Always the Baker, Never the Bride (26 page)

Starters
Proscuitto-wrapped Figs with gorgonzola and balsamic Fried Green Tomatoes with buttermilk bleu cheese Heirloom Tomato Salad with hearts of palm, candied pecans, and citrus vinaigrette

Entrée Choices

Your Dessert
From this year’s recipient of
The Passionate Palette Award
Emma Rae Travis
Crème Brûlée Cake

Your Entertainment
Grammy Award-Winning Performer
Ben Colson

16

J
ackson’s sisters had organized the evening down to the most minute of details. From the ruby red carpet unfolded from curb to lobby door to the metallic gold “T” embroidered on each linen napkin, they had created just the elegant atmosphere they’d been chattering about for weeks on end. The staff moved about the hotel, inside and out, with the ease of longtime employees, from uniformed servers to red-vested valets to the desk clerk manager in suit and tie. Every flower in the English Rose ballroom was perfectly placed, every crystal glass smudge-free, and every bulb of the thousands of twinkling white lights beamed to its fullest potential.

“Desi’s dream,” he said quietly to Norma as they surveyed the room. “It’s come true tonight.”

“It wasn’t just Desiree’s dream, once upon a time,” she pointed out. “I remember a time when it was your dream too.”

“Mine. No. It was always her.”

Jackson felt a bit like a doorman standing at the door in his penguin suit, greeting guests as they arrived: the deputy mayor and his wife; two members of the city council; several representatives from the Chamber of Commerce. It was just the kind of guest list Georgiann had insisted upon, right down to the members of Atlanta’s social elite; in particular, one Avery Buffington Travis, dressed in a designer that Georgiann knew at first glance, and curiously arriving on the arm of her ex-husband, Gavin Travis.

Jackson wondered how Emma would react to the sight.

He casually looked around for her, first in the ballroom, then the atrium, then down the hall toward the restaurant. “Have you seen Emma?” he asked Madeline.

“She’s in the kitchen, I think.”

Jackson greeted them and then excused himself from Ned and Judith Gallagher, and headed straight for Emma’s kitchen. The spicy aroma coming from Anton Morelli’s preparations made his mouth water as he shoved open the adjacent swinging door and peered inside.

“Oh!” Fee exclaimed, pushing out of the arms of her young friend with messy hair and a slightly rumpled suit. “Hey, boss.”

“I was looking for Emma.”

“She’s next door.”

Jackson smiled at Fee in her long scarlet gown with the black ribbon choker. “You look quite beautiful, Fee.”

“Really?” she asked with a wide grin. “Thanks, boss. You’re a Dapper Dan yourself. Have you met Peter Riggs?”

“The photographer?”

The young man moved forward and extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. Drake.”

“You too.”

Jackson walked over to Morelli’s kitchen and nudged open the door to find the chef himself feeding Emma a bite of something with a meat fork.

“Mmm,” she purred. “That is delicious, Chef Morelli.”

“I thought I told you no hiding in the kitchen,” Jackson teased.

When Emma turned around to face him, Jackson was reminded of his days as the high school quarterback. He was suddenly sacked, the breath knocked right out of his lungs.

She grinned at him and shook her wavy curls away from her beautiful face. “Wait until you taste this, Jackson. It’s heaven on earth.”

Jackson tried to smile, but he was fairly certain that it came off as a smirk.

“You look …”

When he didn’t finish, Anton took over for him. “EX-quisite!” he shouted, and then kissed two fingers and lifted them upward.

“Thank you,” she replied on a giggle. “Both.”

She was a vision in purple velvet over lavender shimmer, light nylons clinging to tiny, tapered ankles, and elaborate three-inch heels with rhinestone straps. She was nearly as tall as he was in those shoes!

Her normally silky straight hair was thick with s-shaped waves, combed back with a thin rhinestone headband, and dark amethyst earrings dangled from earlobe to shoulder. As she walked toward him, Jackson felt a rush of heat move over him, and the palms of his hands began to sweat.

“See you out there,” Emma called back to Anton, and he gave them a rolling wave.

“That tux is lucky to be wearing you,” she told Jackson. “You look like the top of a wedding cake.”

“I think I’m supposed to.”

As they rounded the corner, Avery and Gavin were there to greet them.

“Please behave yourselves tonight,” Emma whispered when she saw them standing there together.

“You are a vision, Princess,” Gavin told his daughter.

“Isn’t she though,” Jackson muttered.

“Honey, you look so pretty,” Avery added. “I didn’t know you had it in you anymore to dress up like this.”

“I had help,” she replied. “It kind of took a village.”

“Well, the village should be rewarded. You look exquisite.”

Jackson concurred, sans words.

“Jackson, this young lady rebelled against every social grace I ever tried to inflict upon her. As soon as she was old enough to choose her own wardrobe, she couldn’t get enough of plain trousers and dark blazers, blue jeans and tennis shoes.”

He didn’t tell them how great he thought she looked in her casual clothes as well.

“Jackson, there you are,” Georgiann said as she hurried toward him and snagged his arm. “It’s time to welcome everyone.” As they headed toward the lobby, Georgiann tossed another greeting to Avery over her shoulder. “So happy you came.”

His sister reminded Jackson of a street sweeper, albeit a very well-dressed one, as she made contact with every stray guest along the way.

“We’re gathering in the ballroom. So glad you’re here. Come along to the ballroom.”

Jackson paused at the doorway. The lights had been dimmed, the guests were mingling, the candles were all lit.

“You ladies really did a masterful job, George.”

Georgiann took less than ten seconds to beam, and then she resumed her master sweep. With one hand pressed against his back, she led Jackson forward toward the stage.

“There’s a microphone set up. Go welcome your guests.”

Jackson cleared his throat as he took the three steps. A bluish spotlight found him almost immediately, and someone handed him the microphone.

“Good evening.” An impulse of applause greeted him, and Jackson thanked them with surprised sincerity. “I’m so happy you all could be with us tonight to celebrate the opening of the new and improved Tanglewood Inn.”

He glanced around the room, then found his sisters and Susannah standing in a small swarm at the edge of the stage.

“The place looks pretty good, doesn’t it?” he asked the crowd with a grin, and they erupted into applause. “Well, believe me, it didn’t get this way by my hands. I’ve been fortunate enough to have some women around me with magnificent taste and astounding commitment to bringing this dream to life. Please join me in thanking a group of stunning women—my sisters, Georgiann Markinson, in charge of staffing the place, and putting together that amazing auction in the other room to benefit ovarian cancer research; Madeline Winston, our wedding coordinator; and Norma Blanchette, event planner extraordinaire. We also have my assistant Susannah Littlefield, and the very beautiful baker Emma Rae Travis. And what chef Anton Morelli lacks in beauty, he makes up for with talent. This group of people has been instrumental in putting this place, and this night, together in honor of my late wife, Desiree.”

Applause thundered, and Jackson’s chest constricted with emotion.

“Desiree used to work here, as many of you may know. Somehow, she caught a vision of converting a perfectly fine boutique hotel into a spectacular wedding and event destination. Once she caught hold of that picture,” he added, shaking his head as he remembered, “there was just no going back. She spent countless hours cutting out magazine photos, and making notes about how she would do it. She left me with a sort of blueprint, actually. And tonight, everyone in this room plays a part in seeing Desi’s dream come true. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

Jackson let the applause die down before announcing, “Dinner is about to be served. And afterward, you’ll be dazzled by Emma Travis’ award-winning dessert, and the musical stylings of Mr. Ben Colson. Enjoy! And welcome to The Tanglewood Inn.”

Initially, Jackson had thought Madeline’s idea of each of them hosting a different table was a good one. It would be a nice way to mingle with the guests during dinner, answer any questions they might have, network a bit with the members of their community. But as soon as he sat down at his table, and saw Emma making her way to another one at the other side of the room, Jackson began to rethink that choice. He’d have preferred to have dinner with Emma at his side. In fact, he considered a complete overhaul of the plan that involved him walking over there and sitting down in the empty chair beside her.

The thought had no sooner materialized than a sandy-haired stranger in an expensive Armani suit appeared out of nowhere and snagged that chair. Jackson craned to see if the chair on the other side of her was open. To his disappointment, he saw that it was occupied by his niece Janelle. On the other side of her sat her husband, Miguel.

Georgiann had managed a perfect score: flanked on one side by Avery and Gavin Travis, and the deputy mayor and his wife seated on the other.

“Is seating arranged? Or can anyone sit here?”

Jackson glanced up to find an attractive redhead standing with her hand on the back of the chair beside him. He rose and held out the chair for her. “Please. Join me.”

“The best seat in the house,” she said as she sat down. “I’m sitting next to the Man of the Hour.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jackson teased. “Ben Colson is somewhere else. I can’t sing, but I’ll try to be interesting. How’s that?”

“Deal,” she beamed. She extended her hand toward him once Jackson sat down. “Christina Valentine, Channel 12 news.”

“Good to meet you, Christina. Do you know the others at our table?”

Emma struggled to rid herself of the movie montage flashbacks flipping through her head. Growing up as Avery Travis’s daughter hadn’t left much room for being a klutz at the dinner table, but most of Emma’s finer clothes ended up with a splatter stain of some kind on them just the same.

“Do you have a hole in your chin?” her mother asked so often that her ears tingled with the instant replay, even now.