Taste: A Love Story

by Tracy Ewens

  “Oh, are you two—” asshat started to ask.

  “Sleeping together? Why yes we are, Stew.” Logan grinned.

  Kara choked on her wine and Logan lightly patted her on the back.

  “If you’ll excuse us, Stew. I’m just dying to dance with my girl here.”

  Stew held up both hands and sort of gaped at Logan like he was a crazed animal. And he was. Kara, still recovering, went with him toward the back patio, and when he pulled her into his arms, she did that thing he also hated. She assessed the room.

  “No one is looking, princess.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ.”

  “Nanaism?”

  Kara nodded still peering out of the corner of her eye as Logan turned to avoid crashing into another couple.

  “What just happened?” Kara asked.

  Logan held back a laugh, because he wasn’t sure exactly how much trouble he was in yet. “I made an entrance. I wasn’t going to sit there and watch you play country club with some guy who I’m pretty sure owns a blow-dryer. It’s not how I work.”

  Kara nodded, looking unable to speak.

  “No one, Kara? You’ve told no one,” Logan confirmed.

  “I told Grady. Jake knows. This is just—”

  “Some other part of your world where your mother still sets you up and you play along.”

  “Yes, I guess that’s what this is. I didn’t ask you to come.”

  “And now we know why. Stew over there may have gotten lucky.”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “I’m not. That was the Scotch Grady gave me talking.”

  Kara glared over at Grady, who held up his glass to both of them.

  “Damn, that stuff is strong.” Logan blinked his eyes and turned her again as they danced to avoid the edge of the patio.

  Kara seemed to be considering something. Her eyes went to a crowd of women whispering out of the sides of their mouths and then, suddenly, Kara laughed. Full-body, pulsing against him with her face buried in his chest. It was the very best sound and when her eyes peeked up, still dancing with laughter, he saw her. Crazy-haired Kara was in there like a little girl playing dress up with far too much makeup on.

  “Are we allowed to laugh?” Logan asked, smiling at her.

  “Oh, Christ, who cares at this point? You just told my dad’s top analyst that we are sleeping together.” She laughed again. “The women we walked past are all in my mother’s bridge club and my father has suddenly stopped his all-important mingling to sidle up next to Grady at the bar, no doubt sent by my mother. He’s there to find out what ‘in all things holy’ is going on?”

  Logan’s brow went up, but before he could ask, she answered.

  “That’s a Momism, not to be confused with a Nanaism. Huge difference. I’ll explain later. Anyway, she’s sent my father to Grady to gather intel. I’m not sure why this feels so incredible, but it does. Look”—Kara leaned back—“my hands are shaking.”

  “Is that a good thing?” Logan pulled her into him.

  “It is a great thing. Anything that is not, as my father says, ‘perfect,’ is right where I want to be.”

  He swayed her in his arms and his heart pounded in his chest as if it couldn’t get close enough. It was heady, more powerful than the Scotch, which was thankfully melting out of his system.

  “Can I kiss you?”

  She didn’t even do her “who’s watching” thing. His heart opened and maybe his hands shook too; then she leaned up and kissed him. It was soft, a whisper really, and then the song was over. Logan took her hand and when his eyes drifted away from her beautiful face, he noticed Bindi Malendar standing next to her husband and Grady. The woman had a presence that Logan hadn’t quite figured out, but his first thought was rather than everyone being scared of her, perhaps Kara’s mother was actually the one who was afraid.

  As Nana would say, it was “time to pay the piper,” Kara thought squeezing Logan’s hand a little tighter.

  “Kara.” Her mother’s tone was quite familiar, as she and Logan joined everyone near the bar.

  “Mother.” Kara squeezed Logan’s hand. “I’m not sure if you’ve met Logan Rye. He’s a chef and the owner of The Yard, where Dad had the volunteer dinner.”

  Bindi Malendar scanned her memory and then her face filled with familiar. “Yes, of course, you have a hammer in the ladies’ room, oh and you were in the newspaper dancing with our daughter.”

  “We do have a hammer in the bathroom and yes, I was dancing with your daughter. She’s a great dancer by the way.” Logan smiled.

  “I don’t think I got to meet you that evening at the volunteer event.” Her mother ignored Logan’s comment about dancing.

  Bindi Malendar had a talent for sifting through and picking out only the pieces of the conversation she cared to continue.

  “It was quite hectic with all of the people out supporting my husband. Dear”—she turned to the senator who was talking with Grady—“did you meet Logan at the volunteer dinner?”

  “I did. I thanked him when we left that night and welcomed him when he showed up tonight. Kara’s writing a piece on him and his restaurant.”

  “Oh right.” Her mother’s gaze shifted back. “Well, that’s great. Logan, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

  She extended her hand and Logan took it gently, looking like he wasn’t sure how much to put behind the shake.

  “It’s great to finally meet you too, Mrs. Malendar. I voted for your husband,” Logan said, and Kara was sure he knew that he’d hit the money shot.

  “Well, that’s good to hear. You’re a smart boy.” Her mother reached out to touch Logan on his arm. “I hope Kara is treating you well,” she said, and for the second time in one evening, Kara almost choked. Logan turned to her, patted her on the back, and gave her a playful smile that had nothing to do with the Scotch—it was all his own.

  “Yes, she is treating me very well.”

  “That’s good because Kara can be brutal. Have you read any of her reviews?”

  “I have and she is tough. I’m lucky this is a feature and not one of her fear-inducing reviews,” Logan teased.

  “Oh well, that’s good. Yes, very good. Patrick?” Her mother turned away from Logan in that dismissive, “we’re done talking” way that drove Kara nuts. “Have they started with the coffee already? I see some people with coffee.”

  Her father glanced around and shrugged. “Maybe some people wanted coffee.” He put his hand on her mother’s shoulder. “It’s fine. There’s plenty of—”

  “Logan and I are . . .” Kara wanted to get it out before ten minutes were spent discussing the timing of the damn coffee. She lost her words for a moment when her mother turned to her.

  “Seeing each other. We are. We’re dating.”

  Bindi Malendar seemed genuinely confused for a beat. “Really?” She raised her perfect eyebrow. “Well, I had no idea that”—she turned to Logan with a little more assessment now—“you were dating. That’s lovely, isn’t it Patrick?”

  “It is. Logan’s family runs Ryeland Farms.” Her father was clearly pitching the case for Kara’s new man.

  Bindi smiled. “They run the farmers markets. There’s one here, but I believe there’s also one in the city?”

  “There is. We started the one in LA a little over a year ago.” Logan smiled.

  “Well that’s great.” Her mother assessed her from head to toe. It had always been that way. One misstep or surprise and her mother took account of everything about her children. It was like she had a running list of positives and negatives. Kara smiled. There was entirely too much smiling going on, but at least it was out. Kara was certain there would be a few more discussions on the matter, but not tonight. Her parents both excused themselves and hurried off to work the room.

  “Now that wasn’t bad at all.” Grady was still standing at the bar.

  Kara laughed.

  “I’m not sure if I did well or if they hate me.”

  “It’s h
ard to tell. There’s a thin line between love and hate in the Malendar home, but I think you survived. Sis, your thoughts?”

  “You were great.” She suddenly wanted to leave, wanted to breathe. “Can we leave now?” she asked Grady.

  He checked his watch. “You’ve been here for almost two hours. If you walk slowly to the door and take your time getting your coats, I think you will have been here for the obligatory time.”

  They all laughed.

  “Where’s Kate?” Kara asked.

  “Sitting this one out. I haven’t gotten her down the aisle yet, so I don’t want to push it. Besides, she does this stuff all day. And she hasn’t been feeling well, stomach bug or the flu maybe.”

  “That’s not fun. Sick fiancée, surely that gets you out early, too?” Logan asked.

  “You would think, but I get to meet some guy who wants to give money to the Roads Foundation. He’s late, of course, so I’ll be here for a little longer.” Grady hugged his sister good-bye.

  “I love you.” She kissed him on the cheek.

  “Me too.” Grady hugged her and extended his hand to Logan.

  “You did it, man, you survived. Wait until you have to do a sit-down dinner. They close the doors to the dining area and . . . well, that’s when you really become a man.” Grady laughed.

  “Thanks for being a friend.” Logan was so sincere, it felt out of place in the room.

  “Anytime.”

  Kara and Logan said their good-byes and just like that they were a couple. Sure it was cursory acceptance, but the thought that she could be with him and have a life with him and still keep her parents where she needed them made her feel hopeful.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Kara followed close behind as her mother opened the sleek black door of La Luna and exchanged double-cheek kisses with Monique and Cheryl. They were there to try on the dresses her mother had chosen for the spring social. Even though spring was months away, it was never too early for Bindi Malendar to get out the paper dresses and fold something onto her cutout daughter.

  La Luna was an exclusive dress boutique in Old Town Pasadena. Her mother had used Monique and Cheryl for years, and by association, so had Kara, for special events anyway. Both women were probably in their mid-forties and from what Kara could tell, flawless. Monique had dark chocolate hair pulled tight into a tail that dropped, like silk, down the back of her slender golden neck. Cheryl was slightly shorter, but in higher heels, so they appeared the same height. She had a short crop of white-blonde hair that made her gray eyes look almost otherworldly. Both were perfectly manicured, pressed, and polished in black, “the only color of winter.” It made Kara a little sick that she knew this, but like it or not, these ladies had fitted her for both proms and every other picture-perfect event since. They were part of her family. Kara was pretty sure when Hillary Clinton said, “It takes a village,” that La Luna was not what she had in mind.

  “Kara.” Monique gave her a hug and ran her hand along the back of Kara’s hair. She had left it down, forgoing the straightening iron. Mainly because when she’d slid out of Logan’s bed this morning, she felt warm and wonderful. She didn’t want to primp and polish that away. She wanted the smell of his sheets, the feel of him, to somehow help her through this day. When he kissed her, coffee on his breath, she no longer cared about “doing her face and fixing that hair” as her mother eventually said when she picked Kara up at 6:30 in the morning with matching espressos, the breakfast of Malendar women. Coffee, especially espresso, was sophisticated, her mother had preached for as long as Kara could remember. “Tea is messy and boring,” she had once said. Kara worked at drinking coffee in college; it never took, but she tolerated it around her mother. It was simply easier than arguing. Monique was trying to be subtle, but Kara recognized the smoothing gesture. Her curls were always unruly and her mother hated them.

  “Monique, lovely to see you too.” Kara tried, but failed at sincerity.

  “I like this beachy in February thing you are working here, darling. Someone’s ready for surf lessons,” she said, looking at Kara’s mother whose annoyance was less subtle. Both women flashed that odd half grin that Kara hated.

  Kara returned the well-rehearsed smile and gave her token response, the one she’d used since she was old enough to wear a proper dress. “Oh, I know, I’m just a mess.”

  “No worries, sweetheart. That’s what we’re here for.” Monique took her coat.

  Bindi and Cheryl were already chatting near the half circle of plush white couches and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Kara glanced down at the boutique’s wood floors as she walked to take her place next to her mother who was now gesturing impatiently for her to join them. As her mother looped her arm through Kara’s and continued talking about someone, somewhere who was doing something inappropriate, Kara focused on the wood floors. It was the only warmth in the entire place and she’d never noticed them before. She thought of Logan. His morning face as he’d walked her to his door. His body, lumbering and then wrapping her up. She closed her eyes for a minute after looking out a nearby window. The sun was up and light spilled into the sterile shop. Kara could see her bare feet as they padded across Logan’s wood floors, and as her mother rolled her eyes and continued to drone on, she wanted to run back to his bed.

  “Kara!” her mother interrupted her perfectly lovely moment. “Are you with us dear, because I’d like to know what you think of your dress before we start with the fitting.”

  “Why?” fell from Kara’s mouth before she could stop it. She could hear Monique’s giggle and Cheryl’s quick intake of breath.

  “What does that mean?” her mother asked.

  Kara turned her face away from the sunlight and back at her reality. “Nothing. Sorry.” She reached out to touch the dress Cheryl was holding. “That’s beautiful and a great color.” Kara tried to smooth things over. She was not in the mood for confrontation.

  “It will look great on you,” Monique chimed in.

  “It’s your signature, dear. Everyone needs a signature color,” her mother said for the thousandth time in her life, smoothing Kara’s hair.

  Raspberry. Raspberry had been her “signature color” since she was sixteen. Every dress from that moment on had been raspberry or was accented with the hue. How could someone possibly be given a signature color without her permission? Wasn’t that the point of the word “signature”? Unique to that person? It was to the point that Kara couldn’t even eat raspberries.

  “Well, let’s get it on you and see how it fits.” Cheryl walked in front of the mirrors toward the back and they all followed her. Sort of like ducks, Kara thought.

  “That’s a good idea because I’m sure there will need to be some alterations,” her mother started. “Dear, have you been following an eating plan because you seem to have put some weight on. We may have to—”

  Kara grabbed the dress from Cheryl, ignoring her mother because she had heard the same speech dozens of times before. She could practically recite it herself.

  In the changing area, Kara let out her breath. She knew it wasn’t the same breath she had taken in when they had arrived, but it sure felt like it. She held the dress out in front of her, knew it wasn’t going to fit, and smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kara saw the note on Logan’s door as she climbed his porch later that night.

  I like you. Do you like me?

  It was followed by two check boxes, one yes and the other no. Kara smiled. The note instructed that if her answer was “Yes” she should come on in and meet him in the backyard. Her heart fluttered giddily. She leaned forward and kissed the paper, leaving a faint impression of her lip gloss and indicating that yes, she liked him a lot.

  Laughing at herself, Kara turned the brass knob and stepped into Logan’s small home. She could smell him, his food, and centuries of old paint—life lived. She closed her eyes. She wanted this. This wasn’t obtained by a decorator or purchased on a showroom floor. Kara ran her hand along the
wall molding as she made her way toward the back of the house to the kitchen. What was coursing through her body was earned, not bought, from early mornings remembering to water plants, bake fresh bread. Those things made a life.

  Kara walked through the white entryway of the kitchen and past Logan’s stove which, like a painter’s palette, was stained, dented, and used. The back door was open and she saw the glow of candles. She pushed through the screen door and stood, taking in the most magical sight she had ever seen, at least since becoming an adult.

  Paper lanterns hung all around the back porch, and the steps and walkway that led to the grass were lined with candles in punched tin holders so the light came out as tiny dots along her path to a canvas tent. Soft music, she couldn’t make out what it was, spilled off the porch and into the huge magnolia tree and endless greenery of Logan’s backyard. She noticed a table to the right of the tent with covered plates, bottles of wine, and more candles. As Kara made her way to the tent, Logan was backing out on his knees. He heard her and turned.

  “Oh, hey.”

  “Hey,” was all she could manage as he stood, hair falling into his eyes. Logan wiped his hands on his jeans and pushed his hair off his face.

  “So, I thought”—he moved to her—“since we were super adults the other night, dressed up and all, that we might try something a little—”

  Kara couldn’t say anything. She was pretty sure this was what stunned felt like. Logan must have noticed and misread, because he started to backtrack.

  “Okay, maybe this was ridiculous, I just thought that—”

  She reached for him and pulled him into her as if she was afraid he might disappear into the night. She held on and kissed him deep. She wasn’t sure how to put everything she was feeling into words, so she showed him. When they pulled apart, he slowly opened his eyes and smiled as golden flecks sparkled from the candlelight.