Always the Baker, Never the Bride (2 page)

Emma shook her head. “No.”

“Oh, no, Gavin. She’s diabetic.”

“Calm down, Avery. Let’s hear the man out.”

“See, when you ate that cake and the candy bar, your blood sugar levels spiked very high, like they tend to do when we consume sugar. But after a spike, they tend to fall just as fast, and that’s what’s known as—”

Emma zoned out long enough to smile at Danny, and she didn’t really hear the longest and most important part of Dr. Benjamin’s explanation about the production of insulin within the body, the difference between
hypo
glycemia and
hyper
glycemia, or the body’s natural this and that. She tuned back in about the time Dr. Benjamin told her parents how important it would be for Emma to monitor her blood sugar and stick to a diet created just for diabetics. But despite all the words bouncing around, all she really heard—
heard and managed to process
—were the two horrifying ones that came near the end of the monologue—the ones that made her mother cry and her father look like he’d been shot in the chest.

Daily injections.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious, Emma Rae,” the doctor told her. “It’s good that we’ve caught this now because you need to get into a routine of nutrition and medication that will affect you for the rest of your life. Emma Rae, you have what is called Type 1
diabetes.
”

No, Jesus. No, Jesus. No, Jesus. Please, Lord Jesus, noooooo.

“Does that mean we’ll miss out on the prom?” Danny piped up from behind the others. “Because I’m already out for our share of the limo.”

Aunt Sophie’s Red Velvet Cupcakes

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
1½ cups granulated sugar
1 stick butter,
softened 2 eggs
2½ cups general purpose flour
2 tablespoons cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup buttermilk
1 bottle red food coloring
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon distilled white vinegar

Beat butter and sugar on medium speed until fluffy.
Slowly add eggs while continuing to beat mixture.
Sift together flour, cocoa, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.
In separate bowl, beat buttermilk, vinegar, vanilla, and food coloring.
Add 1/3 of the dry ingredients to the wet, and mix on medium speed.
Continue adding dry ingredients in portions, mixing thoroughly.
Spoon into cupcake papers, just over half full.

Bake for 15 minutes and then rotate pan on oven rack.
Bake approximately 5 more minutes.
Allow cupcakes to cool in the pan for 10 minutes and then move to wire rack.
Do not frost until thoroughly cooled.

1

E
mma cradled a single cupcake in her hands and lifted it within inches of her face to examine it with care. How she’d love to take a massive bite out of it and feel that moist, crumbly red velvet cake against the roof of her mouth, a flavorful burst of sweetness, and then the kiss of cocoa.

“You’re not thinking of eating that, are you?”

Emma didn’t even blink. Her focus remained fixed on the red velvet cupcake.

“Emma Rae? Have you had some protein? Because if you haven’t, I’ll tackle you right now and take that cupcake away from you.”

The corners of her mouth quivered into a half smile before she set the confection on the wire rack beside the others.

“Calm down, Fiona. I’m not going to eat it. But you could let me dream about it for thirty seconds, couldn’t you?”

Fee peered over square black glasses, a short fringe of matching ebony bangs dangling inches above them. She stared Emma down, one colorful tattooed arm bent at the elbow, as her fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on her hip. Then she wobbled her head in that familiar way, the one that warned:
Next stop, a shaking finger, right in your face.

“How about I go get you a protein shake,” her friend suggested. “They have a new sugar-free flavor. Mango.”

“Mmmm.” Emma forced a sliver of a smile and shrugged.

“Dude, you’ll love it. I’ll be back in ten.”

Emma glanced with longing at the wire rack before she returned to the sink to rinse the cupcake pans.

Diabetes.
What a funny and cruel joke for God to play on a baker with a penchant for confections. For her recipes, the sweeter, the better. But Emma didn’t partake. She’d won the Passionate Palette Award just last month for her crème brûlée wedding cake—a six-tiered, twenty-four-layer masterpiece filled with sweet custard that inspired one of the judges to remark, “This rocks my world.” And yet Emma had never tasted more than a single, ecstasy-inducing bite.

She dreamed of sitting at one of the bistro tables beyond the swinging doors of her kitchen, a cup of coffee before her, a china plate adorned with an oversized hunk of cake, where the sweetness of each bite enveloped her and every forkful inspired a new creation.

The jingle of the front door beckoned, and Emma dried her hands before she abandoned her sugar-glazed dream and pushed through the kitchen door.

“Welcome to the Backstreet Bakery,” she greeted the GQ cover model in the $600 suit. “How can I help you?”

“Coffee. Black. And one of those chocolate brownies.”

He flicked the shoulders of his jacket with swift brushes that produced sprinkles of moisture. Emma darted a glance out the window; the sky had turned dark and rain drenched the streets.

“I didn’t even know it was raining,” she commented as she placed a paper doily beneath a large fudge brownie on a Staffordshire-inspired blue-and-white dessert plate.

“Came out of nowhere.” He stood before the bakery case and peered at the confections on the other side of the glass.

“You know, these brownies are awesome with hazelnut coffee. Can I interest you in—”

“No, thanks,” he said, cutting her off. “Just black.”

Emma tried to resist the urge to tempt him further, and she was successful for about twenty seconds. Then, with a charming smile, she extended a glass coffeepot toward him.

“Dark roast. Extra bold. Hazelnut’s perfect with chocolate.”

He lifted his eyes and glared at her across the bakery case. “Just black. Thank you.”

Emma shook her head and slipped the pot back into its place before grabbing the Colombian from one of the adjacent burners.

“Black it is.”

He raked his dark hair with both hands, and his milk-chocolate brown eyes met hers without warning. A world of conversation passed between them in one frozen moment. She peeled her gaze away and tried not to stare at the slightly off-center cleft in his square chin.

“That’ll be four dollars and eighteen cents.”

He slipped a five toward her and muttered, “Keep the change.”

She hesitated, wondering if she should bother to point out that she was the baker and not a waitress. And then she realized the tip was only about eighty cents.

Stand-up guy.

While GQ took his cup and plate and settled at a table near the window, Emma wiped down the counter and started a new pot of decaf.

A happy grunt called her attention back to her customer, and she tripped over the crooked grin he aimed in her direction.

“What’s in this?” he asked, wiping a smear of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. “It’s fantastic.”

“Just your average fudge brownie,” she replied, unsuccessful in completely masking her pride. “Well, actually, I use cashews instead of walnuts, and the frosting is a mixture of cocoa and—”

“I’d like half a dozen of them.”

“Oh.”

“Can you pack them up for me?”

“Sure. But wouldn’t you like to try a variety? We also have a really nice blonde brownie with hazelnut cream—”

“What is it with you and hazelnut?” he interrupted. “Are you invested in plantations? I like the fudge brownie. I’d like to purchase six of them. Can you do that for me?”

Emma swallowed the answer that pressed against her lips and instead replied, “Yes, sir. I can do that.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Fee erupted through the door at just that moment, drenched from the downpour on the other side, oblivious to the obnoxious customer in their midst.

“I didn’t get mango,” she announced, rounding the bakery case and shaking her wet head until it splashed Emma. “They had the berry one that you like so much, so I got that one. Is that okay?”

“Yep,” she replied, accepting the protein shake. “Thanks, Fee. Our customer would like six fudge brownies. Would you package them and collect his payment?”

Before Fee could reply, Emma turned her back and headed for the kitchen to enjoy her shake.

“You know,” she heard Fee suggest just as the doors clanked shut behind her, “we have a really nice blonde brownie if you’d like to try a variety.”

The snicker that popped out of her was certainly not ladylike.

Jackson climbed out from behind the wheel of his Altima and tucked the white bakery box of brownies beneath the shelter of his overcoat to protect it from the rain.

The moment he crossed the threshold of The Tanglewood Inn, the familiar cackling of hens greeted him.

“Jackson, you’re
dray-enched
,” Georgiann declared in her thick Southern drawl.

“It’s rainin’ cats and puppies out
they-ah
,” Madeline added.

Norma Jean tossed him a thick, white towel that smelled like flowers. “Dry yourself off, baby
bruthah
.”

All my sisters in one place, at one time. No good can come of this.

“What are you all doing here?” he asked them and then rubbed his rain-soaked face with the towel. “Did I forget something?”

“Norma Jean called us just this morning,” Madeline explained. “I can’t for the life of me figure out why you didn’t rally the troops, Jackson. You know we offered to help you interview for staff.”

“I appreciate that, I really do—”

“All evidence to the contrary,” she crooned. “Norma said you have hotel staff interviews all day today.”

“Yes, but—”

“But, nothing, do you hear me? We’ll set up shop in three corners of the restaurant, and we’ll just plow through those interviews until we find you just the right people.”