme idea. Norma has worked with Anton to develop the menu. And here is a sample of the invitation, based on a classic wedding announcement. And … oh, where is it? Here is the suggested guest list that Susannah has put together.”

  “We thought we’d go very exclusive,” Susannah chimed in. “A sit-down meal, dancing, champagne; an elegant reception with one of Emma’s crème brûlée wedding cakes as the grand finale.”

  “I thought I could design a cake version of The Tanglewood,” Emma added.

  “Can you do that?” he asked.

  She nodded, then plucked the sketch from her file and pushed it toward him.

  “You can make a cake that looks like this?” he exclaimed.

  “My assistant is an artist when it comes to sculpting three-dimensional cakes.”

  “Is this three-dimensional?”

  She nodded again and grinned.

  “That’s … amazing.”

  “That’s why we hired her, Jack,” Georgiann told him on a chuckle. “Emma Rae is amazing.”

  “Tell him your other idea, Emma,” Madeline said with a nod of encouragement.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, pulling another page from her file and holding it up toward him. “I was thinking something like this. It’s put together on an acrylic stand, and it holds up to two hundred individual wedding cakes. That way, we could do several different varieties so that people could really sample what we have to offer.”

  “How many different kinds of cakes are there?” he asked, and the women in the room chuckled in unison.

  “Jack, it’s limitless,” Madeline answered. “Cake flavors and fillings and icings.”

  “Let Emma tell him, sistah.”

  “I could work up maybe five or six of my specialties and—”

  Jackson leaned forward and groaned, causing Emma to stop, mid-word. The look on his face was ominous, and she found herself holding her breath again.

  “I think I owe you ladies an apology,” he said at last. “I jumped into this thing and … well … most of the burden has been resting on all of you, and I’m really sorry for that.”

  “Jack.”

  “No, George. Let me say this,” he insisted, running his fingertips through his hair with a worried frown. “You’ve rallied around me. My sisters, Susannah, and even you, Emma, a virtual stranger. All of you are the ones making Desi’s … well, making this happen. Not me.” Emma felt the weight of his emotion, and it closed in on her like the locked door of a very small room.

  “I just want to thank you. All of you.”

  “We’re happy to do it,” Madeline said as she rounded the desk and wrapped her arms around her brother’s neck.

  “We’ve got your back,” Susannah added.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, little bruthah,” said Georgiann.

  Emma felt a little pinch to her heart as she looked on, wondering for the countless time in her life whether this scene represented what real families were like. She’d really have no way of knowing, after all, being the only child of Gavin and Avery Travis.

  Living at opposite sides of the country and never having been in the same vicinity since the ink was dry on the divorce decree eight years back, their names still fit together like one word. GavinAndAveryTravis. Even as the thought comforted her in that odd and somewhat disturbing way, Emma was fully aware of how ridiculous the dynamic actually was.

  With a sigh, she attributed yet another awkward moment in her life to the dysfunction that was The Family Travis.

  It’s all a rich tapestry, she decided.

>   Trying to figure it out had led to far too many headaches over the years. She brushed thoughts of GavinAndAvery aside with a wisp of hair from her face, and she smiled.

  “I’ve got a meeting downstairs,” she announced as she rose from the chair.

  “The baseball wedding?” Madeline asked.

  “The very same.”

  “I can’t wait to see what you do for them.”

  “Fee and I have come up with several options for the cake,” Emma said as she headed for the door. “Now, if we can just convince Anton to get behind a menu of hot dogs, Cracker Jack, and beer—”

  They all hooted with laughter, and Emma shrugged.

  “Maybe we can leave him out of this one and just contract a street vendah,” Madeline teased.

  “It’s okay. I have a plan to let Pearl break the news.”

  “Pearl?” Jackson inquired.

  “That’s Anton’s sous chef,” Susannah told him.

  “She doesn’t wear a dog collar, does she?” Georgiann asked, wide-eyed, and everyone broke into laughter.

  “It’s not really a dog collar,” Emma said, leaning in toward Georgiann. “It’s just … well, Fee has a unique personal style.”

  “Oh. All right.”

  Emma gave Georgiann’s shoulder a pat as she grinned at Jackson. “Thank you so much.”

  “A baseball-themed weddin’,” Georgiann drawled as Emma headed down the hall toward the stairs. “Can you imagine?”

  As Emma hurried across the courtyard, Fee tossed her a fragmented smile.

  “This is Callie Beckinsale. Ms. Beckinsale, this is Emma Travis, our resident cake genius.”

  The perky blonde’s grin swallowed most of her face, and over-whitened teeth flashed at Emma unexpectedly, like a surprise out of a children’s pop-up book.

  “It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” she sang at a high pitch. “I was maid of honor in Susan Reese’s wedding last year, and you did the English garden cake? You were at The Backstreet then, of course. It was the one with the ivy around the bottom and the sugar flowers and the luscious fresh raspberries between the layers?”