Always the Baker, Never the Bride (25 page)

Emma blinked hard, and then opened her eyes wide. “Ben Colson?”

All eyes turned toward her, and Norma asked, “You didn’t know? Your mother was kind enough to—”

“Wait. My mother knows Ben Colson?”

“She knows his mama,” Georgiann cooed. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Ben Colson is to Atlanta what Harry Connick, Jr. is to New Orleans,” Emma exclaimed. “He’s performing at the opening of The Tanglewood?”

“That reminds me!” Norma cut in. “When does the stage building begin?”

“Two o’clock,” Susannah answered, and Norma pointed to something on Madeline’s clipboard, which her sister immediately checked off.

Emma was still pondering the fact that her mother knew the very soulful, pop-jazz singer when she looked up to find that Jackson was staring her down with an expectant fire in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“The cake. How is that progressing?”

“Oh!” Emma shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s all baked and filled and frosted, and sitting in the refrigerator. We’ll add the finishing touches tomorrow morning.”

“This is the same cake that won you the award?” he asked her.

“Crème brûlée,” Madeline stated with confidence. “It’s a masterpiece, Jackson. Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worried,” he replied. “Just going down the list.”

“Does anyone not have their dress yet?” Georgiann asked.

“I’ve had mine for weeks,” Madeline answered.

“I’m all set,” Norma added.

“Me too,” said Susannah.

All eyes turned to Emma again, and she giggled. “I’ll be wearing what all the finest bakers wear.”

Her answer didn’t seem to compute.

“Topped off with the sweetest little chef’s hat you’ve ever seen.”

She wondered why she was the only one smiling.

“Oh, no,
sugah.
You’ll be dining with everyone else tomorrow. You’ll wear something elegant, Emma.”

Emma’s foot began to tap. All on its own. She had no control over it, and she glanced down at her leg as if it wasn’t the one she came in with.

“I’m sure you have something lovely in your closet,” Madeline said with a smile. “Jackson, did you pick up your tuxedo from the cleaners?”

Tuxedo?

“I’m taking care of that today,” Susannah informed them.

The tap in her foot moved all the way up her leg, and Emma used both hands to press down her knee.

“You know,” she interrupted. “I’m really honored to be included in the whole affair, but I’m just
the baker.
I mean, I baked the dessert, and I’ll serve it—”

“Oh, no!” Georgiann cut her off. “You won’t be serving tomorrow night, darlin’. Your mama and daddy will be in attendance, and all of us will be here as guests.”

“You’re not just an employee,” Norma chimed in. “You’re part of the family here, Emma. Tell her, Jackson.”

Emma raised her eyes slowly. When they met Jackson’s, she flinched.

“You’ll be acting as one of the hostesses, Emma. No hiding in the kitchen.”

She swallowed, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

“And I’d like Fee to attend as well?”

Emma wondered if they all heard the thud that followed.

“Cool. Can I bring a date?”

Emma stared at Fee for several thick and foggy seconds.

“You mean,
you want to come
?”

“Of course.”

“Knowing that you have to dress up?”

“Sure. What’s the problem?”

Emma started to answer, and then scratched her head instead.

“I like a good party,” Fee informed her. “Are you afraid I’ll embarrass you?”

“N-no.”

“I won’t wear full Goth, Em.”

“I know.”

“It will be fun. I mean, we’ve been with this almost from the beginning. Don’t you want to share in the whole unveiling deal?”

“I …yes.”

“So what’s got your soufflé in a pancake?”

Emma wasn’t exactly sure. She’d expected Fee to be appalled and worried right along with her. Not having that was … disconcerting.

“I guess I thought you’d be in a panic too.”

“What’s to panic about?”

“Oh, I don’t know. My parents
both attending.
Having to find a
dress
.” Emma dropped to the chair behind her desk and stared straight ahead. “I haven’t worn shoes with heels in five years, Fee.”

“It’s like riding a bike.”

“No. It’s really not.” She fixed her eyes on Fee and asked, “When was the last time you wore shoes without rubber padding on the bottom?”

“I do have a life outside of working with you, you know.”

Emma considered that. “You do?”

“I actually go out into the world on a regular basis,” she revealed. “I eat at relatively nice restaurants, frequent some museums, even attend a play or two.”

“You go to plays?”

“Okay, you’re starting to frost my cookies, Em.”

“I’m sorry. I just …” Emma scratched her head again before she bit her lip and asked, “Do you have a dress I can borrow to wear to this thing?”

“No,” Fee told her without pause. “But I know where we can get you something. Come on.”

Fee grabbed Emma by the wrist and tugged.

“Wait! Let me get my purse!”

Less than half an hour later, the two of them had closed the distance between The Tanglewood in Roswell and a small vintage store in Alpharetta.

“Hey, girl!”

The sales clerk seemed to know Fee well, and the black eyeliner and ruby red lipstick she was wearing made Emma a little nervous about what kind of dress she was likely to find here.

“This is Emma,” Fee announced. “She needs something unique, pronto.”

“We’re all about unique here. You know that.”

“But it has to speak to her style.”

The woman with the nametag that read
Arielle
looked Emma up and down as if deciding whether to accept her for consignment.

“What is your style?” she asked at last.

Emma turned to Fee.

“We want something that says
sweet.
Princess-like. Belle of the ball.”

“We do?” Emma asked under her breath.

“And we want it to say, ’I’m fabulous, so you better be willing to do the work to find that out.’

“ Emma laughed out loud at that.

Arielle began to nod. “Ooookay. I’m getting the vibe. I can see that.”

“Oh, and when it comes to the shoes, we want to go easy on the height,” Fee added. “She’s been off the stilts for a long time.”

“Let’s find the dress first,” she suggested. “We’ll worry about the details after that.”

Emma just stood there while Arielle and Fee started pulling dresses from the racks. When each of them had several in their arms, they shuffled her off to a dressing room. There was so much fabric on the hangers they flipped over the wall hooks that she could hardly fit in the tiny cubicle along with them.

The first was a copper number with thick ruffled straps and a slit from floor to thigh. Although it was somewhat entertaining to try on, Emma had no intention of wearing it out in public.

The second dress might have been the one, if not for the fact that it was made for a pixie with four inches less length in the leg than Emma had. And of course there was that questionable flower on the shoulder.

Dresses three, four, and five were just too hideous to model beyond the confines of the dressing room, and Emma refused to step out and prove it. She just tossed them over the top of the door.

“Em, come on. Let us see.”

“You can see the next one,” she promised, pulling a pale lavender dress from the hook. “This one looks pretty.”

“Which one is it?” Fee called from the other side, and just the top of her head bobbed up as she stood on her tiptoes.

“Wait. I’ll show you in a second.”

She used the wall of the dressing room to support her elbow as she contorted to grapple with two long purple ribbons as long as the whole dress. The full-length mirror was partially obstructed by the billowing skirt of one of the three remaining dresses, so she pushed open the door and stepped out.

“I can’t figure out,” she groaned, tossing one of the ribbons over her shoulder and pulling on the other one, “what to do with these things.”

“Here. Turn around.”

She did as she was told while Fee and Arielle straightened the thick ribbon.

“It laces. Like this,” Arielle said, and when they were finished, she crossed the ribbons and extended them around to the front, tying them into a bow at Emma’s waist.

Fee gasped. “Emma. That … is … wow.”

Emma looked at Arielle. “It really is.”

One of the few customers in the store stopped what she was doing at a nearby rack and nodded enthusiastically.

“Gorgeous,” she mouthed.

Fee took Emma’s arm and nudged her toward the mirror. “You look like a ballerina.”

Emma shifted her weight to one leg and considered her reflection. A simple, high-necked bodice with three thin spaghetti straps on each shoulder; a low back with criss-crossed ribbon laced from top to bottom; and a full skirt overlaid with shimmering beaded tulle.

“But it’s autumn,” she told them. “I can’t wear this.”

Arielle didn’t say a word. She just scurried across the store and reappeared a few seconds later with a deep purple velvet cropped jacket with a loose rhinestone chain at the closure.

“Try this.”

The smooth silk lining glided over her arms, and the minute Emma caught sight of her reflection she knew this was what she would be wearing to the reception.

“It’s amazing,” Fee told her.

“Perfect,” Arielle added.

“If you’re not going to buy that, I want it,” the customer chimed in.

“Sorry,” Fee said softly. “But she’s buying it.”

Emma grinned at her friend through the mirror’s reflection and nodded. Fee immediately stepped up behind her and wrapped her arms around Emma’s shoulders.

“And there will be no smooth, straight ponytail either,” she told Emma’s reflection. “And no horn-rimmed glasses on a chain, or clear strawberry lip balm. There will be curls and makeup and jewelry and pouty little lips.”

“It’s tea-length,” she replied. “Everyone else will be wearing full-length, don’t you think?”

“Em. You’ll knock his socks off.”

Emma started to object, set Fee straight, tell her that Jackson Drake had no bearing on her anticipation of the party they would be attending. But the look in Fee’s eye and the lopsided grin she was wearing silenced Emma. It wasn’t even worth the effort to deny it.

I can’t wait for Jackson to see me in this dress!

Welcome to the Gala Opening of The Tanglewood Inn

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