by Tracy Ewens
Kara gestured to the proper place on the handout. They were going over the basics of their cooking tool set. Each student was given one and they were at “paring knife basics.” Logan noticed where her finger pointed and nodded. Kara momentarily forgot her notations were in French. She found it easier to stick with one language when abroad, but realized they would be of no use to her partner.
“Wait, you speak French?” Logan asked before she could figure out whether or not she needed to hide that detail too.
She nodded, focusing on the knife grip Madame Auclair was demonstrating at the front of the class.
“Huh, that’s cool.” Logan grabbed his knife, holding it exactly right on the first try as if it was second nature. He began slicing in that rocking motion. He may not have looked like an artist, but the movement of his hands was a bit mesmerizing.
Kara had the grip, but the rhythm was different. It felt a bit odd because she’d always thought of chopping as up and down. Logan reached over, molded his hand over hers, and steadied her movement.
Now approaching mile three, Kara could still remember the moment he touched her, the minute her heart jumped in her chest like that of a child running to the window for a better look.
People rarely got close enough to touch Kara—certainly not some guy she had just met. She didn’t know what to do back then, so she let go of the knife and it clanked loudly against the steel workstation. Logan laughed and returned his eyes to the handout propped up in front of them.
“Have you taken French for a while now?”
“Since junior high,” Kara answered, leaving out the part that she also had a nanny growing up who spoke French and tutored her. “I don’t speak it much anymore, but it does come in handy here.” She smiled at him.
“Yeah, I’m sure it does, it being Paris and all.” Logan’s mouth curved into a grin she recognized as both sarcastic and sexy.
Their conversations continued like that—simple and uncomplicated—for a few days. They became partners, learned to work well together, and Kara found herself relaxed around him. Paris became this place where she could be someone else. She grew to love Winnie Parker, until—
Sweat dripped past her cap and into her face. Kara turned up her music, pushed through mile four, and kept going. The track was only 3.2 miles and she would normally be past done by now, but today she was running it twice. She could feel her breath control slipping, and her calves burned. This, she thought, was the reason she ran. The harder she pushed, the more she gave, and the fainter the memory. All she had to do was push and the feelings would disappear, too. If she focused on her feet hitting the pavement, she would forget about the other memories now clamoring to the top, all because she allowed one in. The day they spent in Montmartre, falafel, and the absolute unexpected freedom of kissing a boy at sunset. She had loved herself in Paris and was certain she had fallen in love with Logan. Everything made sense there . . . but then suddenly nothing made sense at all. Nothing seemed fair. That’s when Kara became an adult and realized the limits of her life: what she could and couldn’t have.
Her breathing gave out just as she finished the sixth mile. She stopped, put her hands on her knees, and tried to regulate. After a few breaths, she walked the rest of the way to her car, then pulled a towel from her bag and sat in the driver’s seat for a minute.
She never heard from him after she left Paris and she certainly hadn’t blamed him. After all, she’d left him standing in the lobby of his apartment building with nothing to hold on to but a lie. A few months after returning home, Kara wondered if he would call or e-mail, but he didn’t and eventually she put Logan Rye away in a box with all her other souvenirs from her time in the sunlight.
Now eight years later she would see him again. He wasn’t married, she remembered that from the article, but Kara was pretty sure Logan had learned his lesson when it came to her. He would keep his distance, she was certain, but he wouldn’t need to worry. Kara was safely in her cage this time. As she started her car and drove home, she wondered for a moment what it would be like if she arrived at the Volunteer Thank-You event tonight as Winnie Parker, because she sure as hell didn’t want to show up as Kara Malendar.
Finishing up the corn salad for Senator Malendar’s event, Logan needed scallions from the front kitchen. Travis was flirting with two women at the pizza counter and sautéing at the same time. Flirting and cooking. Travis was a legend, Logan thought as he moved past him toward the pizza oven.
“Logan,” Travis called out, adding a little pasta water to the sauce he was spinning over an open flame. “Logan here is the owner, ladies.”
“Really,” the brunette purred in a way that made Logan wonder if somehow his scratchy over-tired eyes and wrinkled shirt were sexy.
He smiled politely, grabbed some chopped scallions from the cold box under the pizza counter, and shook his head at Travis.
“What?” Travis whispered as Logan moved past him again. “They are totally into food guys.”
Logan’s brow furrowed. “Food guys?”
“Yeah, you know . . . us.” He gestured between the two of them and Logan was amazed he managed a straight face.
“We’re food guys? Jesus man, are things that bad out there in the dating world? You’re using food?” Logan asked, laughing. Travis quickly plated his Bolognese, tossed the pan into the bin, and followed Logan to the back kitchen.
“Food is sexy.”
“Is it now?” Logan shook his head again and started adding scallions to his corn salad.
“Those women are hot, man. When was the last time you went on a date?”
“A date? Travis, when was the last time you went on a date? I’m not sure you’ve ever actually been on a real date. Here’s a hint—it involves a meal or sometimes even a movie.” Logan added salt to the salad.
“I always cook for the women I sleep with, and nine times out of ten, we watch a movie in bed.”
Logan laughed, tasted his salad, added some more pepper flakes, and handed a taste to Travis.
“That’s perfect.” Travis tossed the spoon into the dishwasher bin and continued his pitch. “So, are you saying you are not interested in taking those two lovely, willing, and able ladies to dinner?”
Logan was still laughing as he came back from the walk-in.
“When exactly would that date take place?”
“I was thinking tonight.”
“After we close?”
“Yeah.”
“At eleven?” Logan confirmed.
“Yeah, you in?” Travis asked and Logan was amazed.
“I don’t even know how to help you anymore. No, I’m not in. One, I think my new rule is that I will not be dating the clientele. Two, to use a Makenna term, only a douche bag picks up a woman at eleven o’clock for a ‘date.’” Logan held up air quotes for emphasis.
“Yeah, well Ken calls me a douche bag all the time, so I suppose the shoe fits. You’re sure, man? The brunette is a gymnast.” Travis wiggled his eyebrows.
Logan secured the cover on his salad and shook his head.
“Fine, miss out. I’ve got to get back out there before Todd burns the place down.”
“You know Makenna hates it when you call her Ken, right?”
Travis took a quick look over his shoulder, scrunched his face like a kid on a playground, and said, “Yeah, that’s why I do it.”
As Travis left through the kitchen door, Logan heard him redirect his attention to his new audience. “Ladies!”
Food guys? Unbelievable, Logan thought as he unwrapped the briskets he needed to get into the oven.
Senator Malendar’s reservation specified between 250 and 300 people. Makenna had searched the event on the senator’s website so she could share it on The Yard’s Facebook page. While she had been excited about new potential clientele, all Logan managed to notice was the wording, “Senator Malendar and family.” That meant Kara would be in his restaurant in a little under six hours. For a moment he thought she might not s
how, but if Logan had learned one thing about Kara Malendar, it was that her family and her responsibilities meant more to her than anything else.
He could respect that part of her because he knew all about family and responsibility. Hell, there wasn’t much he wasn’t willing to do or hadn’t done for his own. So maybe things would be fine, maybe he would share the same space as her after all these years and—just like the pretty brunette at the bar—he would smile and know that he had little or no interest. He’d moved on; she’d moved on. Although Logan did happen to notice she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring in the staff picture on the LA Times website. Okay, so he’d Googled her. That meant nothing. He was curious, it was two in the morning, he found himself unable to sleep, and he Googled her. That was just natural curiosity, he told himself as he closed the oven on his briskets.
Chapter Four
Kara walked through the huge metal warehouse-looking front door of The Yard a few minutes after six. Her mother had asked her to be fifteen minutes early, but she’d been having a small mental breakdown in her car only a few moments earlier, so Bindi Malendar would have to deal with fashionably late. It wasn’t a breakdown actually; it was more of a power talk with herself, complete with some pounding on the steering wheel and maybe a few mock conversations with the rearview mirror. Alone. She may have been acting out both sides of said conversations.
Fine, a tiny breakdown, but she was entitled.
Seriously, what were the chances that her parents, the king and queen of the five-star restaurant, would choose this place? It was super inconvenient that the one night they decided to ‘normal’ up had to be at a restaurant owned by the very man who had made love to their daughter for the first time in her life on a rainy evening in Paris. God, she thought, closing her eyes toward the very end of her breakdown, please let him be balding or fat or out sick, because even after eight years, she could still see the stretch of his shoulders as he rested over her on his forearms. She still remembered his jawline, his hands touching her as he moved right through the center of her body and taught her what it meant to feel. A woman simply didn’t forget memories like that, no matter how much time passed. The only thing she could do once it was all gone and taken from her was box it up, bury it deep, and remind herself at least once a year exactly where those types of feelings got her.
“Kara, darling.” Her mother approached the moment she stepped into the bar area of the restaurant.
“Hello, Mother.” Kara returned a kiss to her cheek.
“Isn’t this place fun? So kitschy, right?”
Kara thought of places like Cracker Barrel as kitschy, but she supposed anything without silk wallpaper was kitschy to her mother.
“It’s very nice,” was all Kara could muster because, in truth, the smell of food was intoxicating. To her complete surprise, her stomach started to growl. Kara simply didn’t crave food anymore. She attributed it to her job and constantly being around food, but clearly her body was trying to tell her something. Of course her mother heard.
“Oh my, someone’s hungry. Well, eating will have to wait; your father and Grady are already out on the patio with all four volunteer coordinators. You are late.” She took Kara’s hand and led her through the bar. Kara barely had time to notice the gorgeous concrete floors and the exposed plumbing. The patio was through two enormous garage doors that had been rolled up. The Yard, at least from what Kara could tell while she was being dragged to yet another photo op, was incredible.
Out on the patio, Stanley, her father’s campaign manager, tsk-tsked her for being late. She smiled and apologized as she usually did in Stanley’s company. She kissed her father, rolled her eyes in tandem with her brother, and then fell in line as the snapping cameras captured Senator Patrick Malendar’s perfect family. There were a few shots of the family casually laughing at absolutely nothing and then a couple more of them pretending to be ridiculously interested in something a volunteer coordinator was saying. Kara had never met the man before and yet there was a shot of her playing patty-cake with his toddler daughter. The entire thing was surreal and ridiculous, but it was the world her parents lived in and whether she liked it or not, that made it part of her world.
When Stanley finally moved on to shots of the senator and his lovely wife sitting with some of the volunteers, Kara and Grady were dismissed like schoolchildren.
“That was somewhat painless,” Grady said as they both headed back into the bar.
“Not too bad,” Kara agreed with a thick layer of sarcasm. “I think the highlight was you and Dad arm wrestling on the picnic table out there.”
Grady laughed. “Yeah, I totally let him win. We do that all the time when we are out to dinner. You know, just me and my dad, two regular guys.”
They both shook their heads at the absurdity of their situation.
“Hey, have you tried this food?” Grady asked as he pulled her toward the buffet. “This meat is incredible.”
“Brisket, it’s brisket.” Kara glanced at the silver serving tray while Grady put some on a small white plate.
“That’s what I thought it was, but this melts. It’s unbelievable. Try.” He held the fork up to her mouth.
Kara shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Sure you are. The way you eat, you’re probably hungry all the time. Open up, sis. A girl can’t live on tea alone.”
He moved it closer to her lips. She could smell the spices and her stomach growled again.
“Fine, one bite.” She opened her mouth and took the bite off his fork. Grady was right. It was perfectly braised. Her mouth exploded with flavor. Just the right amount of garlic, and was that chili powder? She knew it was only a bite of beef, but Kara felt her knees go a little weak. Not that Grady needed to know any of that. “It’s good. Maybe a little dry.”
Grady let out a sigh and then his eyes were drawn to a very pretty redhead entering the bar area.
“Eat something. I’ll see you later.” He handed her the plate.
“Is that the babysitter?” Kara asked.
“Kate, that’s Kate.” Grady smiled. Kara was certain she had never seen her brother smile that way before.
“I see, well, don’t let me keep you then.”
Grady was already gone.
She sat down at a high-top table in the back corner of the bar. The tabletops were made of what appeared to be wheel frames covered in glass. Sort of like the wagon-wheel table in their family ski cabin, but much nicer and less 1976. Kara set the plate down and stared at the food as if she were staring at the chef himself. She wasn’t hungry. A growling stomach meant nothing. The smell teased her nose. She dipped a finger in the juice that pooled at the edge of the plate and brought her finger to her lips. Delicious. She glanced around as if she had something to be secretive about and grabbed a napkin rolled around silverware.
Putting the napkin in her lap, she breathed in the aromas and cut herself a small piece. Damn it, even the end piece was tender. It was the same—melting and tinged with heat—a perfect balance. Kara closed her eyes to the chatter and music of the bar and was aware of the cool utensils in her hands. She thought of him for an instant and then ate the entire plate of meat as if it was her first meal in years, each bite growing more flavorful than the next. Her stomach warm, she was lost in the sheer joy of eating. She set her fork and knife down and let out a deep sigh, then glimpsed up for the first time since she had taken the second bite. The crowd was laughing and buzzing, oblivious to her sitting in the corner. Had food ever been this good? She smiled, and as her gaze began to travel back to her plate, she saw him.
Logan Rye was watching her through the window of the exposed kitchen with a look of complete and total satisfaction. It was as if he had won a game she didn’t know they were playing. Or had pleasured her in some way. Well, he had admittedly, but he appeared smug. Okay, maybe gorgeous, a little tired, pretty damn near edible himself, but smug all the same. The happiness her stomach had been enjoying only moments before turned to a
knot of pissed off. Couldn’t he have come out and greeted her like a civil human being instead of lurking from his kitchen while she shared a clearly intimate moment with his brisket? Lurking wasn’t fair. Kara felt something she never ever felt anymore—vulnerable. She turned around, hopped off her seat, and carried her plate to find someone, anyone, she knew.
Grady and the babysitter, perfect.
“Kate, it is Kate isn’t it?” Kara asked, still reeling.
Kate blinked wide-eyed at Grady as if Kara was some sort of dangerous animal and then nodded.
“Great, well I just wanted to say that my father is running for reelection to the United States Senate, not some county seat in the backwoods.” Kara had never even met this woman formally, and she was dumping all over her, but she needed to be a bitch if she wanted to recalibrate.
“Kara, what’s this about?” Grady asked.
Kara flipped her hair and put her plate down on the table next to them.
“I’m saying, who picked this place? I mean, this venue, this place, is not exactly up to standards. We’re not playing in the farm league for Christ’s sake.” Oh, that was good, Kara thought. Could farm boy hear her from his lurking spot in the kitchen? She sure as hell hoped so.
Kate seemed like she was about to say something and then her mouth closed and even before Kate’s face changed, Kara knew he was behind her. Eight years and her body still knew him.
“Aw, Kara. You say the sweetest things.”
Christ, he still sounded like he’d just rolled out of bed, maybe off of some completely satisfied woman. Jesus, Kara, get a grip! As she turned, she pretended not to notice the tattoo—that was new—or the size of him or his sexy glasses. She pretended to be unfazed by the yumminess of him and simply rolled her eyes.
“Shouldn’t you be back behind the counter, sweating or something?”
Kara deferred to Grady hoping he would laugh or help her out, but he was looking at the lovely Kate who still had her eyes on Logan. Who could blame her?
