Always the Baker, Never the Bride (10 page)

“Well, it would appear that your former boss is planning to sue your current one.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, leaning across the table with a look of surprise. “He’s what?”

“He’s suing me for stealing you away. It seems I’ve ruined his business.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” she groaned. “Is he kidding with this? What a piece of work!” Emma slammed back against the chair again and dropped her head. “I am so sorry.”

“An interesting guy, your Harry?” Jackson asked her. “He’s the gift that just keeps on giving.”

The Most Important Things to Remember about Crumb Coating a Cake

• Crumb coating is a thin, even layer, usually made out of frosting, that acts as a primer for the application of frosting.
  
• The crumb coat is applied with a flat spatula in swift, firm movements.
  
• If your cake will be filled between layers, be sure to
  fill it first
  , and then add a crumb coat to a completely cooled cake.
  
• Crumb coating is particularly important as the first step before adding fondant to a cake.
  
• Since fondant is sweet, but often lacks real flavor, jam or a fruit glaze makes a wonderful crumb coat for a fondant-covered cake.
  
• If you choose a jelly or jam such as apricot or raspberry, heat it up first and strain out any small seeds or pieces of fruit.
  
• The crumb coat should be very thin, just thick enough to spread.
  
• After the crumb coat is applied, refrigerate the cake for 20-30 minutes, until the coating has completely set.
  

6

E
mma checked the results of her glucose test on the monitor: 94. Right where it should be first thing in the morning.

After her morning injection of insulin, she tossed the used test strip into the trash, zipped the monitor back into its small case, picked up her bowl of oatmeal, and headed for the living room. She curled into the comfy easy chair by the window and set the bowl on her knee while she pulled the phone toward her.

The Ercol Bergere chair around which her small living room now revolved used to grace her father’s massive library, and she held fond memories of climbing into his lap and leaning against him as he read to her from one of his favorite books. Hemingway, Dickens, Twain; Emma knew now that these books weren’t exactly bedtime fare for the nine-year-old that she was in the final months while they still lived as a family, but at that age, she was none the wiser. The soothing sound of her father’s gravelly voice was the only lullaby she ever needed back then, and she’d fallen asleep within the arms of that chair, and those of her doting father, on many happy evenings.

By the time she was ten, however, her father had moved out of their Washington, D.C., colonial. When she was eleven, he moved back in, just two days after Emma and her mother had made the trek back to Avery’s Southern stomping grounds to begin anew. After a short stop in Savannah, they’d settled in Roswell, just in time for Emma to start high school. Her father had followed for a trial reconciliation a few years later, but it didn’t take, and he’d headed back to D.C. just after her high school graduation.

The telephone rang right on schedule: 8:30 a.m. every Sunday morning like clockwork.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Morning, Princess. Oatmeal or eggs?”

“Oatmeal.”

“Raisins or walnuts?”

“Both,” she replied, digging a mouthful out of the bowl with her spoon. “And a splash of milk.”

“Good girl. Blood sugar?”

“94.”

“Atta girl.”

“And you? Are you having coffee or coffee?”

“I decided on coffee this morning.”

“Black?”

“What else?”

As volatile as his relationship with her mother had always been, there was steel security for Emma in theirs.

“How’s work, Daddy?”

“I’ve sold my last business,” he announced. “Travis Development is no more.”

Emma plopped the bowl of oatmeal to the table next to her and shook her head. “What?! I thought that was the one you were keeping.”

“I’ve spent too many years in real estate and construction, Emma Rae. It’s time for a change.”

“A change? To what?”

“A few good steaks, a cigar every now and then. Maybe some travel. I’ve decided to take it easy and see how that feels.”

“Red meat and cigars!” she exclaimed. “Remember your blood pressure.”

“My blood is pressing on just fine now that I’ve decided to retire.”

“Well,” she said on a chuckle, “no one deserves it like you, Daddy. But I sure can’t envision this new lifestyle on you.”

“Stay tuned, Princess,” he declared. “Now tell me about your new venture. What’s this corporate tycoon-turned-hotel-renovator like?”

“He’s … confusing,” she admitted. “He doesn’t seem to know a thing about the hotel business, yet he jumped in with both feet just the same.”

“A visionary.”

“Or an idiot,” she giggled.

“Mmm,” he considered. “Or that. Is he treating you right?”

“He is. I have the most amazing kitchen. Top of the line. And he let me bring Fee over with me.”

“Ah, Fee. How is she? Still dressed in black, I’m guessing.”

Emma laughed. “She’s still Fee.”

“It works for her.”

“Yes, it does.”

“I’m happy to see you making a clean break from that other one.”

“Harry.”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Well, I made a break, but I’m not sure how clean. It turns out he’s suing my new boss for something like alienation of employment.”

Gavin spouted a low-pitched, one-syllable guffaw. “He’s nothing without you. I guess he’s finally realizing it. Too little, too stinkin’ late.”

“I just feel bad for Jackson.”

“Jackson, is it?”

“That’s his name, Dad. He told me to call him Jackson.”

“I bet he did.”

A click interrupted the conversation, and Emma didn’t need to even look. It would be Fee calling, as she did every Sunday morning, to invite Emma to join her at church.

“You have a call,” her father stated.

“It’s okay. I don’t need to pick it up.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Tell me about you, Daddy. What led you to this monumental decision to sell Travis Development?”

A second click broke through, then Emma leaned back into the chair and closed her eyes, ignoring it as she listened to her father’s dramatic tale of industrial espionage, corporate competition, and general incompetence, none of which had a thing to do with why he’d decided to retire.

After they hung up twenty minutes later, she took a shower and threw on some jeans and her Falcons jersey, tidied up the kitchen, made her bed, and took two laps around the apartment. After her weekly call from her father was through, Sunday was Emma’s least favorite day of the week. She never quite knew what to do with herself. Fee had surmised that it was her work/life imbalance at the root of the trouble, and Emma didn’t entirely disagree. But she put the thought out of her mind as she grabbed her purse and keys and took off for The Tanglewood at eleven o’clock that morning.

Christening her new key to the back door of the hotel kitchen, Emma beamed as she let herself in and punched in the security code on the wall pad, then locked the door behind her again. She grabbed a Coke Zero out of the refrigerator, and then hopped up on the prep table in the middle of her kitchen before popping the top and gulping down half the contents of the can. She looked around at the place, her brain humming with plans for the tea room and the upcoming weddings, so consumed that she jumped when she realized she wasn’t alone.

“You scared me!” she exclaimed. “How long have you been here?”

“Hours,” Jackson replied and nodded toward the can of Coke Zero resting on her knee. “Can I have one of those?”

“Help yourself.”

She watched him as he yanked open the refrigerator door and pulled one of Fee’s orange sodas from the door. He looked good in his street clothes, she decided. Smiling, she realized she never would have imagined the weekday Jackson Drake in a pale chambray shirt, tails out, and black jeans that were worn through at the knees His Nikes had seen better days, and Emma liked his dark hair a little tousled the way it was just then.

He leaned against the counter and threw back several gulps from his drink before asking, “So, what are you doing here today? It’s your day off.”

“I was a little restless,” she told him. “My head was all full of cakes. What about you?”

“I got to wondering about converting that back room into a consultation room for people who come in to book their weddings. Don’t you think we should have somewhere that they can go without having to seat them in the restaurant or out in the courtyard?”

“I didn’t know there was a back room,” she told him. “Where is it?”

“Right off the entrance to the restaurant.”

“I thought that was a supply closet.”

“No, it’s a whole room with built-ins and plenty of room for … well, come on. I’ll show you.”

Emma’s tennis shoes squeaked as she hopped down from the table, and she followed Jackson through the swinging door and off to the right. He pulled the oak door open and the two of them stepped inside.

“I figure it’s about twelve feet by twelve feet,” Jackson told her. “We could put a table and chairs over there, and then maybe a couple of comfortable chairs or a sofa over there.”

Emma looked around, catching his vision. “Oh, you know, we could get some really nice still photographs of a few of my wedding cakes, maybe a couple of Anton’s specialty dishes, and we could frame them and hang them on that wall. I have a friend who is a wonderful photographer.”

“Maybe we could have your friend create some albums for them to look through, add in some sample menus for the receptions, that kind of thing,” he added. “You know, this could really be a functional room.”

“That was a pretty great idea you had,” she told him with a grin.

“You know, you’re right,” he said, returning her smile. “I normally save my strokes of brilliance for weekdays, so this is a Sunday bonus.”

“Those are always a nice surprise.”

“I’ll get Norm working on converting this room first thing tomorrow,” he remarked as they headed out of the room. Then suddenly, he stopped so unexpectedly that Emma smacked right into him from behind.

“Ohh. Sor—”

“Back!” he exclaimed, then he barreled backward, taking Emma right along with him, back into the office before he yanked shut the door.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

Jackson spun toward her, and there was barely a break of air between them as he shushed her with an urgency that confounded Emma. She took two steps away from him.

His masculine scent was resolute with hints of wood and spice and underlying notes of citrus. Emma breathed it in casually, and then held it there for a moment.

“Emma’s nose always knows,” her mother used to say, and it was true. If she hadn’t become a baker, Emma might have been a professional
nose
for a perfume company.