Always the Baker, Finally the Bride Read online

  Just before surfacing again, she thought she heard her aunt Sophie’s melodic laughter.

  “Atlantic Therapy, Emma Rae. And the colder the better when you’re looking for answers. They’re all right out there in the Atlantic Ocean. God’s hidden them there for us to find when we really, really need them.”

  The elevator door creaked as it shut, and the car groaned slightly before setting out on its shaky ascent to his fourth-floor office. Something about the klunk! before the door opened again waxed familiar. Jackson had heard that noise before.

  Emma’s sweet face fluttered across his mind. And that pink sweater of his sister’s that she’d changed into for their job interview after wiping out in the lobby and smearing fondant all over herself. She’d struck him as cute that day, with a speck of carrot cake still in her hair as they sat down to discuss the impending opening of The Tanglewood; even more so, a bit of a know-it-all when she stood there beside him as trapped passengers called out from the elevator car below a short while afterward.

  “I’m assuming this is a hydraulic system, right? . . . Well, it probably is. Anyway, I’m thinking it’s likely that the rails are just dry. A little oil can take care of that for you. But the door jamming like this is probably your drive belt. The service guy will take care of that when he gets the passengers out.”

  When the serviceman had confirmed her findings, Jackson recalled thinking that he’d better hire her, just so he could be around on the off chance that she might ever be proven wrong about anything. At the moment, as he pried the reluctant elevator door open, he felt pretty certain she hadn’t been wrong about much of anything since.

  “Call downstairs and tell them to place Out of Order signs on the west elevator on each floor, and call the repair service, will you, Susannah?” he asked his assistant as he passed her desk. “The doors are sticking. I think it could be the drive belt again.”

  “Will do,” she returned as he entered his office and dropped into the chair. “Andy Drummond phoned. Says your cell goes straight to voice mail.”

  Jackson had turned it off after it rang about thirty times during his meeting with the front desk manager, and he’d forgotten to turn it back on.

  “You can reach him on his cell for another thirty minutes.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jackson pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed Andy. “Hey, buddy. It’s Jackson. What’s up?”

  “Cats are away,” Andy announced. “Mice must barbecue. You in?”

  “What can I bring?”

  “Whatever strikes you.”

  “What time?”

  “Six thirty?”

  “I’m there. You invite Sean since he’s on his own too?”

  “He’s bringing soda and garbage bags.”

  “Garbage bags?”

  “We’re out. I thought since he was going to the store for drinks anyway—”

  Jackson laughed. “Whatever. Later.”

  He ended the call and checked his watch. Twelve forty p.m. The growl from his stomach rumbled with regret that there wasn’t time enough to grab some lunch before Bingham arrived for their one o’clock meeting.

  Jackson produced a manila file of notes from his briefcase and opened it on the desktop. He’d been preparing all week to meet with Rod Bingham, and he probably didn’t need to review the notes yet again. But he did anyway.

  The possibility of franchising The Tanglewood into a start-up of six wedding destination hotels across the country flicked the back of his brain with excitement. Who could have ever imagined such a thing just a couple of years back when they’d opened their doors?

  Desi.

  More than likely, Desiree would have imagined it. The place had always been her dream more than his, but the death of his late wife had choked the life out of things for a while. Once his sisters, and eventually Emma, hopped onboard, however, he’d caught the fire, and The Tanglewood Inn had become a well-known and successful venture. Now someone wanted to clone the place, setting up Jackson for making a fairly obscene amount of money in the process. Maybe it would allow him to become a little more hands-off for a while and to pursue other interests and challenges. Maybe after the wedding, he and Emma could even travel a little and leave The Tanglewood in other capable hands for a bit now and then. Not forever. Just for a while. They’d swum around in that Paris-for-a-year dream often enough that it surfaced almost immediately every time he considered cutting back on hours and responsibilities.

  “Jackson Drake! How are you, my friend?”

  “Rod. Good to see you,” he said, standing to shake Bingham’s hand.

  “I’m really enthused about our meeting, Jack.” Tapping his briefcase with a grin, Rod added, “I think I’ve got something here that’s going to put some real wind in your sails. Are you ready to talk?”

  “I’m ready,” he said, and they both sat down and faced each other from opposite sides of the large maple desk. “Tell me what you’ve got.”

  “Well, first of all,” Rod blurted, “this thing is bigger than even I had guessed. Hold on to your hat, Jack. And tell me what you think about this idea. Not only would Allegiant Industries be interested in planting wedding destination hotels all across the United States, Canada, and Europe over the next five years—while making you a very rich beneficiary in the process, by the way—but they would also be interested in purchasing the original hotel from you.”

  “Purchasing . . . this place?”

  “That’s right, buddy. Allegiant wants to buy—”

  “The Tanglewood?”

  “Yes, indeedy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean, what do I mean? They want to buy—”

  Jackson gulped back the bubble of air stuck in his throat. “You want me to sell?”

  “Yes. And not just for a song, Jack. For a symphony!”

  He sat there quietly for a moment and rubbed his temple while the idea settled down on him.

  “You want me to . . . sell The Tanglewood?”

  “Dude. What is wrong with you? Have you had a mental break?”

  “No, I haven’t had a mental break, Fiona. And you’re not helping.”

  “Just decide. It’s not like this isn’t your forte, right? I mean, cakes are what you do. Picking a wedding cake design should be a piece of it for you.”

  The conversation was momentarily sidelined by the ghastly slurping sounds Sherilyn made from where she sat across from them, cradling a bowl on her basketball-shaped belly and scraping out the leftover chocolate muffin batter with a large rubber spatula.

  “Sher, you’re gonna make yourself sick,” Emma scolded.

  “No, I won’t. It’s just what was left in the bowl after you poured the rest out.”

  “Still. That can’t be good for the baby.”

  “It’s fine. It won’t make me sick.”

  “Then it’ll make us sick,” Fee cracked. “Dude, you’re gross.”

  “Anyway,” Emma said with the shake of her head. “It’s just not that simple, Fee,” she retorted. “I’m a cake designer. How am I supposed to pick just one for . . . Oh, you just don’t understand.”

  “No. You’re right. I don’t understand. You’ve got the greatest guy in the world convinced that you’re a catch. So like, maybe, you should, you know, pitch or get off the mound.”

  “Don’t say that! How could you say something like that?” Emma groaned and tossed herself into the thick cushions of the couch.

  “Okay,” Sherilyn said, licking the chocolate batter from her finger before setting the bowl on the table in front of her and struggling to stand up. “Okay, that’s good. We’re communicating. We have a dialogue going.”

  Emma shook her head, her sigh morphing into the Pffft sound of a deflating balloon.

  “But . . . Fee . . .” Sherilyn continued with caution, “maybe a little less aggression in our communication would better suit what we’re trying to accomplish here. How about this? Can I get anyone some mor
e iced tea? The muffins should be out of the oven soon, shouldn’t they? Do you want me to make coffee?”

  “Just stop it, Sher. No need to play nursemaid here, okay? Just drop into a chair and prop up your feet before they spring a leak.”

  Sherilyn stood there, in the center of the room, her swollen pregnant frame wobbling from side to side as she glanced from Emma to Fee and back again.

  “Relax, will you?” Emma said, more softly this time, punctuating her words with a smile. “Let’s focus on the things we can accomplish, okay?”

  Sherilyn sighed with relief and waddled over toward her. “Really?”

  “Yes. I can’t think about the cake. It’s too much pressure. But how about we look at those flower pictures you mentioned on the drive down here?”

  Sherilyn’s blue eyes shimmered as she plopped down on the other side of the sofa, and a grin pushed her plump cheeks upward. “Great! Yes, let’s talk flowers.”

  “I’m going for a walk on the beach.” And with that, Fee hopped to her feet and headed out the door.

  “Turn on the floodlights,” Sherilyn instructed. “It gets really dark out there at night. The switch is on the—” With a single thump, the door closed, cutting her helpfulness in two. Deflated, she sent the rest of her words into the air over Emma’s shoulder. “—wall by the door.”

  “You know Fee,” Emma comforted. “She got married in a hallway at the hotel, for crying out loud. The details just aren’t her thing.”

  “I know.”

  Sherilyn’s pouty face made Emma chuckle. “Let’s have a look at those flowers of yours, my wedding planner friend”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Emma watched as Sherilyn struggled to balance the neon-pink laptop on her beach-ball belly. A few clicks later, she surrendered the fight and set the computer on the coffee table in front of them.

  “Here. This will be easier.”

  Emma leaned forward and peered at the screen as Sherilyn arranged four rectangular photographs into symmetry.

  “I thought because you chose such a lovely, simple silhouette for your dress, the flowers should—”

  “Simple?” Emma interrupted. “Do you think it’s too simple?”

  “Not too simple, no. It’s beautiful, Emma. It’s just not one of those elaborate numbers where the flowers have to be bold and make a statement to stand out.”

  “Do you think Jackson will be disappointed? Because you know his family would so prefer some big extravaganza with three hundred guests and—”

  “Emma Rae, of course not. Stop it.” Sherilyn reached out and grabbed Emma’s hand and shook it gently. “This is about what the two of you want. And I think you chose the ideal dress for an elegant, intimate ceremony. You’re going to look so beautiful in your gown, Em. Timeless and perfect. Jackson is going to have to work to catch his breath when he sees you in it.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Emma sighed and glanced down at the stunning platinum and diamond ring on her left hand. She heaved one more sigh. “You’re a good friend.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “And the flower choices are all really beautiful. What do you think, Sher?”

  “Well, I love the calla lilies. Simple. Elegant.”

  “They remind me of a funeral,” Emma stated. “Let’s cut those from the possibilities.”

  “Done. What about this for your bouquet, then?” she asked as the calla lilies disappeared from the screen. She clicked on the next one and the image filled the screen. “Since you’re going understated, maybe you want to go slightly bolder with your bouquet. This is a stunning combination of red roses, lily-of-the-valley—”

  “No,” Emma said, shaking her head. “It’s really pretty, but I’m not feeling that one.”

  “Okay.” Sherilyn clicked the X in the corner of the photo, and it disappeared. “I think you’re going to love this next one, though. It really suits you, and since it’s a spring wedding I think it’s a great choice.”

  A beautiful arrangement of multicolored pastel tulips filled the screen, their long green stems wrapped in ivory satin ribbon.

  Emma cooed at them. “Oh, Sher, that’s really beautiful.”

  “I think so too.”

  “I love the way the light pink and lavender ones seem to blend into the white ones. Like cream.”

  “So . . . is this your wedding bouquet?”

  Emma’s blood pumped as she smiled. “I think so. Maybe.”

  Sherilyn minimized the photo and raised her hand in expectation of a victorious high five. But Emma didn’t return the triumphant slap just yet.

  “Wait. What’s that one? Make that big, will you?”

  Sherilyn opened the final image so it filled the screen, and Emma felt her blood pulse through every vein as her hand flew to her heart and she sighed.

  “That’s the one, Sher. Right there.”

  Just four stems of pale lavender-blue hydrangea, rhinestone-studded tulle ribbon wound tightly to hold them together.

  “Flower paradise,” she whispered. “That’s the one.”

  “Really? You like the bling? I didn’t think you’d like the bling. I mean, it’s not that much bling, but still. I’m pleasantly surprised, Em. That’s great. So this is the one.”

  “This is the one.”

  “This is the one!” Sherilyn repeated.

  And when she raised her hand a second time, Emma slapped it in midair.

  “Pull up your checklist and mark this off. I’ve chosen my flowers.”

  “I’m so proud,” Sherilyn said as she click-click-clicked the laptop.

  Emma sighed. “Me too.”

  “That’s the dress, the venue, the invitations, and the flowers. We’re cooking with gas now, Em! Am I pushing my luck to bring up the subject of music?”

  Emma chuckled softly and fell back against the cushions. “Bring it on.”

  “Do you and Jackson have a song?”

  “A song?”

  “You know. A love song that belongs to just the two of you.”

  A nostalgic smile pushed upward at the corner of Emma’s mouth. “Well, yeah. We have a song.” Recovering, she added, “Do you and Andy have one?”

  “Of course.”

  “You do? What is it?”

  “Promise not to laugh?”

  Emma thought it over. “No.”

  Sherilyn’s eyes popped open wide. “No?”

  “You know I can’t promise that. Come on. Out with it. What’s your song?”

  She shrugged slightly and surrendered. “Single Ladies.”

  Emma shook her head. “I don’t think I know that one.”

  “Oh yes you do.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah. Beyoncé? Single Ladies?”

  Emma pondered. As realization dawned, she smacked her hand over her mouth to catch the burst of laughter.

  “Put a ring on it Single Ladies?” she exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Sherilyn admitted with some reluctance.

  “Why on earth?”

  “Emma, it’s not like we chose it or anything. It was playing in the restaurant the night we told each other how we felt.”

  “Well,” Emma said, and she pressed her lips together to hold back the grin. “I guess it worked. He put a ring on it, right?”

  “Ha. Ha,” Sherilyn commented dryly. “What’s your song, smarty pants?”

  “The Way You Look Tonight.”

  “Oh, of course. It couldn’t be something like Disco Inferno, now could it? If you were a better and more supportive friend, you would have lied.”

  “It was the opening night party for The Tanglewood; the first time we danced,” she told her. “Jackson arranged this private little dinner for us after everyone had gone, and he asked Ben Colson to perform for just the two of us. It was magic. So—” She cut herself off when she noticed Sherilyn beaming at her, hand to heart. “Well, anyway. That’s our song. Think you can do something with it?”

  “Oh, I think s
o,” she replied.

  Traditional Wedding Flowers & Their Meanings

  The Rose

  Meaning: Deep and abiding love

  Fragrant; in season all year

  The Calla Lily

  Meaning: Magnificence and great beauty

  Mild fragrance; in season spring and summer

  The Hydrangea

  Meaning: Deep understanding and spiritual unity

  No fragrance at all; in season early spring through late fall

  The Peony

  Meaning: Shy and virginal

  Mild fragrance; in season late spring

  The Tulip

  Meaning: Passionate love

  No fragrance; in season during the spring

  The Lily-of-the-Valley

  Meaning: Guaranteed happiness

  Quite fragrant; in season spring and summer

  The Orchid

  Meaning: Unmatched beauty and appeal

  No fragrance; in season all year

  2

  Jackson closed the back door and stepped inside the house just in time to catch the can of soda Andy lobbed at him.

  “I think we’ve got about five minutes before the ribs need to be turned again.”

  Before Andy had a chance to reply, the dog barked as the front door gushed open and slammed shut again.

  “Henry,” Andy reprimanded. “It’s Sean. Put a lid on it.”

  The very large sheepdog made his way toward the front door, his barks mellowing down to a soft yip as he escorted Sean down the hall.

  “I stopped at Publix and picked up a few things from the deli,” Sean announced, grocery bags in hand.

  “Did you remember trash bags?” Andy asked.

  Sean shot him a glance, revealing a peek of pearly white teeth as he began to unload several plastic bags, reciting his shopping list as he did. “I got everything that goes with ribs. Southern-style potato salad. Shredded cole slaw. Baked beans. A couple rolls of paper towels . . .”

  “Good move,” Jackson chimed in.

  “The strawberry Twizzlers are for me.”