Always the Baker, Never the Bride (4 page)

“Yes,” Emma replied, folding the paper and tucking it into the drawer beneath the counter.

“Then you know that the bakery was barely given a mention.”

“Yes, Harry, and I’m really sorry about that. I talked to the reporter and—”

“The Backstreet Bakery is practically a landmark in Atlanta!” he exclaimed, and then he rubbed his sandpaper face with both hands. “You’d be
nothing
without this place. You wouldn’t even
have
that ridiculous award if not for the Backstreet.”

Nothing!

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly—”

“You think about that the next time you go looking for a little notoriety on your own, Emma Rae.”

Emma heard the bakery phone ring, and she wished it had been her cell phone.

My kingdom for an interruption!

“This place gave you your start. I took you in—”

—when you were a nobody right out of cooking school.
Emma could say it with him, word for irritating word. She’d certainly heard it enough times to commit the diatribe to memory.

I took you in and gave you a kitchen to bake in, and this—

“…is the thanks I get?”

Fee didn’t set foot into the kitchen. She just called to her through a slight crack in the door. “Em? The phone’s for you.”

THAT’s what I’m talkin’ about! An interruption!

Harry was still grumbling as she moved past him and picked up the phone.

“Emma Travis.”

“Ms. Travis, my name is Susannah Littlefield. I’m the administrator over at The Tanglewood Inn.”

“How can I help you, Miss Littlefield?”

“Susannah, please.”

“Susannah.”

“I don’t know whether you’ve heard about the redesign at The Tanglewood?”

“I think I read something,” Emma said, trying to recall the article. “Some business tycoon bought it to turn it into an exclusive wedding destination hotel or something like that.”

“Yes. My employer, Jackson Drake, has been completely refurbishing The Tanglewood, designing a five-star, one-stop shop for weddings and elegant affairs.”

Emma’s heart began to race, and she glanced at Harry as he leaned over the stainless-steel sink, scrubbing maniacally to eradicate some nonexistent blemish.

“I saw the article about your award,” the woman continued. “Congratulations! It’s quite impressive.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Emma replied. “So what can I do for you, Susannah? Were you looking for a wedding cake?”

“At least one,” Susannah said on a chuckle. “Mr. Drake is interviewing for the catering staff tomorrow afternoon and I saw the article. I was hoping you might come in and meet with him.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and grimaced. As Harry met her glance, he puffed his cheeks and shrugged. “What!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand.”

“I’m offering you the opportunity to run your own kitchen at The Tanglewood, Ms. Travis. Select your own staff, and work with Anton Morelli, one of Atlanta’s finest chefs.”

“I’m aware of his reputation. He’s … gifted.”

“I’d like you to consider coming to The Tanglewood to create wedding cakes and pastries for us on a full-time basis.”

Emma’s eyes met Harry’s again, and he glared at her. “Tick tock, Emma Rae. Is that a personal call?”

“Would you like to come and meet with Mr. Drake?”

“I’d love to, Susannah. What time tomorrow?”

Emma stood before the glass case, tap-tap-tapping her fingers on the top of it as she considered the array of baked goods before her.

“Let’s do a selection of petit fours,” she said. “Both kinds of brownies. A couple of the red velvet cupcakes.”

Fee obediently removed each selection as Emma pointed it out, arranging the pastries atop a lace doily on a large aluminum tray.

“I’m going to take two of the mini wedding cakes out of the fridge. The crème brûlée, of course.”

“Of course!”

“And the praline espresso.”

“I thought you made that for the Reynolds tasting.” “I did, but that’s not until Thursday. I can make another before then.”

“Oh, Em,” Fee said on an excited sigh. “This could be huge for you.”

“For
us
,” Emma replied. “If I go, you go. They said I could hire my own staff, and you can start out as a pastry apprentice.”

Fee crumpled as she tried to stifle her enthusiasm, and then she popped up into a bouncing ball of excitement.

“Buh-bye, Harry,” she sang. “Buh-
byeeeeeee
.”

“All right now. I don’t have the job yet.”

“But you will,” she vowed. “Once the dude gets a load of what you can do, that job is yours, Em.”

“From your lips to—” She couldn’t even finish it. “Well, you know.”

God hadn’t been paying much attention to Emma for a while. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, she had no reason to believe He’d be interested in starting again now.

“Will you help me load my car?”

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

It was a simple question, but fully loaded.

“Yes. Why? Is it all wrong?”

“It’s not wrong. It just needs …
something.
It doesn’t scream,
Emma Rae, Cool Baker Dudette
.”

Fee’s silent scrutiny caused Emma to look down at her clothes. Navy blue linen trousers and a pale pink silk blouse.

“I know it’s a little more dressy than normal,” she explained, fidgeting with the lone wrinkle she spotted on the sleeve of her blouse. “But this is an important job, in an elegant hotel, and—”

“No, no,” Fee interrupted. “I mean, it’s too much
color
.”

“Pink and navy blue is too much color?” Emma asked on a chuckle. “This, from the girl wearing so much black that she disappears if the lights go dim?”

“Hey. It’s a look.”

“Yes, it is. But it’s not
my
look, Fee.”

“Do you want to borrow my choker? Just to jazz it up a little?”

Emma stared for a moment at the jagged silver rendition of thorny barbed wire circling Fee’s throat, and then she shook her head. “Thanks anyway. I’m thinking I’ll go simple. Help me load the car?”

“Sure.”

They carefully transferred the sample tray to the passenger seat, and Emma double-checked the plastic-domed lid to make sure it was secure before setting the lipped platter bearing two miniature wedding cakes on top of it.

“Too bad we can’t belt them in,” Fee observed. “Do you want me to ride over with you and sit in the backseat to anchor them?”

Emma looked at her Mini Cooper, then at Fee, and back again. “Where will you sit?”

“Good point.”

“Besides, you have to mind the store,” Emma reminded her. “I’ll just drive very slowly.”

“Slower than your usual? You should have left yesterday then if you wanted to make your appointment.”

“Hey. I’m careful.”

“You’re in slow-mo, Em.”

“I am a cautious driver.”

“Yes, you are. Cautious and
s-l-oooooow
.”

Emma chuckled and then closed the bright red door with care. She stood before Fee for a silent moment, trying not to look as nervous as she felt, and then she realized that she was biting her lip.

“You’ll do great,” Fee promised. “Just remember: you’re a confectionary
genius!
”

“Yes, I am.”

“Knock ’em dead.”

“I will,” Emma stated with gusto. “I’ll knock ’em—” and she jabbed the air with her fist for emphasis “—dead!”

Fee raised two fists before her, and nodded her encouragement. Emma grinned as she tapped them with her own. It was a ritual for them, a secret handshake of sorts that they’d been sharing since very soon after they’d first met.
Tap-tap.
Then both palms upright, two slaps, two more slaps returned, a couple of quick hip bumps, and “Hoo-yeah!” in unison.

“Go get us that job!”

When she wasn’t shifting gears, Emma kept her hands at ten and two o’clock all the way over to The Tanglewood. It was a short drive, but it seemed like a long winter’s trek with the volatile cargo on the seat behind her. And it didn’t help that the young guy in the SUV on her bumper kept honking his horn. What did he want? She was going the speed limit. Almost.

She’d only just pulled into the circular drive in front of the hotel when a smiling woman stepped up to her car and tapped on the window. Emma rolled it down tentatively.

“Yes?”

“What a cute little car,” the woman said in a deep Southern drawl. “You can park it right
heah, sugah.
The hotel isn’t open yet, so we don’t have to worry about parking. Just pull it up in line after the others.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”

Emma did as she was told and then slipped out of the car.

“I’m Madeline Winston. My little
bruthah
owns The Tanglewood.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Emma Rae Travis. I’m here to interview for the pastry chef position. Susannah Littlefield called me?”

“Good gracious, yes,” Madeline cooed. “You’re the young lady who won the award for the best baker! Susannah was so excited that you agreed to come and speak with us, Miss Travis.”

“Emma.”

“And I’m Madeline.”

Emma tugged open the back door, then slid the trays toward her.

“What have you got there, Emma?”

“Oh, I brought samples.”

“
Sam-ples!
How lovely! Can I help you carry them?”

“I think I’ve got it. Just point me in the right direction. That would be a great help.”

Madeline took her assignment very seriously, gently touching Emma’s arm and guiding her every step.

“Right
ovah hee-ah.
A tiny step up. That’s right. Now just let me get in front of you and I’ll open up that side
do-ah
.”

Over the top of the tray and right between the two small cakes, Emma spotted an arched entry to what appeared to be the restaurant.

“Shall I set up in the dining room?” she asked.

“Please,” Madeline replied. “It’s off to the left. Just be careful as you go through, because there are—”

A sudden crunch against both of her knees sent Emma teetering off balance. As she struggled to keep the trays from toppling, her upper body continued forward while her foot suddenly wedged itself beneath an enormous soft mound.

“Whooooooooaa!”

“Oh, no!” Madeline cried from behind her, but it was too late to stop the crash.

First, the cakes hit the carpeted floor, and then Emma’s body as she demolished one of the cakes with her elbow and landed face-first in the other.

Madeline shrieked, and after several moments, Emma realized the woman was using her own sweater to swipe the streaks of fondant from Emma’s cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” she told her as she wiped off her face. “I’m so very, very sorry. I was just about to tell you the linen company had left a bundle of table linens right in the middle of the lobby.”

Emma glanced back at the toppled mound of tablecloths and embroidered napkins and then clamped her eyes shut so tightly that they ached.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Travis. Are you all right?”

“What on earth is going on out here?”

Emma looked up to find a man standing over her, arms folded and glaring down at her like the giant looking at Jack from the top of the beanstalk.

Except Jack’s giant probably didn’t look like this! This giant bore a striking resemblance to …
last month’s cover of GQ!

“This is Emma Rae Travis,” Madeline told him, still wiping Emma’s face with the sleeve of her sweater. “She’s the baker Susannah told you about this mornin’. She was kind enough to bring us some samples of her work, Jackson. But the linens were delivered and left right here in the middle of the lobby. And I think you can guess what happened next.”