Always the Baker, Never the Bride

by Sandra D. Bricker

  Emma’s laughter chimed like a church bell in the distance, and he watched as she casually chatted with Felicity. Standing there together, they looked like opposites in the same set of bookends; Felicity with her dark African-American skin and wild, natural curls, and Emma, her pale skin flushed, and her hair smooth and silky and twisted away from her face. Each of them was extraordinarily beautiful in her own way, but as different as two women could be.

  In fact, Emma stood out that way the entire day; completely different from the other women, but so much a part of their group after such a short amount of time. After they’d eaten and visited, Emma helped Felicity, Joe, and Connie clean up the table, and Deanna stopped at Jackson’s chair and rubbed his shoulder lightly before leaning down and softly telling him, “I like her, Jackson.”

  He didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he just smiled at her, and Deanna sauntered away with Roger to carry the trash to one of the nearby receptacles.

  It was more of the same as the eight of them made their way to the Dome and found their seats. The conversation was casual, and Emma was very much a part of it, never once giving off the air of being the new kid on their block.

  She watched the game with sharp, attentive focus, cheering in all the right places, groaning at every misstep. Emma was as much a Falcaholic as the rest of the thousands crowded into the Dome to watch their team wipe the floor with the Washington Redskins.

  Ryan had a short throw that turned into a forty-yard touchdown play, and a ten-yarder to Tony Gonzalez that gave the Falcons a 14-7 lead at halftime. Emma spontaneously exploded from her seat, joining Decker, Felicity, and Roger in one of their Falcon happy dances that looked like a hybrid version of that chicken dance people sometimes did at weddings.

  Desi couldn’t have cared less about football, or any other sport for that matter.

  The comparison jolted him, and Jackson leaned back in the uncomfortable seat with a sigh. Why was he always comparing Emma to Desiree? Would a time ever come when he was ready to start a relationship that didn’t hinge on memories of Desiree?

  The Falcons took the game, 28-14, and the jubilation of the crowd seemed to carry them along out of the stadium. Emma chattered with Felicity most of the way, and the two women embraced warmly when they said their good-byes in front of the Yukon.

  “I’ll call you next week,” he heard Felicity promise, and Emma was still waving at them halfway down the parking lot aisle.

  “That was so much fun!” Emma exclaimed when they were finally out of sight. “Thank you so much for inviting me, Jackson. I really liked your friends.”

  “I’d say they really liked you too.”

  “I’m going to have Felicity over to the tea room next week. She’s awesome.”

  Her enthusiasm was almost contagious, and Jackson wrapped an arm around Emma’s shoulder and pulled her close to him as they walked. After a moment, she slipped her arm around his waist and leaned into him slightly. Once again, it was a moment of familiarity, as if they’d walked a hundred streets, just like this.

  Emma was much taller than Desiree, and she fit into the fold of his embrace in a much different way. Still, there was something natural and relaxed about the easy manner they had when they were together.

  When they reached his car, Jackson pulled open the passenger door for Emma. Instead of passing, she moved directly in front of him and stopped. When he looked down at her, he felt the click of their gazes locking together, and Emma slipped her arms around his neck and tugged him toward her.

  “Thank you, Jackson,” she whispered, extending her neck until her lips reached his.

  The kiss was tender and provocative, lingering just long enough to show him she meant business, but not long enough to make promises she wasn’t going to keep.

  “I had such a great time,” she said, still close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath as it caressed his face.

  “I did, too, Emma. I hope we can do it again.”

  “I’d really like that.”

  She slipped into the passenger seat, and Jackson closed the door before jogging around the car. He hadn’t realized it had gotten so cold out, but his skin was now tingling from it. Once he started the car, he flipped on the heat.

  “It should warm up in a minute.”

  The drive back to Roswell was filled with conversation about the game and his friends, about the symphony group coming into the hotel the following month, and a murder mystery weekend being planned by the couples ministry of one of Atlanta’s biggest churches.

  “Maddie feels like we can make it a regular event for them every year,” he told her.

  “That might help bring in other church groups as well.”

  “Maybe. They’re incorporating a Sunday service into the plot, and they’re going to use Miguel.”

  “Is he okay with that?” she asked. “I mean, the whole murder thing.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll weave a spiritual message in there somewhere. It’s one of the things Miguel does best.”

  “Yes,” she commented with a knowing nod. “He certainly does.”

  They both fell silent, and Jackson couldn’t help replaying his conversation with Miguel the night of the dinner at Norma’s.

  There’s a saying in Latin, Miguel had said to him. It means, “Bidden or not bidden, God is present.”

  God had not been bidden by Jackson very much in recent memory. But according to Miguel, He was there anyway, watching over him, waiting to commune.

  Jackson glanced over at Emma, and she chose that exact moment to look up at him as well. There was a certain shimmer in her eyes that drew him in for an instant, and then she unleashed one of those immaculate smiles on him.

  I’m done for, he thought. I don’t stand a chance against that smile.

  Welcome to Morelli’s at The Tanglewood Inn

  Award-Winning Chef Anton Morelli

  Your Dessert Menu From the Award-Winning Kitchen of Emma Rae Travis

  Key Lime Pie The pink flamingo of Southern desserts

  Tangy lime filling topped with whipped cream in a sweet graham cracker crust

  Caramel Pecan Pie A new twist on a Georgian specialty

  Traditional pecan pie laced with sweet caramel and toasted coconut

  Champagne Pistachio Cake All your favorite flavors in one slice of heaven

  Orange-pistachio cake with a ribbon of champagne and chocolate, sprinkled with powdered sugar

  Praline Cheesecake Straight from the recipes of old Southern living

  Creamy cheesecake in a praline-and-graham cracker crust with a crunchy praline topping

  Chocolate Revelation For the discriminating chocolate lover … Brace yourself!

  Six layers of chocolate cake filled with chocolate custard mousse and frosted with chocolate fudge

  Apple Raspberry Cobbler Tart tradition … with a twist

  Granny Smith apple cobbler with whole raspberries, served warm with a scoop of vanilla ice cream

  23

  Engaged.”

  It was her third time repeating it.

  “Really,” Emma stated, and she leaned back in the chair behind her desk and sighed. “You’re sure?”

  “I know it’s been a short time,” Fee reasoned, “but we’re both as sure as we can be. Pete and I belong together.”

  “And he proposed.”

  “Dude. Take a breath. This is good news.”

  Emma looked up at Fee and realized in that one instant that she’d never seen her friend so happy. Beneath the layer of pale foundation and black-black eyeliner, to the side of the nose ring and the choker of barbed wire, how could she have missed the beaming smile that Peter Riggs had brought to Fee’s face?

  “You’re happy, Fiona?”

  “Well, don’t tell everyone,” Fee grimaced. “But yeah. I’m pretty close to ecstatic.”

  Emma sighed again, then she stood up and rounded her desk and grabbed her friend with such vehemence that Fee stumbled slightly.

 
; “Whoa,” she said on a chuckle as Emma engulfed her with both arms. “Dude.”

  “You’re very brave,” Emma told her.

  “Nah. Just captured.”

  Emma hugged her again, and then kissed her cheek several times.

  “Somebody win the lottery?” Pearl asked from the doorway.

  “I guess Fee did,” Emma replied. She kissed her friend one more time before letting go of her. “She’s getting married.”

  “Married! Peter?”

  “Yup.” Fee beamed.

  “Married, really? How many phases did it take him?”

  “Just two.”

  “Two!”

  Emma sat down again, and Pearl sank into the chair on the other side of the desk.

  “I’ve got cobblers in the oven,” Fee told them, pointing toward the kitchen. Then she leaned down to make awkward eye contact with Emma. “You all right?”

  “Fine,” she replied with a sigh. “Go.”

  “Congrats,” Pearl said, prompting Emma to straighten.

  “Right! Congratulations.”

  Once Fee went to work in the kitchen, Pearl and Emma made eye contact.

  “Huhh,” Pearl snorted with a raised brow.

  “You said it.”

  “Anything new with you and Jackson?”

  “We had a date,” Emma revealed.

  “Oh, how was it?”

  “Next to perfect.”

  “Oooh!”

  “That was Sunday. I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Eww,” Pearl soured. “Four days.”

  “Yeah. What about you and Anton?”

  “We’re coasting.”

  Emma shrugged one shoulder and nodded. “Better than After Care.”

  “I guess.”

  Once Pearl vacated her office, Emma closed the door and tried to focus on her sketch pad. She’d been working on the English rose wedding cake for Beverly Branson all morning. It should have been quick and simple, but she just couldn’t get the sketches right, and she’d promised to fax them over before the end of the day.

  Hoping for a little inspiration, she clicked on Beverly’s e-mail from the previous morning.

  “I’ve attached a photo of the beautiful vintage hair sticks I’ll be using in an up-do on my wedding day. I thought you could match the roses on the cake to these.”

  She opened the attachment and admired the exquisite detail. Just about the time that inspiration poked its head around the corner, Emma’s office door opened and another corner with another head weighed in.

  “Good morning, darling.”

  “Mother.”

  “You’re trapped,” Avery stated, closing the door behind her and taking the chair across from Emma. “You have to talk to me now.”

  Emma groaned softly and tossed her pencil down onto the half-finished sketch before her. “I’m really busy, Mother.”

  “And you’ll be very busy after I leave. But for this moment, right now, I need your attention.”

  Emma crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. “All right.”

  “We’ve never gone this long without speaking, Emma Rae.” Avery pressed the impeccable Chanel skirt with her hands, a sure sign that she was uneasy in this role of pursuer.

  “I know,” Emma told her. “And I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t really think it’s fair of you, either,” she continued. “I mean, you’re clearly still speaking to your father, and he was in that room too. It wasn’t just me all alone in there. Although I suppose if I had been all alone, this wouldn’t be an issue at all, would it?”

  Emma smiled. Avery Travis had probably been flustered three, maybe four, times in her entire life.

  With a sigh, she said, “I guess I expect more from you than I do from Dad.”

  Avery pressed her lips together and blinked—a longstanding expression meaning, “Go on.”

  “You’ve always been the more clear-headed, sensible one of the two of you, Mother. You know that you’re like gasoline and a match, and yet you let him break you down. And now to find out that, after all these years, my parents are actually still married—”

  “What!”

  “Yes, Mother. Dad told me your dirty little secret.”

  “I hardly think—”

  “How could you have kept that from me? As your only daughter, you didn’t think I had a right to know?”

  “Emma Rae, I never once told you that your father and I had divorced.”

  “But you never corrected me when I said it.”

  The flame in her eyes drifted to embers. “True.”

  “I just don’t understand why or how … I mean, what are you thinking?”

  “Emma Rae,” she said softly, “I love your father. I always have. As infuriating and maddening as he can be, and please do not mock me when I tell you this, for some reason I’ve always believed in our marriage.”

  Emma refrained from comment by biting the corner of her lip.

  “I know. I can only imagine what you’re thinking. But it’s true.”

  “It’s kind of hard to believe, the way you two go at it, Mother.”

  “Yes. I can see that.” Avery sighed and examined the backs of her hands as they sat primly in her lap. “Your father has a bit of trouble with trust, Emma Rae. He’s moody, and … and he can be very grumpy … and he expects the worst out of people … everyone except you. And for the rest of us, that can be a difficult obstacle to struggle against every day of your life.”

  “So, where do you stand?” Emma asked her. “I mean, are you together, are you apart, are you somewhere in between?”

  “We’re reassessing.”

  Emma sighed. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I still want to be married to your father, may the Lord help me. So we’ve entered into a form of … well, into …”

  “Mother, what?”

  “Counseling.”

  “Counseling,” she repeated. “Marriage counseling?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Sort of marriage counseling. What is that?”

  “Actually, we’re seeing Reverend Ramos.”

  “Miguel?”

  “Yes. He’s been quite helpful, Emma Rae.”

  “You and my father are seeing a reverend?”

  “We are.”

  “Does he pray with you?”

  “Sometimes. But mostly, he listens, and he asks questions that provoke discussion between us. And you know better than anyone that getting your father to talk about his feelings is nothing short of miraculous.”

  Emma realized that her jaw was hanging open, and she shook her head and leaned back against the chair and closed her eyes for a moment. She tried to imagine Gavin and Avery Travis joining hands with Miguel Ramos and letting him pray for their marriage.

  She could hardly even think it. In her head, they’d been long divorced. Now to find out that they had a marriage was—

  Well, she didn’t know what it was!

  “You’ve spent more of your marriage apart than together, Mother.”

  “We’ve been together more than you know.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Avery revealed a tentative smile. “I’m sorry, Emma Rae. We should have handled this differently, all the way around. But remember when your father came to Atlanta and moved back in with us?”

  “That was the happiest time of my life.”

  “Until your high school graduation, when he withdrew again and went back to Washington.”

  Emma noticed a glaze of tears in her mother’s dark eyes, and she reached across the desk toward her. It took a few seconds, but Avery surrendered her hands and clasped them with Emma’s.

  After Care, she realized in that instant. My father is in Phase, like, 236 of After Care.

  For the first time since she’d found them in that clutch in the consultation room, Emma remembered that her mother was probably the strongest woman she’d ever known.

  “How do you hang on to your hop
e?” she asked her.

  “Sometimes, by a thread,” Avery admitted. “But if I didn’t know that I know that I know that your father is the man God intended for me, I’d have snipped the thread and moved on a long time ago.”

  Now it was Emma’s turn to tear up.

  “Oh, Mother,” she sniffed, squeezing Avery’s hand. “God has a lousy sense of humor.”

  “Look who you’re telling.”

  Fee jacked herself up to the counter and sat there, kicking her feet.

  “Baseball cake presented,” she announced as Emma sprinkled powdered sugar over three champagne pistachio cakes.

  “So Danny and Callie are safely married?” Emma asked her.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Thank God. Jackson would have throttled me if I broke up the hotel’s first wedding couple.”

  Fee laughed as she hopped down to help Emma move the cakes from the center island.

  “Listen,” she said when they were through, “I was wondering about something. You know, speaking of weddings. Don’t let this blow your mind or anything, but I was kind of hoping you’d be my maid of honor.”

  Emma turned slowly toward Fee and smiled. “Really?”

  “I know, you probably didn’t expect me to go with tradition, but there are some things you just can’t sacrifice, you know? And having your best friend standing up there next to you when you make the biggest commitment of your life, well—”

  Emma sliced Fee’s words right in two with her embrace. “Of course I’ll be your maid of honor, Fiona. I’d love that.”

  “Oh, good,” she replied, and the words were muffled against Emma’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

  Thrusting Fee away from her, and clamping her by the shoulders, Emma exclaimed, “Have you started shopping for the dress?”

  Fee shook her head.

  “I want in on that, okay? The dress and the cake are the best part!”

  “Speaking of the cake, we kind of really want a crème brûlée.”

  “Really?” Emma grinned from one ear to the other. “I’d love that. When’s the date?”