Taste: A Love Story

by Tracy Ewens

  “What’s gotten into you?” she continued at a whisper, clearly unable to help herself. Kara wanted to roll her eyes. Scream. Any reaction seemed better than none, but “none” was what she was used to. “It’s not enough that I had to deal with Grady’s antics, now all of a sudden you’re having what, some kind of sexual revolution?”

  Kara laughed. “Mom, you seem awfully interested in my sex life.”

  “Only if it shows up in pictures.”

  “There are no pictures.”

  “Well, you haven’t had the best luck with men.”

  “Fully aware of that, Mother. Can we be finished now?” Kara asked.

  “Yes, fine, if you’re sure you are being careful.”

  “All my life, believe me, all my life.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear. Now, we’ve invited a few guests to Thanksgiving.”

  Just like that her mother was back on task. Kara was grateful that the interrogation portion of the program was over and the car was once again filled with this and that, gossip and table settings. It seemed like there was always talk of table settings. Kara smiled, as her mother fixed her father’s hair. Despite the general yuck factor of public life, when her parents were alone, they seemed genuinely in love. Kara wasn’t sure how that was possible. It wasn’t a love she imagined for herself, but it somehow worked for them.

  Logan rang the bell and asked himself again why he couldn’t simply keep his distance.

  Kara opened her door in gray sweatpants and a white, tight-fitting T-shirt that read “finisher” next to some marathon logo. Her hair was smoothed down, but off her face, which appeared recently cleaned of makeup he was sure she’d worn for her parents. He preferred undone Kara much more. For a moment, he felt like he was backstage at some production, looking at the actors after the curtain dropped.

  “Hey, nice place you have here.” Logan waited for an invitation.

  “Hi. Why are you here?” she asked, letting him know she was not in the mood for much.

  “Grady called and told me what happened. Makenna had a little flip out last night, so I thought we could hide out together. Since we’re that crazy dancing couple now.”

  “It was nothing really. Stupid.” She paused for a minute and then it seemed like her hard exterior was softening a little. “But then there were the reporters and Thanksgiving dinner at the Malendar house. I’m just so tired of it all.” She shook her head and gave a small laugh. It sounded like a pity-laugh in Logan’s book. “I took my pies to go.”

  Still questioning why he was there, he had the strong urge to comfort her. “Can I come in?”

  “Are you sure you want to? There could be reporters lurking.”

  He stepped into the entryway. “I’ll take my chances.”

  Logan took in Kara’s sprawling house. Lots of white, clean-cut furniture and space, blank space. Like its owner, Kara’s house was refined, beautiful, and nothing was out of place.

  “Should I take off my shoes?” he asked, smiling at her.

  “Shut up. I like tidy.”

  “I can see that. I mean this is gorgeous, love the windows, but I’m not going to lie. It’s a little intimidating.”

  “Stop, can I get you something? I really did bring home pie.”

  “What kind?” He intentionally threw his coat over a chair instead of on the designated hooks that held Kara’s coat and umbrella. Controlled, that was the word; the entire place was under control. The mischievous kid in him was begging to jump on the couch.

  “Apple and pumpkin. Homemade.”

  “Your mom?”

  “My mom’s cook.”

  Logan laughed. “I’ll have pumpkin and some coffee if you’ve got it.” He followed her into the kitchen. “I’ll help. I like the sweatpants, by the way.”

  Kara shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “Am I company?”

  “You’re a visitor, maybe an unwelcomed one,” she joked, “but yes, you are company.”

  She handed him the French press and Logan began scooping coffee into the glass cylinder.

  “So I thought it was a good one,” he said.

  “What?”

  She was cutting the pie.

  “The picture of us. It was a good shot. I would have preferred one with my hand on your ass—now that would have been something, right?”

  Kara didn’t laugh. She stopped cutting and looked at him.

  “Oh, come on. It’s not that big of a deal. Grady mentioned Olivia was fine with it. I know today was probably a nightmare for you, but it’s not like we were actually rolling around in the hay.”

  “Do you want pie? Because if you do, zip it.”

  Kara sat on the couch, legs tucked under. Logan sat next to her, pushed the plunger on the French press, and poured himself a cup.

  “Coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” Kara covered her cup. “I drink tea.”

  “Right, I knew that.” He smiled at her and tried to hold her eyes, but she handed him a plate with a slice of pumpkin pie.

  Logan took a bite.

  “Hmm, this is great pie.” He took another bite.

  “It truly is.” Kara left hers untouched on the table.

  “My God, this crust is definitely butter, so good.” He noticed she wasn’t eating.

  Logan lifted his fork to her mouth. Kara sipped her tea, didn’t budge. He held his ground. Kara shook her head and opened her mouth.

  “Good, right?”

  Kara nodded and then smiled. He picked up her plate and set it in her lap.

  “Don’t make me eat alone, princess.”

  After sitting in silence for a few bites, Logan had to say something.

  “So, are we going to talk about this?”

  “What’s there to talk about?” Kara put her fork down and reached for her tea.

  “Kara.”

  “What? We danced.”

  “And?”

  “And . . . you kissed me.”

  Logan tilted his head.

  “Fine, I kissed you, we kissed. It was . . .”

  “Hot?”

  Kara laughed.

  “It was ‘holy shit,’ as you put it, and it was private. Mine. The whole night, the dance too, was mine and then it was stolen, taken from that place in me. Thank God they didn’t get everything on camera. I should have known better.”

  “How? Why would you think someone at that festival was going to be lurking around taking pictures of you?”

  “Because they just are, it’s how things work.”

  “What’s it like?” Logan asked.

  “What’s what like?”

  “Being Karaline Malendar.”

  It occurred to Kara that of all the questions she had been asked in her life, no one had ever asked that one before. She wasn’t sure how to answer.

  “It’s, well, it’s like being in any other family. I guess.”

  “I doubt that. I’ve danced with a few women in my time and no one took my picture without my knowledge. Garrett can be stupid, but he’s not climbing anything that’s going to end up on YouTube.”

  “You know, I’m not really into the whole, ‘Oh poor Kara, she’s been in the public eye all her life.’ It’s very first world, as Grady would say.” She let out a half laugh. “‘It is what it is,’ my Nana’s famous line. I’m sorry you were involved and that it touched your life. That’s unfortunate and I apologize.”

  “Why are you apologizing? It’s like you’re giving me some kind of prepared speech. I could give a shit if people see me dancing with you or kissing you, but I’m not being put on the spot like you or your dad are. Was he pissed?”

  “No. Well, he was a little annoyed at being bombarded on Thanksgiving, but he’s used to it.”

  “And so are you, right?”

  “Right,” was all she said.

  Logan could see the pain, way in the back, but she didn’t want to discuss it and he didn’t want to make it worse, so he moved on.

  “Okay, w
ell that’s settled, so do you want to play backgammon or Scrabble?”

  “What?”

  “Thought we’d play a game.”

  Kara appeared almost stunned at the simplicity of it. God, he loved surprising her with the simple. It was his way of easing her mind, gathering her close to him for a minute until she felt better.

  “I need more tea. How do you know I even have games?”

  “You have games. Do you still have that leather roll-out backgammon set you bought in Paris? God, we played that thing every night for like a week straight, remember that?”

  Mid-laugh he caught her eyes. She stood between the living room and the kitchen staring at him, as if she was trying to reach him. A tear slowly traveled down her cheek. Logan went to her and pulled her into his arms.

  “Hey, it’s okay.”

  “I know. It’s fine. I’m—” she took his face and kissed him. It was so tender, fragile, he was almost afraid to return it. But when she eased his mouth open and took more, he stopped thinking and joined her in erasing whatever pain caused that tear. Kara pulled back; the look on her face was so vulnerable that his heart squeezed and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to keep her from all the garbage that went along with her life. He felt an unrelenting need to keep her safe. “Thank you. For checking on me, for kissing me, and for Paris. After everything, I never had a chance to thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Anytime, princess.” Even though he felt like someone was squeezing his chest, he still tried for light.

  Kara laughed, quickly wiping her tears. “Backgammon is in the chest next to the couch. I’ll get more pie.”

  “You might want to bring both pies out here with two forks. It’s probably going to be a long night while I kick your ass. Do you remember my mad backgammon skills?”

  She continued laughing and his heart turned over at the thought that he could do that to her again. Even with everything now swirling around in their adult lives, he could still give her a few moments of Paris.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Logan spent the following Saturday trying to make up for being closed Thursday and Friday. He had hoped to restore some of the lost revenue mainly so he wouldn’t have to listen to Makenna, but it wasn’t meant to be. Yesterday had been slow, probably because most of the shoppers collapsed and slept right through the weekend. Logan was fine with a slow day. It gave him a chance to restock, catch up, and he and Travis spent some time doing what they loved—creating. It had been a productive day and now he was enjoying a Sunday morning in his garden, but he was still dreading seeing Makenna Monday morning.

  She had suggested serving a Thanksgiving-type dinner and leaving the restaurant open, but Logan just couldn’t do it. Maybe some places were fine profiting from Thanksgiving, but if the whole of his success hinged on that kind of crap, he’d rather close the doors. She then begged him to do a quick eats menu on Black Friday and he declined again. He didn’t believe in the crazy commercialism of it.

  “Besides,” he had told her, “our staff needs a great time to be with their families. We’ve been going nonstop.”

  “This is business, you get that right?”

  “I do, but—”

  “No buts, Logan, numbers don’t lie. You have a wine inventory that needs to move, we have bills.”

  “I know that. I’m not nine, Kenna. We’ve got Christmas Eve—first time I won’t be on the farm for Christmas Eve. There’s a sacrifice for ya.”

  “Dramatic and not true. You missed Christmas altogether in 2008. You were living in New York and snowed in, remember?”

  “Shit, you’re like a walking time line.”

  Makenna had smiled. “So, you’ve missed Christmas Eve before and you’ll miss it this year. I love the candlelight thing you’re doing and the menu looks incredible. That should be a great night. Already sold out.”

  “Right, so we’ve got that and then Restaurant Week, which is almost fourteen days, so that should be a huge bonus. Two of those nights we’re bringing the sommelier from Twisted Tree. He’s a big deal and their vineyard is local, well Lake County, sort of local.”

  “Great. All good news and I understand wanting to close on Thanksgiving, but Friday is a mistake.”

  “Well, it’s a mistake we are going make.”

  “Did you see where I put that on the budget? Revenue loss?”

  “I did and it can’t always be about money, Kenna.”

  “At this point it needs to be about money.”

  “Nah”—he had closed her laptop and pushed it toward her—“that’s what I have you for, numbers lady.”

  Makenna had shaken her head and returned to her books, but Logan just knew she would be flashing her spreadsheets in the morning, reminding him that they were a business. He knew she meant well, had his best interests, but sometimes the woman gave him angst.

  He wasn’t going to let it bother him. Life was good. He was going to head down to the farmers market in about an hour to bring his dad and Garrett breakfast. They didn’t always work the markets, but this one was part of a Shop Local Fair the city was putting on, so they decided to man the booths themselves and talk up the farm and local produce.

  Focusing on one or two things sometimes helped because if he took on the whole damn thing, he’d be sucking his thumb. The entirety of what he was trying to do with the farm and restaurant was too much sometimes.

  Kara spent the morning at the beach and met Jake and Cotton for lunch. They hit some garage sales and she came home with three lamps. One of them was old and needed electrical work, but they were perfect, just needed a little TLC. She answered some e-mails and spent the rest of the day doing laundry and watching movies. As the closing credits rolled for The Last of the Mohicans, she again told herself it was all about Daniel Day-Lewis and his raspy voice when he tells Madeline Stowe he will come back for her under that waterfall. It really was all about that scene under the waterfall. The desperation in his voice, now that was romance, she thought.

  Kara loved movies and after she’d folded her towels she turned on The Bourne Ultimatum. It was the first movie she and Logan had seen in Paris, and at the moment in the movie when Jason Bourne decides not to shoot the guy in the fuzzy hat during the opening scene, Kara was lost in the memory of a much younger and a far less sure of himself Logan Rye.

  They’d been in class just over three weeks and had each made what Madame Auclair considered a “passable” French omelet. It was Friday and Kara—Winnie as far as Logan knew—was packing up her bag to leave class.

  “Do you like movies?” Logan asked.

  “I do.” Kara remembered her hands were a little jumpy because a guy usually had one thing in mind when he asked a girl that question, didn’t he?

  “Please don’t tell me you’re into foreign films.”

  Kara smiled and caught his eye for a moment as she put on the straps of her backpack.

  “I’m not into foreign films.”

  “Romance?” he asked, moving around their work stools and grabbing his phone and pencil.

  “I’m not sure there’s a woman alive who’s not a fan of at least a few romantic movies, but I really like action. The more car chases and kicks to the mouth, the better.” She smiled and made her way out of the classroom. Logan was right behind her.

  “Seriously, you look like you do”—his eyes roamed over her quickly—“and you like action movies?”

  “What does that mean? I look like I do?” Kara asked as he held the door for her and walked out into what had become the familiar hum of a Paris afternoon.

  Logan walked next to her holding only a notebook with a pencil tucked into the spiral. He dodged people going in the opposite direction of the narrow street toward Kara’s apartment.

  “I just meant that you”—he paused to step down off the curb and let a woman with a stroller pass—“I mean, what I was trying to say was you’re”—Logan flattened himself against the rail of the bridge they were now passing to make room for a man carryin
g an extra-large box. Kara heard him exhale behind her and then she heard footsteps as he ran to keep pace with her. She remembered being so nervous that what would come out of his mouth would be either wonderful or awful. Both prospects scared her.

  “Winnie!” Logan stopped and called her name. She’d been in Paris long enough that she had almost become Winnie. She turned and he was on the other side of the narrow street she had just crossed. The light had turned and they stood there on opposite sides as cars rushed in front of them. That was the first time she’d noticed how tall he was, his body. It was the first time in three weeks she’d actually stopped, unafraid to look at him. Maybe it was the safety of being on opposite sides, she didn’t know, but the look on Logan’s face was a bit like Daniel Day-Lewis’s face in The Last of the Mohicans. She hadn’t known that even existed, that kind of unspoken want, in real life. The crosswalk lit up and Logan walked toward her, in between a man on a bike and a woman in a short brown skirt listening to her iPod. Even now, sitting on her couch eight years later, Kara remembered every detail.

  When he finally reached her, he was short of breath, not from the walk across the street; maybe the look in his eyes was taking most of his breath, because Kara was certain it was taking hers. He put his hand to the back of her neck and kissed her, right there on the uneven sidewalk of Rue de something just as the sun began to set. His hand was gentle and his lips were cold and minty. She remembered touching his shoulder and kissing him back. She would never be able to recall how long the kiss lasted because time seemed to stop. She was aware of the things around her, but as her mouth parted and Logan swept his tongue across hers for the first time, Kara felt nothing but him. It was an incredible sensation for someone like her who up until that moment had only touched people, men included, in a very proper, orderly fashion. Even her dates and at-the-door kisses had been almost rehearsed. The one boy, a prom date she had cared about in high school, humiliated her, so after that, Kara was careful. But there was nothing careful about Logan or his kiss. When he pulled back he kept his hand on her neck, his fingers moving to feel her hair.

  “You’re beautiful.” His cheeks were flushed. “That’s what I meant back there when I said ‘looking like you do,’ that’s what I meant.”