Always the Baker, Never the Bride (31 page)

It hadn’t happened to him so quickly in a very long time, but in those couple of minutes Jackson found himself drowning in thoughts and memories of Desiree. He fought back the pinch of emotion that tweaked his throat and sighed. Surrendering to it, he tossed down the footrest, got up, and stalked across the hardwood floor toward the master bedroom.

There it was, tucked into the back corner of the walk-in closet. The large box with the flaps sealed down, the one that contained the photos and journals and greeting cards; the box that neatly concealed all that Desiree had left behind.

Jackson peeled back the tape and opened the box. There on the top was their wedding photo. They’d bought that pewter filigree frame on their honeymoon in Maui. He lifted it out of the box with care, holding it with both hands and looking into the crystal blue eyes of his smiling blonde bride.

She was such a beauty; so fragile and thoughtful and funny.

Not funny like Emma. Now that girl is hysterical. Very different from Desi, and yet—

He almost heard the needle scratch across the record of his thoughts. There he was again, comparing Emma Travis to his sweet Desiree.

What is the matter with me?

It wasn’t just Desiree that made his thoughts leap over to Emma. In fact, there didn’t seem to be a thing on earth that didn’t remind him of something about her. He saw a random red Mini Cooper on the road last week, and another car driving about 30 miles per hour under the speed limit, and then there was that arbitrary bakery truck on the interstate. They’d all pelted him into ridiculous reflections about Emma Rae Travis!

But Desiree? Wasn’t his life with her sacred? What kind of man let thoughts of his dead wife inspire meditation on another (live) woman? There was something rather demented about it, and Jackson was having none of it.

He poked the framed photograph back into the box and dragged the thing back to its spot in the closet beneath his suits and next to his gym shoes. Then he plunked down on the edge of the bed and tried to excavate the picture of his dance with Emma from the front of his mind.

She’d fit so perfectly into his arms, as if she’d been custom-fitted to take her place there. Her head rested lightly against his chest, and he could almost smell her hair again now. Sweet vanilla and berries.

In his mind’s eye, he shoved her away from him and vowed once again to stop thinking of her in terms like those. He wished he hadn’t kissed her. He wished he hadn’t taken her into his arms for that dance. He wished—

So many things.

He couldn’t help but wonder what Emma thought was going to happen now. He’d allowed her to draw expectations, to imagine he was ready to open his life to someone at this point.

The next thing I know, my award-winning baker is going to start thinking like a woman and want me to step up onto the top of one of those wedding cakes of hers. I’ve got to put a stop to this here and now before there’s collateral damage.

Now he had his head together. Now he was thinking like a reasonably intelligent man. What had he been thinking? Kissing Emma Travis? Romancing her?

It may have taken him two days, but Jackson now felt like he was back in the game. Falling backward onto the bed, he laughed out loud and then groaned.

A minute later, he leapt to his feet and grabbed his favorite pair of Nikes. A couple of hours at the gym, and he’d be as good as new.

Traditional White Layer Cake

Sift or mix the flour and salt together.

In separate bowl, blend butter and sugar. Then add eggs and mix well.

Dissolve baking soda in buttermilk.

To the butter, sugar, and eggs, add a portion of the flour mixture, then the buttermilk mixture, then the rest of the flour mixture. Mix well in between.

Pour into greased and floured pan(s).

Bake at 325 degrees for approximately 30 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out of the cake clean.

Always cool completely before frosting.

20

A
current of electricity buzzed through Emma’s arm as she twisted the knob and stepped into the consultation room. She wondered where Jackson was hiding these days, now that the room had a steady flow of traffic.

“Oh, good.” Madeline grinned as Emma entered. “Your timing just couldn’t be
bettah
. Emma Rae Travis, meet Beverly Branson, The Tanglewood’s first
summah
bride.”

“It’s a pleasure.”

“Emma will work with you to design the perfect wedding cake, Miss Branson. I’ll be in touch to confirm the details we’ve worked out today.” Madeline smoothed the front of her robin’s egg blue dress, looking every part the mature Southern hostess as she rose from her chair and shook Beverly’s hand. “Here’s my business card. If you have any questions at all, please feel free to call upon me at any time.”

“Thank you so much.”

Emma took Madeline’s place at the table and smiled at Beverly. “Madeline told me you were planning an intimate wedding, with an English garden theme.”

“Yes. My grandparents are both from England.” Beverly’s bright red hair formed a halo of curls around her round face, and her hazel eyes danced as she spoke of her family. “My gram is a very proper lady from Sussex, and she loved to tell me stories about tea parties in beautiful English rose gardens. I’d love to recreate that for my wedding.”

“It sounds lovely.”

“We thought we’d have the ceremony in the courtyard, around one in the afternoon. And then we could have a traditional English high tea for the guests at the reception: finger sandwiches and scones with Devonshire cream. Madeline said you’d work out a menu with me.”

“That’s my department,” Emma said with a grin. “Do you know what you have in mind for the cake?”

“Something elegant,” she replied thoughtfully. “Rather traditional. Lots of roses.”

“And your colors?”

Emma’s meeting ran long and, by the time she said goodbye to Beverly Branson in the lobby, she had to scurry into the courtyard where Madeline’s run-through with Callie Beckinsale was almost certainly winding down.

She pushed through the glass doors and hurried toward them.

“I’m so sorry. That last consultation was more involved than I’d expected.”

“Emma Rae Travis.”

It had been twenty years since Emma had heard her name come from those lips, with just that precise Southern inflection.

“Danny!” she exclaimed, and then stopped in her tracks, hand to thumping heart.

His crystal blue eyes still shimmered, and his square jaw still set slightly off center when he smiled. He ran a suntanned hand through his wavy blonde hair, and the sixteen-year-old heart still beating within Emma started to pound.

“You haven’t changed,” he seemed to sing. “Not one bit.”

He moved toward her without warning and swept her into his arms for a colossal embrace, rocking her from side to side with the rhythm of her name.

“Emma—Rae—Travis.”

“Hi, Danny,” she said when he let her go.

“I couldn’t believe it when Callie told me who was bakin’ the cake for our weddin’.” Danny shook his head at her and clicked his tongue. “Emma Rae Travis. You’ve hardly changed one iota since high school.”

“You either.”

“It’s just the most amazing coincidence,” Callie said as she got up from the table and joined them. “I mean, really! What are the odds?”

Her wide, starch-white smile and Southern charm didn’t deflect the trace of disappointment in Callie’s voice, and Emma didn’t blame her a bit. How many brides want their fiancé’s first love to be involved in their wedding plans?

“Emma Rae Travis.”

Okay. You can stop saying my name now.

“I just can’t get over it.”

Why don’t you try?

“So,” Emma said, locking arms with Callie and leading her back toward the table. “Not long now, huh? You two will be married before you know it.”

Callie beamed. “I know. I can hardly believe it.”

“I’m going to leave you in Emma Rae’s capable hands,” Madeline said as she excused herself. “I think everything is in order, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Callie replied, bobbing her head and pumping Madeline’s hand with enthusiasm. “Thank you so much for everything.”

“I’ll see you on the big day,” Madeline told her. “You call me any time if you have any questions or concerns, you hear me?”

“Yes. Thank you again.”

Emma and Callie sat down at the bistro table, but Danny just stood there over them, his hands on his denim-clad hips, shaking his head.

Please don’t say my na—

“Emma Rae Travis.”

She gave an inward groan and then disguised it with a wide smile. “Would you like to see the final sketch of the wedding cake Callie’s chosen?”

Danny sat down at last, and Emma pushed the pad toward him. He picked it up and stared at the drawing. “You can do this with a cake?”

“Sure can.”

“How? I don’t understand. I mean, what’s the process?”

“Dan, what’s it matter how it’s done?” Callie asked him. “That’s what Emma does.”

“Yeah, I know, but … Have you done
this particular cake
before?”

“This is a one-of-a-kind cake, Danny. It’s going to be created just for you and Callie.”

“But how?”

Emma’s foot started tapping just an instant before Callie drummed her fingers on the tabletop.

“Dan.”

“Funny, you baking cakes and all,” he pointed out. “Bein’ a diabetic.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “That is funny.”

“But you can do this,” he clarified, holding up the sketch pad, “with a cake?”

“Yes. I can. It’s baked and filled, and then sculpted.”

“Honey,” Callie chimed. “Emma has won awards for her cakes.”

Danny scratched his head. “Really. Awards?”

Emma nodded, lifting one shoulder into a shrug.

“But not with this
particular
cake, right?”

The sixteen-year-old inside Emma got up and walked out of the building just then. Never to be seen or heard from again.

“Ooo-kay,” she said with a sigh. “So this is your cake. It will be ready for your reception. And I think that’s about it. Callie, do you have any more questions for me?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Good to see you again, Danny.” When he headed toward her with plans for a hug in his eyes, Emma grabbed his hand and shook it. “I wish you and Callie all the very best in your life together.”

Now, don’t let the door hit you in the—

“Great Scott. Am I having a senior moment?”

Emma noticed her father standing at the entrance of the courtyard, his arms folded across his chest as he stared Danny down.