Free Always the Baker, Finally the Bride by Sandra D. Bricker

did, and I think they’re really lovely, Em.”
    Emma wiped her hands again before she gingerly accepted the invitation. Tracing the glossy, raised letters of Jackson’s name with her index finger, she grinned. “They’re perfect.”
    “Let’s see,” Fee said, and she pulled the card from Emma’s hand. “Nice.”
    “And how’s the wedding cake project coming along?” Sherilyn asked her.
    Emma shrugged. “I got another one down on paper last night. But . . . I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe it could be the one.”
    “That’s what she said about the last one,” Fee commented, but Emma’s attention was fixed on the gown again.
    Reaching across Sherilyn, she grabbed Audrey’s hand and gave it a playful shake. “And you! You’re a genius,” she said, and Audrey smiled in reply. “No, I mean it. You’re an absolute genius. I may be a little lost in getting to my wedding cake, but this dress is a touchdown. It’s what I pictured in my head, and so much more. The rhinestone buttons . . . the detailing on the sleeves . . . It’s genius, Audrey. How can I ever thank you?”
    “You can marry that fabulous man of yours and live a happy life. But before you do that, why don’t we do a fitting?”
    “Oh!” Emma squealed, and Sherilyn shushed her, pointing down at Isabel.
    “I forgot I get to try it on,” Emma whispered, tugging off her blouse before she even hit her feet. “I can’t wait to try it on!”

    From the time that he’d opened the place, Jackson had taken to enjoying his mid-morning coffee at this one particular table in the restaurant whenever he could manage it. He’d actually preferred it there before the hotel had officially opened because the tables around him sat unoccupied back then, but he wouldn’t trade the steady stream of patrons for all of the peaceful coffee experiences on earth. The Tanglewood had evolved from a questionable venture in those early days into the solid success that it was now, all thanks to those customers who churned through the doors day after day.
    Behind him, a family of five chatted softly over their breakfasts, and a young businessman sipped coffee in the corner. Chiffon-filtered streams of sunlight pointed to the floor beside the man as he exchanged pleasantries with his waitress.
    Jackson poured the last drops from the pot into his cup as rubber-soled shoes padded their way toward him, and he looked up as they came to a muffled halt next to his table. The warm and familiar smile of Emma’s Aunt Sophie greeted him, and he found himself remembering that first morning when he’d looked up at her from that very spot in the restaurant to find that she wore a mint-green evening gown, long white gloves and—of all things!—a tiara.
    “What is your name?” she’d asked him, and less than three minutes later, Jackson had fallen a little bit in love as she quoted Scripture to him from the Book of Isaiah, promising him that whatever situation had him so engrossed in his own thoughts was sure to look up very soon.
    “Good morning, Jackson,” she said to him now, as she smoothed back her halo of beautiful silver hair with both hands. “Am I interrupting you?”
    “I think that’s what you asked me the very first time you walked through those doors, Sophie. You asked if you were interrupting me.”
    “Did I?”
    “And you were dressed in green, like you were going to a ball at the palace.”
    Sophie smiled. “I must have looked happy. Was I happy, Jackson?”
    “You always seem happy to me,” he remarked. “It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
    He took a final draw from his cup and set it down on the table.
    “How about you?” she asked, and Jackson leaned back against the chair. “Are you happy? Because you look unusually burdened this morning, dear.”
    “I’m just in the process of making a business decision,” he explained with a smile.
    “Then I won’t keep you from it,” she replied, turning on her heel and heading