CHAPTER 1
Dude. When you said your family had a summer cottagenear Savannah, I pictured something kind of different. Moregalley kitchen and bunk beds than Great Gatsby and mintjuleps."
Emma smiled and yanked the camouflage duffle out of theback of Sherilyn's Explorer, heaving it into Fee's arms.
"The Great Gatsby was New York, wasn't it?" Sherilyn askedas she pulled her two floral overnight bags from the back.Leaning on the rear bumper, she wrapped both arms aroundher large pregnant belly and sighed as she gazed at the house."It's been such a long time, Em. Are you glad to be back?"
Emma hummed her reply, slinging a burgundy tote overone shoulder and a brown leather bag over the other. She madeher way across the sandy driveway and up the white-railedsteps to the wraparound porch and pressed her grandmother'sbirthdate into the security pad. Once the beep of acceptancesquawked its approval, Emma pushed open the massivedouble doors and turned around to grin at Sherilyn.
They sang it together: "Wipe yaw fee-eet."
How many times had they heard those same threewords over years of spring and summer holiday visits! Theyscampered into a quick, animated run-in-place atop the largestraw welcome mat while Fee stood behind them, eyeing themcuriously over the bridge of square black sunglasses.
Emma dropped her bags at the foot of the staircase andhurried toward the vistas calling to her from fifty yards beyondthe wall of windows. She unlatched the French doors at thetop, and again at the knobs, and shoved them fully openwith dramatic flair, expectant and eager. The salty sea breezecaressed her face just as she'd imagined, and the distantpurr of the rolling ocean waves brought the perfect music toaccompany the lyric of chattering gulls.
Emma approached the porch railing and leaned againstit, mesmerized by the foam-capped dance on the white sandshore. Aunt Sophie had always called it "Atlantic Therapy,"a term that had popped immediately to mind when Sherilynhad suggested they go away somewhere relaxing where Emmacould pull her thoughts together and make some solid weddingplans after months of avoidance.
Well. Not avoidance, really. More like ... inertia. A numbsort of wedding paralysis that seemed to set in whenever keydecisions needed to be made. Like the cake.
She wiggled the fingers of her left hand, allowing sunbeamsto bounce off her beautiful engagement ring. She wondered forthe hundredth time how Jackson had known that she'd alwayswanted a princess-cut diamond. She would have been pleasedwith a little square solitaire, of course, but the frame of smallerround diamonds that surrounded the stone and worked theirway down to the platinum band caused the ring to catch thatmuch more light. It was an exquisite ring. Perfect in every way.
"Sher, I never asked you before," she said as Sherilynstepped up beside her. "Did you tell Jackson I wanted aprincess diamond?"
"No, of course not. I was as surprised as you."
"Mm."
"Why?"
"No reason. I've just wondered, and I keep forgetting to askhim how he knew."
"Hey," she said after a moment's thought. "What do yousay we unpack? Then we can head into town and get somegroceries."
"No need," Emma said, breaking her gaze from the ring andfixing it on the sweeping blue horizon. "I faxed a list to Elmerand Louise. They took care of everything."
"Elmer and Louise!" Sherilyn exclaimed. "They still takecare of this place? Are they still alive?"
"Twenty years connected to the Travis clan when theyactually had a choice not to be," Emma summarized. "Bogglesthe mind, doesn't it?"
"Not really," she replied. "I've stayed connected withoutbeing required by blood." Emma glanced at Sherilyn, whoseturquoise eyes were dancing with amusement as she mindlesslyscratched her protruding stomach. "It's not such a bad deal,really."
"What's with this new move of yours?" Emma asked her,nodding at Sherilyn's belly.
"Oh, the scratching?"
"Uh, yeah!"
"I can't help it. My skin itches all the time now."
"You've got, what, a few more weeks? If you're not careful,you'll wear down the skin and the baby can step right out onher own."
"Stop," Sherilyn groaned, smacking Emma's arm playfully."Wait! You said on HER own. Do you have a feeling? You thinkit's a girl?"
"If you wanted to know the sex, you should have had themtell you at the doctor's office, Sher."
"We want to be surprised," she sort of whined withoutconviction.
"You mean Andy wants to be surprised."
Twisting her red hair around one finger, Sherilyn shruggedone shoulder. "Yeah."
"Well, I can tell you this with total conviction. I absolutelyknow it's either a girl ... Or a boy!"
Sherilyn swatted her arm again, and Emma rubbed herfriend's stomach lovingly.
"Em," Fee called from inside. "Hey, Emma!"
Emma and Sherilyn went into the house, both of themlooking around. When she spotted Fee standing at the top ofthe stairs leaning over the banister, Emma laughed.
"Can I have the blue room with the shells on the wall?"
She nodded, and Fee hopped away before she could utterthe s in "Yes."
"Cool. This place has a lot of happy-looking rooms. But Ithink I can live with this one."
"What about you?" Emma asked Sherilyn. "Do you haveany preferences?"
"Is the green room still green?"
"It is indeed."
Sherilyn grabbed her bags and waddled up the stairs. "I getthe green room across the hall," she called out to Fee as shereached the landing, breathless.
Emma padded across the great room and through the opendoors. Leaving her sandals behind on the porch, she rusheddown the three wooden stairs and took off at a full run acrossthe sand. She unzipped the heather-gray hoodie, discarded itat the halfway mark, and left her khaki shorts on the sandabout three yards from the water's edge. She stopped wherethe sand darkened from a recent overflow of surf and adjustedthe bottom of her red bathing suit. Knee-deep in the icy ocean,she tugged at the suit top before diving in and swimming outagainst the brisk green-blue current.
Just before surfacing again, she thought she heard her auntSophie's melodic laughter.
"Atlantic Therapy, Emma Rae. And the colder the betterwhen you're looking for answers. They're all right out therein the Atlantic Ocean. God's hidden them there for us to findwhen we really, really need them."
* * *
The elevator door creaked as it shut, and the car groanedslightly before setting out on its shaky ascent to his fourth-flooroffice. Something about the klunk! before the door openedagain waxed familiar. Jackson had heard that noise before.
Emma's sweet face fluttered across his mind. And that pinksweater of his sister's that she'd changed into for their jobinterview after wiping out in the lobby and smearing fondantall over herself. She'd struck him as cute that day, with a speckof carrot cake still in her hair as they sat down to discuss theimpending opening of The Tanglewood; even more so, a bitof a know-it-all when she stood there beside him as trappedpassengers called out from the elevator car below a short whileafterward.
"I'm assuming this is a hydraulic system, right? ... Well, itprobably is. Anyway, I'm thinking it's likely that the rails are justdry. A little oil can take care of that for you. But the door jamminglike this is probably your drive belt. The service guy will take careof that when he gets the passengers out."
When the serviceman had confirmed her findings, Jacksonrecalled thinking that he'd better hire her, just so he could bearound on the off chance that she might ever be proven wrongabout anything. At the moment, as he pried the reluctantelevator door open, he felt pretty certain she hadn't beenwrong about much of anything since.
"Call downstairs and tell them to place Out of Order signson the west elevator on each floor, and call the repair service,will you, Susannah?" he asked his assistant as he passed herdesk. "The doors are sticking. I think it could be the drive beltagain."
"Will do," she returned as he entered his office and droppedinto the chair. "Andy Drummond phoned. Says your cell goesstraight to voice mail."
Jackson had turned it off after it rang about thirty timesduring his meeting with the front desk manager, and he'dforgotten to turn it back on.
"You can reach him on his cell for another thirty minutes."
"Thanks."
Jackson pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket anddialed Andy. "Hey, buddy. It's Jackson. What's up?"
"Cats are away," Andy announced. "Mice must barbecue.You in?"
"What can I bring?"
"Whatever strikes you."
"What time?"
"Six thirty?"
"I'm there. You invite Sean since he's on his own too?"
"He's bringing soda and garbage bags."
"Garbage bags?"
"We're out. I thought since he was going to the store fordrinks anyway—"
Jackson laughed. "Whatever. Later."
He ended the call and checked his watch. Twelve fortyp.m. The growl from his stomach rumbled with regret thatthere wasn't time enough to grab some lunch before Binghamarrived for their one o'clock meeting.
Jackson produced a manila file of notes from his briefcaseand opened it on the desktop. He'd been preparing all weekto meet with Rod Bingham, and he probably didn't need toreview the notes yet again. But he did anyway.
The possibility of franchising The Tanglewood into astart-up of six wedding destination hotels across the countryflicked the back of his brain with excitement. Who could haveever imagined such a thing just a couple of years back whenthey'd opened their doors?
Desi.
More than likely, Desiree would have imagined it. The placehad always been her dream more than his, but the death of hislate wife had choked the life out of things for a while. Oncehis sisters, and eventually Emma, hopped onboard, however,he'd caught the fire, and The Tanglewood Inn had become awell-known and successful venture. Now someone wanted toclone the place, setting up Jackson for making a fairly obsceneamount of money in the process. Maybe it would allow himto become a little more hands-off for a while and to pursueother interests and challenges. Maybe after the wedding, heand Emma could even travel a little and leave The Tanglewoodin other capable hands for a bit now and then. Not forever.Just for a while. They'd swum around in that Paris-for-a-yeardream often enough that it surfaced almost immediately everytime he considered cutting back on hours and responsibilities.
"Jackson Drake! How are you, my friend?"
"Rod. Good to see you," he said, standing to shake Bingham'shand.
"I'm really enthused about our meeting, Jack." Tapping hisbriefcase with a grin, Rod added, "I think I've got somethinghere that's going to put some real wind in your sails. Are youready to talk?"
"I'm ready," he said, and they both sat down and faced eachother from opposite sides of the large maple desk. "Tell mewhat you've got."
"Well, first of all," Rod blurted, "this thing is bigger thaneven I had guessed. Hold on to your hat, Jack. And tell mewhat you think about this idea. Not only would AllegiantIndustries be interested in planting wedding destination hotelsall across the United States, Canada, and Europe over the nextfive years—while making you a very rich beneficiary in theprocess, by the way—but they would also be interested inpurchasing the original hotel from you."
"Purchasing ... this place?"
"That's right, buddy. Allegiant wants to buy—"
"The Tanglewood?"
"Yes, indeedy."
"What do you mean?"
"What do you mean, what do I mean? They want to buy—"
Jackson gulped back the bubble of air stuck in his throat."You want me to sell?"
"Yes. And not just for a song, Jack. For a symphony!"
He sat there quietly for a moment and rubbed his templewhile the idea settled down on him.
"You want me to ... sell The Tanglewood?"
* * *
"Dude. What is wrong with you? Have you had a mentalbreak?"
"No, I haven't had a mental break, Fiona. And you're nothelping."
"Just decide. It's not like this isn't your forte, right? I mean,cakes are what you do. Picking a wedding cake design shouldbe a piece of it for you."
The conversation was momentarily sidelined by the ghastlyslurping sounds Sherilyn made from where she sat across fromthem, cradling a bowl on her basketball-shaped belly andscraping out the leftover chocolate muffin batter with a largerubber spatula.
"Sher, you're gonna make yourself sick," Emma scolded.
"No, I won't. It's just what was left in the bowl after youpoured the rest out."
"Still. That can't be good for the baby."
"It's fine. It won't make me sick."
"Then it'll make us sick," Fee cracked. "Dude, you're gross."
"Anyway," Emma said with the shake of her head. "It's justnot that simple, Fee," she retorted. "I'm a cake designer. Howam I supposed to pick just one for ... Oh, you just don'tunderstand."
"No. You're right. I don't understand. You've got the greatestguy in the world convinced that you're a catch. So like, maybe,you should, you know, pitch or get off the mound."
"Don't say that! How could you say something like that?"Emma groaned and tossed herself into the thick cushions ofthe couch.
"Okay," Sherilyn said, licking the chocolate batter fromher finger before setting the bowl on the table in front ofher and struggling to stand up. "Okay, that's good. We'recommunicating. We have a dialogue going."
Emma shook her head, her sigh morphing into the Pffftsound of a deflating balloon.
"But ... Fee ..." Sherilyn continued with caution, "maybea little less aggression in our communication would better suitwhat we're trying to accomplish here. How about this? CanI get anyone some more iced tea? The muffins should be outof the oven soon, shouldn't they? Do you want me to makecoffee?"
"Just stop it, Sher. No need to play nursemaid here, okay?Just drop into a chair and prop up your feet before they springa leak."
Sherilyn stood there, in the center of the room, her swollenpregnant frame wobbling from side to side as she glanced fromEmma to Fee and back again.
"Relax, will you?" Emma said, more softly this time,punctuating her words with a smile. "Let's focus on the thingswe can accomplish, okay?"
Sherilyn sighed with relief and waddled over toward her."Really?"
"Yes. I can't think about the cake. It's too much pressure.But how about we look at those flower pictures you mentionedon the drive down here?"
Sherilyn's blue eyes shimmered as she plopped down onthe other side of the sofa, and a grin pushed her plump cheeksupward. "Great! Yes, let's talk flowers."
"I'm going for a walk on the beach." And with that, Feehopped to her feet and headed out the door.
"Turn on the floodlights," Sherilyn instructed. "It getsreally dark out there at night. The switch is on the—" Witha single thump, the door closed, cutting her helpfulness intwo. Deflated, she sent the rest of her words into the air overEmma's shoulder. "—wall by the door."
"You know Fee," Emma comforted. "She got married in ahallway at the hotel, for crying out loud. The details just aren'ther thing."
"I know."
Sherilyn's pouty face made Emma chuckle. "Let's have alook at those flowers of yours, my wedding planner friend"
"Oh. Right."
Emma watched as Sherilyn struggled to balance the neon-pinklaptop on her beach-ball belly. A few clicks later, shesurrendered the fight and set the computer on the coffee tablein front of them.
"Here. This will be easier."
Emma leaned forward and peered at the screen as Sherilynarranged four rectangular photographs into symmetry.
"I thought because you chose such a lovely, simple silhouettefor your dress, the flowers should—"
"Simple?" Emma interrupted. "Do you think it's too simple?"
"Not too simple, no. It's beautiful, Emma. It's just not oneof those elaborate numbers where the flowers have to be boldand make a statement to stand out."
"Do you think Jackson will be disappointed? Because youknow his family would so prefer some big extravaganza withthree hundred guests and—"
"Emma Rae, of course not. Stop it." Sherilyn reached outand grabbed Emma's hand and shook it gently. "This is aboutwhat the two of you want. And I think you chose the idealdress for an elegant, intimate ceremony. You're going to lookso beautiful in your gown, Em. Timeless and perfect. Jacksonis going to have to work to catch his breath when he sees youin it."
"Really?"
"Really."
Emma sighed and glanced down at the stunning platinumand diamond ring on her left hand. She heaved one more sigh."You're a good friend."
"Yes, I am."
"And the flower choices are all really beautiful. What do youthink, Sher?"
