By Sandra D. Bricker
Thirty-six-year-old Emma Rae Travis has been baking strong point tarts and melt-in-your-mouth pastries on the Backstreet Bakery in historical Roswell, simply open air of Atlanta, for the final six years. yet the following s the rub approximately her task as a baker ... Emma is diabetic. whilst she tastes her creations, it may well purely be within the such a lot minute parts. Emma is taken into account an artisan for the beautiful cr??me brulee marriage ceremony cake that gained her the Passionate Palette Award final yr, yet she s by no means even had one complete slice of it. whilst Jackson Drake hears approximately this neighborhood baker who has gained a prestigious award for her marriage ceremony cake artistry, he tells his assistant to make sure and comprise her within the pastry tastings scheduled at his new marriage ceremony vacation spot lodge the subsequent week. And for Jackson, that specific day has began badly with workmen trapped in a damaged elevator and a supply of a number of dozen 300-thread-count mattress linens within the fallacious dimension deserted within the foyer. but if the conceited baker he met per week previous in Roswell stumbles into the eating room with a platter of pastries and a bucketful of orders, he is aware for yes: It s going to be a truly rotten day. Can those ill-suited avid gamers grasp the high-wire act and make a move in their new company enterprise? Or will they take one another crashing downward, and not using a web? and may the shock marriage ceremony on the Tanglewood be theirs?
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Extra info for Always the Baker, Never the Bride
First, the cakes hit the carpeted floor, and then Emma’s body as she demolished one of the cakes with her elbow and landed face-first in the other. Madeline shrieked, and after several moments, Emma realized the woman was using her own sweater to swipe the streaks of fondant from Emma’s cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she told her as she wiped off her face. “I’m so very, very sorry. ” Emma glanced back at the toppled mound of tablecloths and embroidered napkins and then clamped her eyes shut so tightly that they ached.
Chef Morelli’s kitchen is perfect for what he does,” she explained. “But in here, for the purposes of baking, it’s all wrong. The prep station is on the opposite side of the room, too far away from the refrigeration unit. Wedding cakes, in particular, can sometimes weigh up to a hundred pounds or more, and you’re not going to want to have to transport them across the length of the room to get them chilled. And the cupboard for the—” “I have an idea,” Jackson interrupted. ” “Oh. I … uh …” “Jackson, this is not Ms.
Thanks, Fee. Our customer would like six fudge brownies. ” Before Fee could reply, Emma turned her back and headed for the kitchen to enjoy her shake. ” The snicker that popped out of her was certainly not ladylike. Jackson climbed out from behind the wheel of his Altima and tucked the white bakery box of brownies beneath the shelter of his overcoat to protect it from the rain. The moment he crossed the threshold of The Tanglewood Inn, the familiar cackling of hens greeted him. “Jackson, you’re dray-enched,” Georgiann declared in her thick Southern drawl.