Tasting Notes

by Cate Ashwood

  He walked from the office and out into the reception area.

  “I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab a coffee. Do you want anything?”

  A moment of surprise showed on Scarlet’s face before she schooled her expression. “I can do that for you, sir.”

  “I know. You’ve been fetching my coffee for years. Time for me to return the favor. Caramel macchiato? Extra whipped cream?”

  She smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

  “I’ll be back in a few.”

  West took the stairs rather than the elevator. The time he spent in California had hardened and molded his body into better shape than he ever managed at the gym. Then two months in Chicago and all that progress began to slip.

  As he rounded the corner on the final flight, he could feel the gentle burn of his muscles working. It felt good after weeks of sitting behind a desk. His feet hit the ground, and he was across the lobby of the building in a few seconds.

  The traffic out on the street was heavy, and the noise that once faded so easily into the background seemed brash and intolerable. The quiet of a small town somehow became his favorite soundtrack, and now he missed it more than ever.

  He waited patiently at the crosswalk for the light to change, then jogged over to the other side where the coffee shop sat, its sleek design and glass décor too slick. As West walked inside, he felt like something was missing. The shop was packed with people, but no one looked up. The woman behind the counter looked frazzled and stressed, and as he stood in line to place his order, he felt invisible. This was nothing like the friendly warmth of Annette’s, and a few minutes later when the grumpy barista handed him his coffee, he took a sip and realized it tasted like shit.

  This was the same coffee he drank every day for years, the same coffee he’d gone through withdrawal without when he left, the same coffee he craved for weeks once he arrived in Canyon Creek, and now it tasted like someone scooped up the dirty water in the alley behind the store and squirted some canned whipped cream onto it.

  Chugging it down as though it were a bottle of cough syrup, he carried Scarlet’s drink back to her. A sick feeling in the pit of his stomach—possibly from the coffee—intensified as he approached his building. Pushing the feeling of trepidation aside, he walked back in and took the elevator up to his office.

  There would be time to worry about what it all meant later.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Rush hung up the phone and set it down next to his towel before cannonballing back into the pool. He tried to set aside thoughts of West, but he couldn’t help but feel let down. He knew there was little chance he’d actually fly out to Palm Springs, but the pang of disappointment when he said no… it still stung.

  The joy he found in gliding through the cool water minutes before was now lost as he swam a few more laps from one end of the pool to the other. His parents were sitting in the shade, drinks in hand, watching him splash around like he had when he was a little kid. He missed those days, when everything was straightforward and simple. Now his heart hung heavy in his chest as West’s words hit him again. He sounded sad, just as dejected as Rush felt, but the sentiment didn’t matter when the outcome was the same. Yet another week was going to slip by without them seeing one another, just as the last week had, and the one before that.

  He swam to the shallow end and walked up the stairs, not bothering to grab a towel before collapsing on one of the chairs on the pool deck. He would be dry in a matter of minutes.

  “Do you want a drink?” his mom asked later that afternoon. He’d been lying in the sun for a while, and his skin was starting to feel a little on the crispy side.

  “Sure, whatever you got,” he said, getting up and walking over to the shaded part of the yard. He took a seat next to his father, who was reading the paper.

  “Margarita?” his mom asked.

  “That sounds great. Could you make it a double?”

  She left and returned with a large glass of pink slush adorned with a blue straw and a yellow umbrella. Rush laughed as she handed it to him.

  “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?” he asked.

  “That seems like a silly way to go through life, half-assing everything. If you’re going to do something, do it with gusto. Either you’re all in, or you might as well go home.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re not talking about bartending?”

  She shrugged innocently.

  “I’m not buying that for a second,” Rush said. “What are you on about?”

  “You’ve been in a mood all afternoon.”

  “I have not. I’ve been getting some sun, relaxing.”

  “Bullshit,” his mother said. “You’ve had waves of pissiness wafting off you since you got out of the pool. I can only assume it has something to do with the phone call. Was that West?”

  Rush nodded. “Yeah. Things have been a little rough lately, I guess. I miss him.”

  She nodded understandingly. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “Nothing. Wait it out, I guess. His job is bound to slow down eventually.”

  “You obviously don’t know him very well. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be after all.”

  Rush could hear the sarcasm dripping from his mother’s voice. She was right. He was deluding himself if he thought the work would ever slow for West.

  “Maybe we should change the subject.”

  “Robert James Coeman. I have never once known you to back down from facing something unpleasant. You’re not a runner. You face your problems head on. I don’t understand what’s gotten into you that you’ve decided sticking your head in the sand is the right course of action here.”

  “Because I love him, and I don’t want to think about losing him. But what the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t force him to take time off work to come see me,” Rush said. He could feel the familiar pull of desperation that came every time he thought about losing West. Deep in his heart he knew the relationship could only survive so much, but he wasn’t willing to think about that. Stagnancy was one thing, and he could live with that. He didn’t like it, but it was better than the alternative.

  “I love you, Rush, but you can be really thick sometimes.”

  Rush looked over at his dad, hoping he’d decide to weigh in at some point. He lifted his newspaper higher, blocking himself from the conversation. Rush shook his head and sighed.

  “What am I missing, then, Mom?”

  “Why is it up to him to come to you? Correct me if I’m wrong here, but don’t you have another week off, with someone taking care of things at home for you?”

  “Well yeah, but—”

  “And don’t you own a helicopter? A helicopter that is more than capable of making the flight to Chicago?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “So what are you doing here, suntanning in your miserable funk when you could be there, working things out? You need to decide what you’re willing to give up for him. The reason you met in the first place is because he broke his routine, uprooted his life, and ended up in your lap. You can’t expect that to happen twice. Do something, Rush. Don’t be stupid, or you’re going to lose him to your apathy.”

  Rush was speechless. His mother had never been one to mince words, but she had laid everything out so clearly for him, he was grasping to find the words to thank her. She was right. He’d been waiting around for West to fix things, and he was more than capable of manning up and doing what needed to be done to be with the man he loved. It was too late to begin the trip now. Rush did the calculations in his head. Fourteen-hour flight, adding the time back to the base, plus the touchdowns along to way to refuel meant he wouldn’t be arriving until after zero dark thirty.

  “I’m going to need a ride back to the base.”

  His mother beamed. “Good boy.”

  “I’m sorry I’m cutting the visit short, Mom. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Yes you will. You bring West here with you next time. I’ll make you both margari
tas.”

  Rush stood and pressed a kiss to his mother’s forehead. “Thank you. For everything.”

  “Of course. You’re my son and I love you. Even when you’re being a complete idiot. Now go pack your stuff. Your father will drive you.”

  Rush hurried off to throw his stuff in a bag.

  It took nearly eighteen hours for Rush to arrive at the offices of Forge West in Chicago. Although he arrived in Chicago slightly rumpled and without having slept, he had more energy than he felt in weeks. Walking through the lobby of the high-rise office building, he quickly located the directory and West’s offices. Taking the elevator up, he shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to still the fidgeting. He’d never been like this—always the picture of calm, cool, and collected, Rush had long forgotten how he felt the first time he flew a chopper. As the doors opened, a soft ding alerting him he had arrived, he was reminded of the quick rush of adrenaline he experienced that first day in the air.

  Excitement and anticipation rocked him as he walked into the office and stopped short at the front reception desk.

  “Good afternoon; do you have an appointment?” the woman behind the counter asked. She was young and perky, her hair swept into something he could picture on a woman from the 1950s. Although she looked nothing like her, she reminded Rush vaguely of Rosie. They had the same feminine gumption.

  “No, no appointment. I was hoping to catch West.”

  “Mr. Weston’s day, unfortunately, is quite full. If you’d like, I can schedule an appointment for you for another day.” She consulted her computer. “You’re in luck. He had a cancellation the first week of December. Shall I put your name in?”

  Rush was taken aback. He hadn’t anticipated being told to wait to see West. “No, thank you,” he said as politely as he could, trying to mask his disappointment. It wasn’t ideal, but he could wait. West had to finish work eventually. Rush would wait for him until he came down. He glanced at his watch. It was a little after four. He knew West worked long hours, but he had nowhere to be.

  “I’m a friend of his,” Rush said. “Would it be all right if I waited here for him until he finishes for the day?”

  The receptionist looked uncertain, as though Rush might be some sort of psycho stalker there to take West out in some sort of homicidal rampage. To her credit, Rush did look a little sketchy. The thick beard and wrinkled clothes had a certain murderous look to them. If he’d been carrying an axe, even he might be a little frightened.

  “Um… I’m new. Let me check, okay?” she asked.

  “Sure, no problem,” Rush replied.

  She picked up the phone and pressed two buttons. Rush waited patiently as she spoke.

  “Hi, yeah, it’s Emily. There’s a gentleman here who says he’s a friend of Mr. Weston’s. He doesn’t have an appointment… no… but he’s asking if it’s all right if he stays in the waiting area until he’s finished for the day…. Yes, I know he works late…. No, I didn’t. Hang on.”

  She covered the phone with one hand. “I’m sorry. I forgot to get your name.”

  “Rush.”

  The look was back, as though he might be some lunatic who wandered in off the street, but she removed her hand and relayed the information to the person on the other end. A look of surprise passed over her face before she returned the phone to the cradle, then stood.

  “Mr. Rush, please follow me, right this way.”

  Rush followed her through a wide glass door beside her desk. It led to an open area with large offices and conference rooms along one wall. She paused in front of the last door before opening it and ushering Rush through. There was a sizeable desk made of glass and chrome, and behind it sat a woman Rush hadn’t met before. She was meticulously dressed, and not a hair out of place, but her eyes were warm. Rush could only assume this was Scarlet.

  “Rush, I’m so glad you’re here! Welcome,” Scarlet said, standing and walking over to him. It took a moment for Rush to react when she hugged him, his body going stiff as she wrapped her arms around him. He hadn’t realized they were on such friendly terms, but he hugged her back.

  “Thanks, Emily, you can go.”

  When the receptionist left, Scarlet turned back to him. “Sorry about her. She’s new… and not the best help we’ve had, unfortunately. I’m so glad you’re here. He’s on a conference call at the moment, but he shouldn’t be too long. Give me a minute and I’ll reschedule the last bit of his day.”

  “Oh, that’s really not necessary,” Rush said. “I don’t want to disrupt him. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t mind waiting.”

  She shot him a look that said “You’re a fucking idiot” and dialed the phone. A few minutes later she hung up and turned her attention back to Rush. “The rest of his afternoon just cleared up. He’s going to be so happy to see you. He’s been a miserable grouch since he got back.”

  Rush couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He didn’t like that West was upset, but knowing he was as affected by their separation made Rush feel even more positive he made the right decision in coming.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  West hung up the phone and collapsed back into his seat, breathing a deep sigh. The conference call that was supposed to take fifteen minutes, tops, spanned nearly an hour. He took one more steeling breath, then picked up the phone to buzz Scarlet. He knew it was going to be yet another late night, his exasperation amplified by the lack of sleep from the night before.

  The dejection in Rush’s voice haunted him as he lay in bed, willing sleep to come. He couldn’t get the sound of his disappointment out of his head. It was well after two before he finally passed out. West wanted desperately to pull a repeat performance and leave town without so much as a good-bye. Considering it momentarily, he dismissed the idea. He’d run from his life once before. He couldn’t do that again, if only for his staff, who worked so tirelessly to keep things running in his absence.

  When Scarlet picked up on the other end of the line, West knew something was up immediately. There was something to the way she spoke, a giddiness he hadn’t heard before.

  “Can you send in my next appointment, please?” West said, ignoring the unusual tone.

  “Right away, sir.”

  West hung up once more and scrubbed one hand over his face. His patience ran thin, and his energy was zapped. The coffees he mainlined all day did nothing to perk him up. A moment later he heard the door click open, and when he looked up, he thought he was hallucinating.

  “Seriously?” he asked, still not believing what he was seeing.

  “Hey,” Rush said, stepping forward.

  West’s attention zoned in on him, and he almost missed the self-satisfied smirk from Scarlet.

  “Just to let you know, I’ve moved the rest of the appointments for the day. You know, in case this meeting runs long.”

  He definitely needed to give her a raise.

  West heard the click of the door as it shut, and he was up and across the room, pulling Rush into his arms and taking him in a crushing kiss. It was needy and devoid of all finesse, and it was everything West needed. His hands slid along Rush’s jaw, holding him there as though West were afraid he might vanish.

  “I missed you. So fucking much,” Rush said.

  West felt the words as much as he heard them, Rush’s voice vibrating against his chest.

  “I missed you too,” West said.

  Rush kissed him then, his body explaining better than words ever could. He undid West’s shirt with careful movements, sliding each button through to expose more skin. As the fabric fell away, Rush glided his hands across, his touch gentle. West leaned into him, needing those hands, that touch. It had been so long since they’d been together, and West craved Rush more than he thought possible. Despite the fact that they were standing in the middle of West’s office, they took their time, as though they had all day to get to the good stuff. Rush stroked and kissed every inch of West’s body as he gently pulled his clothes away. West undressed Rus
h at the same time, wanting nothing between them. There had been too much between them for far too long, and now that Rush was standing there in front of him, he wanted him bare.

  Their clothes crumpled and forgotten against the side of West’s desk, the air between them heated up as they kissed, the passion intensifying with each glide of Rush’s tongue against his.

  West was on fire, consumed with desire. Even the nonexistent space between them was too much. “Rush,” West said, the word a plea, as Rush kissed a trail down West’s neck and across his collarbone.

  Their gazes met, and Rush understood. He nodded once and stepped away, grabbing his pants from where he had kicked them minutes earlier. Digging through the pocket, he found what he was looking for, then pulled West back into his arms. He walked backward, pulling West toward the couch. He’d never been more thankful his interior designer insisted on it than when Rush lowered him onto the soft leather before covering West’s body with his own.

  West arched up, desperate to maintain the contact, his hips tilting as he slid his cock against Rush’s. Rush growled and thrust forward, making West gasp at the increased friction. It had been too damn long since they’d been like this—since they’d been together at all. It wasn’t enough.

  “Please….”

  Rush kissed him again, cutting him off. West felt him shift, positioning his cock against West’s entrance. He pushed forward, and West hissed, letting his head fall back against the couch. It was so good, too much and not enough. Rush moved slowly, but West didn’t want slow. He needed more. Thrusting his hips up, he forced Rush all the way inside.

  He heard Rush growl, and then he was moving, fucking him, his hands hooked around West’s shoulders for leverage as he drove himself deep. West looked up, startled by the raw hunger there that matched his own. He didn’t know how he had walked away from this. Worse, how he stayed away.