Free Always the Baker, Never the Bride by Sandra D. Bricker Page A

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