Always the Baker, Never the Bride (12 page)

“I’m sorry,” Susannah interrupted. “You did what?”

“This girl managed to get Jackson Drake out on a Sunday afternoon, shopping for these very platters and linens that you see here.”

“No, you didn’t,” Madeline exclaimed.

“I saw it with my own eyes, Sissy.”

“Is this true?” Susannah asked, leaning over toward Emma. “How on earth did you do it?”

My reward for saving his rear end.

“It was two hours out of his life. No big deal,” she said instead.

The three women chuckled as if Emma had delivered a savvy one-liner. She turned and looked at Fee, who gave her a shrug.

“Put together a little of everything on a tray?” she asked.

“Sure.” Fee took off immediately for the kitchen.

“Oh! Fee?” Fee came to a full stop and looked back at her. “He doesn’t like tea. So can you put on some coffee?”

“You got it.”

When she turned her attention back to the table, all three of the women were staring in disbelief.

“What?”

“He doesn’t like tea?” Georgiann repeated.

“We talked about it when we were shopping. He’s not a tea drinker. Just coffee, strong and black.”

“She’s right.” Susannah glanced at Georgiann.

“Indeed.” Georgiann turned to Madeline.

“Mm-hm,” Madeline said with a nod.

It was no wonder that Jackson tended to hide from the women in his life every now and again, Emma thought. If there was a closet or a back room close enough, she might consider ducking into it now herself.

“You know,” Georgiann said, tapping her index finger against her chin, and Emma held her breath for whatever might come next. “I think you’re right about that Fee. I like her.”

“I love Fee!” Norma chimed in.

“She’s not nearly as frightening as she looks.”

Emma grinned, deciding not to tell her that it depended on the day whether Fee was frightening or not.

By the time Emma reached the kitchen, Blythe had prepared a beautiful presentation with one of the tiered trays Emma had purchased at the thrift store. The top layer offered chocolate-drizzled strawberries, the second was covered with finger sandwiches, while the bottom tier displayed an array of desserts set in tiny scalloped papers. Fee put the final touches on a small platter bearing a steaming cup of coffee, utensils, and a creased linen napkin.

“Shall I deliver this?” Blythe asked her.

“No, I can do it.” Emma said.

Fee helped her balance the coffee tray atop her palm, and then she picked up the food service by the sterling triangle at the top. “Back in a minute.”

The elevator, glass on one side, looked out over the courtyard, and Emma watched the threesome of women with their heads together right where she left them as the car glided up to the fourth floor. She wondered about their conversation as Georgiann chattered fifty miles per hour, and then the three of them tossed their heads back and laughed.

“Knock, knock,” she sang softly from the doorway of Jackson’s office.

He looked up from the stacks of paperwork in front of him, narrowed his eyes, and then waved her inside.

“Mohammed can’t come to the tea room, so the tea room will just come to Mohammed,” she quipped. “I thought you might be hungry.”

He leaned back in his chair and let the shadow of a smile cross his face.

“The menu was a big success,” she told him as she laid it out in front of him. “I’m sure you’ll hear all about it soon enough.”

“No doubt,” he replied. “Is that coffee?”

“Yes. No special flavor, no added anything, just strong, black and Colombian.”

He sighed, then grabbed the cup and waved it beneath his nose. Closing his eyes, he took a strong whiff and sighed again.

“Enjoy,” she whispered as she backed out of the office.

“Wait. You don’t have to go right away. Have a seat.”

“Susannah said you were buried. I don’t want to sidetrack you.”

“I can use a little sidetracking right now, Emma. I’ve reviewed and signed so much paperwork today that my eyes are a blur and my hand is cramped.”

“Poor little hotel owner,” she teased.

He shook his head and pasted a mock-serious grimace on his handsome face. “And here I thought I might get a little sympathy.”

“What made you think that? Silly man,” she returned, and he shot her a good-natured grin.

“So did my sister hit you up about your mother?”

Emma’s eyes darted from the desktop to Jackson’s face. “Pardon me?”

“I guess not. George has this crazy idea that having your mother come to the opening night gala might help put us on the map, socially speaking.”

“Oh.” Her thoughts were suddenly like a crazy, offbeat railroad hub where trains just barreled in, smacking into one another on every side. “I really don’t think … I mean … How does Georgiann know who my mother is?”

“I guess I told her,” he admitted. With his face tilted downward, Jackson lifted his eyes and squinted slightly as he gazed at her. “Sorry.”

“How did you know?”

“The day you came in to interview. You mentioned it.”

“I did?” She strained to remember what would cause her to do such a thing. She normally liked to keep her family tree planted behind a brick wall and an imposing fence.

“There’s no obligation,” he assured her. “I mean about inviting your parents.”

“My parents?” she exclaimed, and she reached out and held the edge of the desk with both hands. “Both of them? Well, that could just never … it couldn’t … they wouldn’t.”

Jackson’s laughter was lyrical, yet really irritating at the same time. What on earth could he find to laugh at? What could be funny about the horrifying picture he’d painted on her black-black mind’s eye! Gavin and Avery Travis in the same place,
the same room
, at the same time?

“Don’t panic, Emma. Calm down. No family reunions, I get it.”

“It’s just that … you don’t understand how … how …”

“Relax,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s okay, I do understand. Family, over there.” And he waved his arm at the doorway and down the hall. Then he mimed a circle in front of him and added, “Work life, here. Worlds colliding, bad.”

“Yes,” she nodded emphatically, and then transitioned to shaking her head. “Very, very bad.”

“You’re singing to the choir, my friend. Singing to the choir.”

The familiar jingle from the bell on the front door of The Backstreet Bakery brought a sort of hollow nausea to the pit of Emma’s stomach. She thought she would never cross this particular threshold again but, as her Aunt Sophie used to say: “
Never” can be a very short surprise.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

It had only been a couple of weeks, but Harry looked different to her. His comb-over was particularly sparse, and the sour expression on his scrunched-up face appeared just a little more tart.

“Hi, Harry. How are you?”

“How am I?” he exclaimed. “You take off and leave me in the lurch like that, and now you darken my door to ask me how I am?”

“I referred three wonderful bakers to you, Harry. It’s not my fault that you ran every one of them out of the place with your sparkling personality.”

“Incompetents! All of them.”

Emma found herself wondering, just for a moment, whether Harry and Anton Morelli were related.

“Harry, what’s this nonsense about suing Jackson Drake?” she asked, stepping toward him, just the display case standing between them. “Please don’t do that.”

“He stole my whole staff right out of my kitchen.”

“He didn’t. He made me an offer, and I took it. I stole Fee, Harry.”

“So you admit it. I’ll just name you in the suit then.”

Emma sighed. “I don’t know why I thought coming here to talk to you would help the situation. I guess I just hoped you’d surprise me and sprout a conscience.”

“I made you, Emma Rae. You’d be nothing without The Backstreet.”

She swallowed hard. “You’re probably right. Maybe that’s why I’m here.”

Harry glanced down at the floor.

“Please tell me what I can do to make this right, Harry. The Tanglewood is such a great opportunity for me. And I’m sorry for the effect it’s had on you, but I had to take the chance and move on. You can understand that, can’t you?”

No reply.

“I went to culinary school with a girl named Delilah,” she said, rooting around in her bag until she found the slip of paper with her friend’s name and phone number scribbled on it. “She is a wonderful baker, Harry; probably better than me. I’ve told her all about you, and she’s waiting for your call.”

Harry glared at her, but he took the paper from her hand.

“Don’t mess this up,” she warned him gently. “She’ll keep this place on the map.”

Harry sniffed and gave her half a nod. “I’ll think about it.”

“Hire her, Harry. And then call off your attack dog and leave Jackson Drake alone to get his hotel up and running.” They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, and then Emma smiled. “Please do this for me?”

He nodded, and made a sort of a grunt that Emma decided to take as a verbal agreement.

“Thank you.”

Emma headed for the door, and just as the bell jingled overhead, Harry called out to her. “Emma Rae?”

She turned back toward him and waited.

“You’re, uh,” he muttered. “You’re the best there is.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

On the drive back over to The Tanglewood, while stopped at a light on Holcomb Bridge Road, Emma did something she hadn’t done in a very long while. She closed her eyes and asked God for His help in placating Harry and convincing him to drop the ridiculous lawsuit against Jackson.

“Jackson has his hands full right now,” she reminded Him. “I can’t stand being the root of one more crisis for him.”

A honk from the car behind her jerked her eyes open, and she pressed the gas and eased back on the clutch. “All right already. I’m going.”

Fee had several tables dressed and ready to go for the photo shoot by the time Emma returned to the hotel and made her way into the restaurant. She’d called on her old high school friend, Peter Riggs, for photographic help, and he was now placing lights on tall stands around the crème brûlée wedding cake she’d finished just that morning. Fee had placed it on a high table draped in a yard of scarlet velvet cloth that perfectly matched the color of the sugar roses climbing the tiers of the cake.

“Hi, Petey. Thank you so much for coming.”

“Glad to do it, Emma Rae. How are you?” Peter pulled her into an embrace, and one of the two cameras hanging around his neck dug into her arm. “Congratulations on your new job, by the way.”

“Thanks. Listen, I’ve got a meeting upstairs that starts in about three minutes. Fee will get you anything you need, and I’ll try and get back down here before you finish up.”

“No problem. Do what you need to do.”

“Fee, be sure and get the cakes out of the lights and back into the fridge as soon as Peter shoots them?”

“Chu got it, boss lady.”

“Thanks, both of you,” she called to them as she jogged out of the restaurant and across the length of the lobby.

She caught her breath on the elevator ride to the fourth floor, and then took several deep breaths and released them slowly before turning the corner into Susannah’s doorway.

“They’re waiting for you.”

Emma nodded, then walked into Jackson’s office with a smile. Norma and Anton Morelli flanked Jackson’s desk, and he nodded Emma toward the empty chair to one side.

“I’m sorry if I’m late.”

“Where is the other one?” Anton demanded. “Fiona Bianchi.”

“Oh, she’s downstairs overseeing a photo shoot for me,” Emma replied, and then she turned toward Jackson. “For the framed photographs in the consultation room.”

“Good. Glad you’re on that.”

“We were just going over Mr. Morelli’s exquisite wedding menus,” Norma said, and she handed a stack of them to Emma. “Have a look.”