Taste: A Love Story

by Tracy Ewens

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked because her comment seemed like a departure from the current conversation, like she was about to launch another “feelings” question his way without warning.

  “Exactly what I said. You’re a little jaded in other areas of your life, but when it comes to food, you’re inspiring.”

  “Well, it’s hard to have much else when I’m living at this place. Were you looking for me to inspire you, Kara?”

  She laughed. “No, I’m fine, but thanks for that offer.”

  “You sure?” He leaned across the table and touched her hand.

  He liked debating with her, tossing things around. He felt better and she was back to playful. It was nice having someone to talk with. Oh, who was he kidding? It wasn’t just having someone, it was nice having her, watching her defend her work and then brag about him until he felt pretty damn badass even with the Peter Pan word. He cared about her and with the exception of that one moment the other night, things were light, fun. Just the way he needed them to stay.

  “Never been more certain in my entire life. Back up, farm boy.”

  He didn’t move, held her hand.

  “There’s something about the way you say that.” He stood and moved to her side of the table. He could feel her nervous energy as the game played on.

  “Is that so?” She met his eyes. Damn, the woman could go from sweet to dangerous in seconds.

  “Conjures up all sorts of fantasies—farm boy and uptight princess. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  “Oh yeah,” she moaned and he knew it was for his benefit. Logan felt the game turn in her favor. She slid off her stool until their bodies were touching. The bar was pretty crowded; no one was watching and he noticed Kara didn’t even look. Progress, he thought. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into her, but when she ran her hand up the buttons of his shirt, he instantly felt like a damn teenage boy. “Were you thinking we could . . . take a roll in the hay? For old time’s sake?” she whispered in his ear.

  No question, she was screwing with him once again, but he still couldn’t resist. He cleared his throat to make sure he didn’t squeak his answer like a sissy, as Garrett would have instructed.

  “Princess, just say the word,” was his response. Short, cool, he thought it was well played until her hand snaked around to his ass.

  Kara patted him as if he were a toy, her toy. Then she picked up her purse and patted him on the shoulder. “There you go being optimistic again, farm boy.” She flashed him a not-on-your-life smile and walked out of his restaurant. Her clicking heels carried away his favorite pair of legs and her own ass, which looked to be getting bigger and healthier. He grinned, shook his head at her through the bar window as she passed to the parking lot, and then he laughed all the way back to the kitchen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The morning before Thanksgiving, the Pasadena Tribune ran a story featuring a picture of Kara dancing with Logan at the Fall Festival. The article questioned how she could be objective when she was “clearly in a relationship with the owner of The Yard.” Her feature had only been out a week, barely enough time to be proud before the vultures swooped in. She should have been outraged, hurt, insulted, but instead she was simply reminded of the world she lived in and prepared to give Olivia her resignation. That didn’t happen. When she got to work that morning, Olivia pulled her into her office and closed the door. “Those fucks! You just ignore these morons, honey. I’ve already spoken to Harold and he could give two shits about their piece. I mean, it’s a clear grab at attaching themselves to your great feature, and it will backfire.”

  Kara didn’t often cry, and never in public, not since 1995 when she was photographed with ugly-cry face at a veteran’s memorial service. But if she had allowed herself to cry, it would have been right there in Olivia’s office. Her embarrassment and humiliation at being called a fluff had all come rushing forward as soon as Olivia offered her shoulder, but Kara kept it together. She thanked her and turned to leave.

  “Oh, and if you are sleeping with that delicious man, honey, more power to you.”

  Kara laughed.

  “At some point you have to ignore the haters or they’ll eat your soul,” Olivia added as Kara walked out.

  She was pretty sure they’d already reached her soul, and long before the Pasadena Tribune food section jumped into the ring. For the rest of the day she worked on the second Logan article and tried to put the Tribune out of her mind, even though her phone didn’t stop vibrating. She eventually threw it in her purse. She’d promised Logan “no fluff,” and yet there the two of them were, splashed all over some other paper as just that. Kara made tea, called Jake for one of his famous talks, and by the end of the day she had silenced the voices in her head telling her she’d never be good enough.

  “Did you see this?” Makenna asked, walking up to Logan while he was waiting for Travis to give him a side of fennel salad to complete the order for table twelve.

  “I really hate when you start a conversation that way.” Logan eyed the order tickets clipped in front of him.

  “Yeah, I know, and I was waiting for you to have a break, but I don’t think it’s coming, so look at this.” She held the newspaper in front of his face.

  “Whoa, get that out of here unless you want to spend some quality time with the health department next week. Just let me,” he paused as Travis handed him the salad, “finish these next two and I’ll meet you at the bar. Go try and cheer Sage up. She’s still pissed she lost the Halloween cocktail contest again.”

  “But—”

  “Go away, Kenna.” Logan leaned around her. “Drop the pizza for seventeen, Matt. And what the hell is taking so long on the potatoes for eleven?” He returned to the rhythm of his work. Everything else could wait.

  Makenna huffed and left the kitchen.

  After about an hour and some words with their apprentice, Todd, who was now sporting a blue streak in his already too-long bangs, Logan entered the bar area, looking for Makenna. She normally sat at the bar and talked with Sage, but it was packed, so she was at one of the tables by the window with her face in her laptop. He grabbed some coffee from Sage and sat across from his sister. Her fingers were typing frantically. She said nothing and pushed the newspaper across the table to him. It was the Pasadena Tribune, their food section. The headline read Malendar Plays Favorites and below the headline was a picture of him dancing with Kara at the Fall Festival.

  “What the hell is this?” Logan asked.

  At the sound of his voice, Makenna finally stopped typing.

  “Read it.” She returned to her laptop.

  “After the glowing praise Ms. Malendar, food critic for the Los Angeles Times, received for her first of three feature articles on Logan Rye, it seems clear objectivity is not her primary concern,” Logan read. “While the article was engaging and we mean to take nothing away from Mr. Rye or his accomplishments, one has to wonder how Malendar can write anything more than a fluff piece when she’s so clearly ‘involved’ with the subject matter.”

  Logan set the paper down and ran a hand over his face. His eyes burned.

  “So, there you have it. Great publicity one minute and God only knows what now.”

  “This is bullshit. Anyone who reads this will see it for exactly what it is.”

  “And what is it, Logan?” she asked. “Because we’re all in this. We all have something to lose here.”

  Logan took a deep breath and reminded himself this was not important; this was a stupid article that would be gone as quickly as it arrived. Negative energy and he would not let it piss him off.

  “The feature the Times ran last week was great. People have mentioned it, hell you framed it and hung it on the damn wall.” He pointed to the article near the bar. “It was, and still is, a good thing for us. This”—he flicked the paper—“this is trash and it’s not going to affect what we do here.”

  Makenna shook her head. “I sure as hell hope you’re ri
ght, because I know I say it all the time, but everything has to be better than perfect at this phase of the game.”

  “I know, and I’m getting as close to perfect as I can.” He touched her hand. “Now, I’ve got to get back to work, so throw that crap out. Go pick up my niece, bring her some real food for dinner, and get some sleep, you look like shit.”

  Makenna laughed and wiped under her eye with her middle finger letting Logan know she was his number one fan, sort of. He popped his towel at her and went back to the kitchen.

  Part of his job was to manage and keep an even head. That was what he’d tried to do with his sister, but as he rounded the corner into the back room, his heart was racing. He wasn’t all that concerned about the Tribune article. Few people read the food section for anything more than reviews, even fewer read past the stars indicating good, better, best. Logan had agreed to the LA Times piece at Makenna’s urging, but he’d never thought it would have a sink or soar effect on their restaurant either way. So, this new article wasn’t that big of a deal for him, but it was for Kara. It’s not like they were really “involved” as the article stated, but he knew her well enough to be humiliated for her. He believed in his work and if anyone took issue with the quality of his job . . . well he’d spent most of his life making sure that never happened. He wondered if he should call her, but what would he say? Then Travis called him to the window and the next time he looked up, it was closing time.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Senator Malendar and his family worked the lunchtime shift at the St. Christopher Homeless Shelter on Thanksgiving morning. As expected, Kara and Grady were there being dutiful children. Grady brought Kate, his fiancée, with him. Kara liked her—she saw that Kate was good for her brother. He deserved someone, she thought, smiling at the two of them as the family emerged for a brief meeting with the press. Kara stood tall in dark slacks and a raspberry sweater. She found her focal point, a traffic sign, to keep her gaze “up and interested” as her mother had trained her. Her father fielded questions, her mother flashed a toothy grin, and Grady held Kate’s hand. They were almost done; Kara had just started thinking about cranberry sauce, when the question zinged past her ear.

  “Senator, any comments on your daughter’s relationship with Logan Rye?”

  Kara’s eyes moved away from the safety of her traffic sign to Grady who shook his head in disgust. She had told her parents about the article and assured them it was not a big deal, but standing there, unable to leave without looking like she actually had something to hide, it suddenly felt like a big deal.

  “Griff, I’m not sure what ‘relationship’ you’re referring to.” She could see aggravation creep into her father’s eyes. “As you know, my daughter is a food critic for the Times. She’s writing a three-part piece on Mr. Rye, his family, and his new restaurant. She has been spending some time with him, and any swirling rumors are simply that, rumors.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, with the new farming regulations up for discussion this term, are you aware that Ryeland Farms supports the farm-to-table lobby that’s putting a lot of pressure on big businesses in Pasadena and Los Angeles?”

  Bingo. That’s why she, and Logan for that matter, were suddenly so important. Politics, it always came back to politics and let the casualties fall where they may. All she wanted was to get in the damn car and away from the vultures, but then her father laughed and she was able to take a full breath.

  “Oh, come on. Are you seriously linking this article to some other sinister plot to influence farming decisions? Just stop. Believe me, things are far more complicated than just one farm or one farmer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish the holiday with my family.”

  “Okay, maybe that was a stretch, but do you think the rumors are true?” another reporter chimed in.

  “Kara, are you and Logan involved?” another reporter shouted before the first question was even answered. Kara could tell they were entering what her father’s campaign manager, Stanley, liked to call a “feeding frenzy.” It was where the press, failing to get an answer to what they wanted, began throwing anything out to get a rise. Kara started walking toward the car.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Kate interrupted and stepped in front of the senator. She was a PR executive for Bracknell and Stevens and had helped Kara’s father win the recent election. Kara was sure she was stepping in for damage control before her father gave the reporters a sound bite he would regret by the time he got to the car.

  “Kate,” three reporters called out in unison, and then one continued, “we thought the election was over. You part of the family now?”

  “Soon to be, Griff. Now, what’s this about? The Malendars have spent their afternoon giving back to their community. They’re ready to go home now.”

  “Kara,” another reporter addressed Kara directly and held up the Tribune article, “do you have a comment? As a journalist, should you be this involved with the subject of the piece you’re working on?”

  Kate put her hand on Kara’s shoulder, indicating it was time for her to leave. Kara glanced at Grady who smiled and gestured for her to keep moving toward the car.

  “This is ridiculous. Don’t you guys need to get home for turkey?” Kate tried to deflect.

  “Oh come on, Kate. Do you have any thoughts you’d like to share?”

  “I have lots of thoughts, Griff, but you probably won’t like any of them. You guys are absurd. Hey, Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Grady, how’s it going? Are you and Kate enjoying being engaged?”

  Grady said nothing as he waited for Kate to finish.

  The reporters turned and began moving toward Kara as she followed her father to the car. She felt like a damn child again, unable to speak, not allowed stick up for herself or her job.

  Kate pulled Grady and stepped between Kara and the four men approaching for one last jab.

  “I’ll say we’re enjoying being engaged, right babe? I mean why bother with Kara’s little dance when I can tell you all about the endless stamina that is her brother. Dear Lord!” Kate began fanning herself and it worked. All four men turned. Kara caught Kate’s quick smile as she ducked into the black Lincoln Town Car. When the door was about to close, she heard her brother.

  “Well, you know I hate to brag, but let’s just say we’re not getting a lot of sleep,” Grady added wrapping his arm around Kate’s waist.

  “Damn it, Kara,” her father launched right in as soon as they were in the safety of the car. “I’ve told you that you need to be careful.”

  She felt foolish, certainly not for the first time in her life, but she was getting sick and tired of being treated like the same awkward girl she’d been growing up.

  “Do you have anything to say? I mean they do have a point. The farming stuff was just politics, but as a reporter—”

  “Dad, I write food reviews and the occasional feature. This isn’t Pulitzer Prize-winning stuff here. I danced with him at a fall festival. It was innocent; it was fun. I promise fun will never happen again.”

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t have fun.” The light of his phone screen illuminated. “Wait, hang on, I need to answer this.” He began typing.

  “Who is this young man?” her mother asked, giving her what Grady called “the death stare.” When they were little he used to hum the Darth Vader theme when their mother would leave the room. God, how she needed him right now.

  “Logan Rye.” Kara looked out the window. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she added softly.

  “Excuse me?” More death stare.

  “I said it’s not any of your business. I mean, if you’d read my article you would know all about him. The damn election is over and I’m thinking I can talk, work, or dance with whoever I want at this point.”

  “Whomever, Dear.”

  Kara shook her head. “Actually, no one uses that anymore, Mom. Whoever is perfectly acceptable now.”

  “Well, I don’t like it.”

  “Of
course not.”

  “I don’t like your tone either. Patrick, do you have anything to say?”

  Kara’s dad was still on his phone.

  “I think she’s right, Bindi. I mean I would prefer not to have been ambushed back there, but she can do what she wants.”

  “It’s not ladylike. It’s certainly not becoming for the daughter of a US senator. You should remain professional at all times.”

  Kara took a breath, her focus still out the window, and wondered why the hell she hadn’t brought her own car. She began wondering a lot of things, like why she hadn’t said anything back there to those reporters. What was wrong with her? She just froze and stood there like a little girl in knee socks and patent leather shoes. Anger simmered and all she wanted was to get out of the car. She cracked the window, but it didn’t help.

  “Do you even know anything about this boy?”

  “‘Boy’?” Kara laughed. “Logan passed ‘boy’ a very long time ago, Mother.”

  “Oh well, look at you all grown up. I hope things don’t go the way of your other men. And dear Lord, I hope you haven’t taken pictures with him because when this blows up, I don’t want your father left dealing—”

  At that, her father chimed in. “I think that’s enough, Bindi. I’d prefer not to think of my daughter in, er, compromising positions on Thanksgiving. As she explained, it was simple dancing and having fun. She has to deal with what it means professionally. Now let’s let it go.” He redirected his attention to his daughter. “Kara, how do you think that went? Good turnout, I thought.”

  “It was a homeless shelter, Dad. Good turnout?”

  “Right, well, you know what I mean. Stanley just texted me, wants to know how it went. I think it went well. You?”

  “It did. I think it was a noble use of your valuable time.”

  “Are you being a smart-ass again? I’ll have you know that your father—” her mother stopped as her father’s hand squeezed her knee.