A Taste for Love

by Jennifer Yen

  “It’s nice to meet you, Liza Yang,” Nathan says, sticking his hand out. “Hopefully, when we see each other again, you won’t feel compelled to attack me.”

  I give his hand a firm shake. “Well, next time, announce yourself first.”

  “Touché.”

  He steps out into the hallway. When he reaches the elevator, I hear myself calling out to him.

  “I’ll ask Jeannie what she’s got planned for tomorrow. Maybe we can all have dinner then.”

  Nathan smiles crookedly. “Promise you’ll leave the tenderizer at home?”

  “It’s a deal.”

  * * *

  • • • • •

  I tell Jeannie what happened as soon as she gets home. We’re sitting together on the couch, and emotions flit across her face as she listens to the story. When I get to the part about attacking Nathan with the meat tenderizer, she gapes at me.

  “You did what?!”

  “Well, I thought he was an intruder, so I swung and—” I pause, and our eyes lock. “I missed.”

  We burst into laughter at the same time, and Jeannie giggles until she cries.

  “I can’t believe you seriously tried to hit him!”

  I put on my sternest face. “At least now he knows not to mess with us Yang girls.”

  “I hope you don’t plan on tenderizing all my friends.”

  “Only the rude ones.”

  “I can live with that,” she agrees, bopping me on the nose. “And since you already roughed him up, I won’t punish him for barging into my apartment like that.”

  I swat her hand away. “Seriously, though, he seems nice. And he’s really ridiculously good-looking.”

  “All models are good-looking,” she answers pertly.

  “I beg to disagree. Some of them are only worth looking at from the neck down.”

  “Liza!”

  Jeannie clutches at her chest. I roll my eyes.

  “Don’t look so shocked. I’m not as innocent as you think.”

  She gasps. “Does Mom know?”

  It takes a second for her question to sink in. Heat floods my body as I backtrack.

  “No, no! That’s not what I meant! I just meant I read a lot of romance novels. Plus, you know, movies and TV and stuff.”

  She slumps against the couch. “Oh, good. You’re too young for that, okay?”

  “Now who sounds like Mom?”

  “I’m just saying . . .”

  I squint at her. “Don’t tell me you’re still—”

  “No!” Jeannie yelps. “I mean, obviously, I’ve had boyfriends before, so . . . you know.”

  “I’ve had boyfriends too, but none as hot as Nathan,” I can’t help teasing.

  I barely have time to duck as she aims a throw pillow at my head. I dodge it and tackle her to the ground, tickling her until she cries uncle. I poke her in the ribs one more time before relenting.

  “Call your boyfriend and invite him to dinner.”

  “First of all, he’s just my friend,” she corrects. “Second of all, this is our weekend together. No boys allowed.”

  “Okay, but you gave him your spare key.”

  Jeannie sighs. “If I invite him to dinner, will you get off my back?”

  “Maybe.”

  She narrows her eyes at me, and I heave a dramatic sigh.

  “Okay, fine. I promise.”

  Jeannie shakes her head and gives Nathan a call. They talk briefly, and I don’t miss the color in her cheeks as she hangs up. She wags a finger at me before I can say anything.

  “He’ll be here soon. Go get changed.”

  “Am I going to have to dress up?”

  She peers at me. “If by dress up, you mean wear clothes that don’t smell or have holes, then yes.”

  “If only that’s how Mom defined dressed up,” I complain.

  “I’m guessing she’s still after you to wear dresses.”

  “You guess correctly.”

  Back in my room, Jeannie searches through what I brought. Her eyes widen at the endless collection of T-shirts in my bag. She settles on a black Deathly Hallows shirt and tosses it into my arms.

  “This’ll work. Do a front tuck with your jeans and it’s perfect.”

  “Isn’t that what Tan’s always doing to the shirts on Queer Eye?”

  “It is.” She grins. “I told you the Fab Five could teach you real life skills. Now show me your best tuck.”

  Jeannie waits patiently for me to put on the T-shirt, then tucks in the section just above the zipper of my jeans. A tug here and a yank there, and I meet her approval. While she gets ready in her room, I hear a knock on the door.

  I open it and smile. “Hey, Nathan.”

  “Hi, Liza.”

  He eyeballs my hands. I hold them up for him to inspect.

  “No weapon. I promise.”

  “Good to know.” He pretends to wipe his brow. “One near beating is enough for me.”

  Jeannie walks out then, dressed in a blush-colored silk blouse with bow detailing. She’s paired it with vegan leather black leggings and topped everything off with a black Chanel tweed jacket and ankle boots. He whistles.

  “You look great, Jeannie.”

  She smiles shyly. “Thank you.”

  Nathan leans over to hug her, and it lasts a few seconds longer than is friendly. I resist the temptation to make kissy faces at Jeannie.

  “So, where are we going for dinner?”

  Nathan purses his lips. “Are you craving anything in particular?”

  “Well, my friend Grace told me I had to try New York pizza.”

  “That’s a must. In fact, we’ll take you to Joe’s.”

  My brows stitch together in concentration. “Wait. Is that the place Spider-Man works at?”

  “I knew I liked you for a reason,” he replies with a grin. “You’re exactly right, but I’m taking you to the OG Joe’s on Carmine.”

  “Aren’t they pretty much the same?”

  Jeannie laughs as Nathan balks at me. “I wouldn’t say that too loud if I were you. New Yorkers are majorly divided on that one. But I swear the OG is better.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  Chapter 11

  Joe’s Pizza definitely lives up to the hype, as does everything else Jeannie takes me to over the next few days. My Instagram account, previously full of memes and food pics, has doubled in size. We’ve done all the touristy stuff, including the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the Empire State Building, and the World Trade Center. Yesterday was a whole day at the Met, followed by dinner and Aladdin on Broadway. By the time we got home, I went straight to bed and passed out.

  Today, we’ve been taking it easy. I’m reading in bed when I hear a knock at my door before it swings open.

  “Get dressed, Bunbun,” Jeannie says.

  She bounces into my room unexpectedly and throws herself onto the bed. She must have just walked in the door, though I didn’t hear her come in. I put down my Julia Quinn novel and look her over. Jeannie’s long black hair is pinned back into a twist, and she’s dressed in another fitted white T-shirt and skinny jeans. On closer inspection, there’s just enough makeup on her face to highlight her features.

  Jeannie pokes me in the arm. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”

  I check the time on my phone. How is it six o’clock already?

  “Late to what? Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Uh . . . am I going to like this surprise?”

  “Of course you are. In fact, I bet you’ll say this is the best part of the whole trip.”

  That’s a bold statement. Everything we’ve done so far has been pretty spectacular.

  “Well?” She eyes me impatiently. “Are you gonna get
moving or what?”

  “This better be worth my getting dressed,” I quip as I climb off the bed.

  “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

  A certain unfortunate hairdo in middle school comes to mind. Jeannie swore spiral perms were in, but I just looked like an overgrown poodle. She must guess what I’m thinking because she interrupts as soon as I open my mouth.

  “About something other than fashion.”

  “Fine. I’ll get changed,” I relent, opening the closet door.

  “Great!”

  Jeannie flounces out the room. A second later, I stick my head into the hallway.

  “One more thing.”

  She turns back to look at me. “What?”

  “Don’t call me Bunbun!”

  * * *

  • • • • •

  Despite my best efforts, Jeannie adamantly refuses to give me any hints as to where we’re going. It’s a bit brisk when we step outside the building, so I put on my jacket. When we reach the corner, Jeannie hails a taxi. A few minutes later, we’re headed downtown. As we make our way past Rockefeller Center, traffic slows down enough that I’m able to grab a few pics of the gilded gold statue and beautiful fountains.

  Jeannie taps me on the shoulder when we reach Bryant Park.

  “Look! Right there. It’s the New York Public Library.”

  Twin lions flank the steps leading up to the light stone edifice I’ve only seen in movies.

  “It’s beautiful!”

  Jeannie smirks. “Wait until you see the inside. Remind me to take you before you leave.”

  We continue past the Empire State Building, though I don’t recognize it immediately from ground level. Then, we come up on a distinctive triangular building next to a small park.

  “That’s the Flatiron Building,” Jeannie informs me without being asked. “They call it that because it’s shaped like one.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “I guess it is.”

  “How would you know? You’ve never used one.”

  Jeannie dodges the slap I aim at her arm before turning to direct our driver. He pulls to the curb a few feet away and lets us out. Jeannie leads me through the doors of Patisserie Chanson, a sleek French bakery. The decor reminds me of an airplane, with glinting aluminum squares jutting from the ceiling and white tile along both walls. My eyes flutter closed briefly as butter and sugar beckon to me from the clear glass cases on the right. I turn to her.

  “This is the surprise?”

  She grins. “Not quite.”

  Before I can ask any more questions, a blonde woman dressed in all black approaches us.

  “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”

  “Yes,” Jeannie answers. “Party of two for Jeannie Yang.”

  The hostess checks her computer, and then nods. “Follow me, please.”

  She leads us down a set of stairs into a dim, cozy room. Above us, exposed brick slopes across the ceiling and down to form the wall of a long bar. Oval booths line the opposite side, and colorful star-shaped tiles decorate the floor. The hostess brings us to two stools about halfway down the bar, where five other people are already seated.

  “Enjoy.”

  I perch myself on the seat to Jeannie’s right. When she’s settled, I lean over and whisper in her ear.

  “You know I’m not old enough to drink, right?”

  She shushes me. “Just wait and see.”

  After a few more groups fill in the remaining open spots, a trio of chefs appears to join the bartenders. The tallest of the three, a stocky man with brown hair shaved along the side and blue eyes, begins to speak.

  “Welcome, everyone, to the Chanson Dessert Bar. Tonight, we’ll be preparing a six-course menu meant to delight your senses. If you’ve never been here before, get ready for a one-of-a-kind dessert experience.”

  He goes on to explain that each course will be prepared tableside from beginning to end. My eyes widen as they meet Jeannie’s.

  She winks. “Surprise!”

  I don’t stop grinning until the tasting begins. After the first course of olive oil gelato, the chefs move on to yuzu parfait with honeycomb. I’m enthralled by their use of liquid nitrogen, flame torches, and even Himalayan salt blocks. The chefs demonstrate techniques I’ve never seen before, and I take videos of them on my phone for later. The menu alternates between sweet and savory, but everything blends together like magic. During a lull in the courses, Jeannie cocks her head at me.

  “So, are you excited about starting at Rice in the fall?”

  I shrug. “I guess. I originally wanted to go out of state like you, but Mom nearly had a heart attack when I asked.”

  “Have you decided on a major?”

  “Not yet.” I play with the stem of my glass. “They want me to do accounting so I can help out at Yin and Yang.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  I say nothing, but she reads the answer in my eyes and sighs.

  “Why don’t you tell them? They were totally cool with me still modeling in college.”

  “That’s because you’re the golden child. They’d support you even if you joined a cult.”

  She takes a sip of her wine before answering. “I doubt that, Liza. They’re strict with me too.”

  “It’s not the same,” I tell her. “As far as Mom’s concerned, I can’t even make my bed right. You’re good at everything.”

  “That’s not true. I can’t bake worth a damn.”

  “You’re right. The last time I tried one of your cookies, I almost cracked a tooth.” I press a hand to my cheek to emphasize my point.

  Jeannie pokes me in the arm. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “My molars disagree.”

  She rolls her eyes and waves me off as the next dish appears in front of us.

  * * *

  • • • • •

  When the tasting concludes for the night, we emerge onto the street outside the bakery, stuffed and happy. As we stroll along the sidewalk, Jeannie hooks her arm through mine.

  “That was amazing,” I say, glancing at her. “I wish I could bake like those pastry chefs.”

  “You could totally be as good as them,” Jeannie insists.

  “Maybe . . .” I answer, my voice trailing off.

  She stops short. “I have an idea! Why don’t you enter the contest? You’ll win for sure, and maybe that’ll help change Mom’s mind.”

  I shake my head. “She’ll never let me enter, Jeannie.”

  We keep walking. Despite what I said, her words echo through my mind. What if she’s right? I can bake circles around those contestants, even the ones who’ve competed before. I have the trophies to prove it. What’s the worst that could happen?

  A few minutes later, I’m busy planning bakes in my head when I hear Jeannie yelp.

  “Liza, watch out!”

  She yanks me away just in time to avoid colliding with a couple.

  “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

  I open my mouth to apologize, but the words die in my throat. The girl I nearly bumped into looks like she could walk the runway with Jeannie. Tall, slender, and dressed in a gold bandage dress and five-inch stilettos, the only ugly thing about her is her expression.

  “What is wrong with you?! You almost stepped on my shoes!”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble, staring at the ground. “I didn’t see you.”

  “Didn’t see—”

  “Let it go, Nina. She didn’t do it on purpose.”

  I shift my attention to her companion, and I stiffen immediately.

  “James.”

  He tips his chin. “Liza.”

  “You know her?” Nina asks.

  “You know them?” my sister parrots.

  “We met in Houston,” James explains to Nina. �
��We have . . . mutual friends.”

  His dark eyes drop down and linger on the front of my T-shirt. I belatedly remember what’s on it—a fox wearing glasses and foxy nerd written across the bottom. He presses his lips together as if trying to hide a smile. Nina, on the other hand, looks down her nose at me. Tomorrow’s newspaper headline flashes in front of me.

  Teenage Tourist Bludgeons Terrified Model with Own Stiletto

  I chuckle out loud before I can stop myself. Nina scowls. As she starts to say something else, James interjects.

  “We were just leaving dinner.”

  I expect him to ask a question, but he just stands there and stares. A beat passes, and I square my shoulders.

  “In that case, don’t let me stop you. Good night.”

  I spin on my heel and walk off without checking to see if Jeannie’s following. I’m halfway down the block when James calls out to me.

  “Liza! Hold on a minute!”

  I’m tempted to ignore him and keep going, but Mom’s voice pops into my head.

  Don’t make a scene, Liza. Remember, everything you do is a reflection of our family.

  My jaw clenches, but I turn back to face him as he jogs up to me. Jeannie moves to join us, but gradually enough it’s obvious she’s giving us some privacy.

  I glare up at him. “What do you want, James?”

  “Oh, uh, I wanted to apologize . . . for Nina,” he answers after clearing his throat. “She can be . . . a bit demanding.”

  I have a different word in mind, but nod anyway.

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  He rubs the back of his neck. “Um, so, I didn’t realize you were in Manhattan.”

  “I’m here visiting my sister,” I answer.

  “Ah, right. You said that . . . before.”

  Jeannie finally stops beside me. She smiles warmly and offers her hand.

  “I’m Jeannie. It’s nice to meet you.”

  He takes it and gives it a gentle shake. “James, and likewise. Were you two having dinner?”

  “Actually, I took Liza to the Chanson Dessert Bar.”

  “Oh, it’s one of my favorite places,” he says with a faint smile. “Did you enjoy it?”

  I start to answer, but Nina is barreling toward us, and she looks positively murderous.