Taste: A Love Story

by Tracy Ewens

  Standing among all the floats now, Logan remembered that so much of his time in Paris felt like he was moving toward something complete, real.

  They had walked through all the potted flowers and plants that were only there on Sundays. Every other day it was more of a traditional cut flower market. Sundays were special. Logan had bought her a teacup rose bush meant for a garden, but she kept it in her apartment. She’d bought him a birdhouse woven from straw. They’d kissed among the fragrant blooms and held hands all the way back to his apartment, where they practiced cooking until they fell into bed again. That Sunday would be marked on his heart forever as one of the greatest days of his life.

  The thought jolted Logan and reminded him he’d put those feelings away for a reason. He wasn’t in Paris anymore, but he was in his hometown and a very gorgeous and very real Kara Malendar had just noticed him, so he finished walking toward her.

  “These are for you.”

  “Thank you.” She took the flowers and held them to her nose.

  “Not quite as spectacular as the last time I gave you roses, but this is pretty cool.” Logan looked around at the hundreds of people assembling floats for the iconic parade.

  He could tell the moment she realized the exact memory because it filled her eyes.

  “That was a great day too,” Kara said, “and the croissants were better than anything we have here.”

  “True. God, I wanted you back then Kara. Still do, it turns out.” Logan was very satisfied when Kara’s cheeks blushed and she walked him away from the big giraffe.

  “Are we afraid there might be reporters here?” he asked as she pulled him faster.

  “First we’re making out in the back of my truck and then you show up for a Christmas booty call.” He was laughing now because he was definitely going to hear it once she got him away from the crowd. “Can’t quite figure you out.”

  “Right back at you, farm boy. Will you please keep your voice down?” Kara turned on him, but lost her fight to contain that incredible smile. She was happy, so he kept teasing.

  “So any thoughts on when we are going to revisit one of my all-time favorite Paris memories, princess?” Logan wiggled his eyebrows.

  The look on Kara’s face was priceless. He couldn’t tell if she was more shocked or turned on. The lust was in her eyes for just a moment longer and then it was gone. She glanced around and he could tell she was doing damage control again. After having her picture all over the paper, he couldn’t blame her, but she grew downright icy, so he backed away.

  “Do you ever think about ignoring all of it? Doing what you want to do? Letting them take the damn pictures?” he asked her.

  “No.”

  “Huh.” Well at least she was honest, he thought.

  “It’s great that we’re friends, but—”

  “Friends?” Logan laughed. He could keep his distance in public, but there was no way in hell he was her friend.

  “Well, whatever we are.” She was still walking away from the crowd.

  “Are you having a hard time . . . nailing down exactly what we are?” he asked moving closer to her.

  “No.” She stopped and turned to him. “I’m not. I wanted you when I came over for Christmas. I was in a great mood, ready to . . . you know, and you fed me instead. So now you show up here and in the middle of all this, in public, and you’re asking me if and when I want to have sex with you?”

  Kara took a breath and Logan prepared for the rest of the storm because it was coming.

  “I’m confusing? It’s not me. I have no problem nailing things down; I simply don’t want to air my life in front of everyone. You seem like you want to push that limit. This time around you know exactly who I am, Logan. This”—she gestured to all the floats—“this is my life.”

  “This is your parents’ life.”

  She laughed. “Oh Christ, please don’t pretend you can teach me anything about this world. I know it like my next breath. Their world is my world. It’s one big puzzle, so there’s your precious honesty.” She turned and walked behind one of the flower shop trucks. Once she was out of sight, she reached over and pulled him with her. “It’s not pretty and there are days it downright sucks, but if you want me like you say you do, you have to know this comes with me. I won’t pretend it doesn’t anymore.”

  “Kara, I’m not asking you to pretend.”

  “But you are, every time you comment that I’m looking around, every time you try to get a rise out of me in public. You’re asking me to be something I can’t be. So”—she pulled him into her body—“you be you and I’ll be me.”

  “Sounds like a deal. I’m glad I dropped by,” he joked, trying to lighten what had suddenly become pretty intense.

  She laughed, looked behind them, and then kissed the hell out of him right there in public, well behind a huge semitruck, but close enough. Hadn’t she just asked him to back off? Logan wondered if she was kissing him because he’d pushed her over the edge, or if the cage she was in was simply getting too small. He kissed her back and pushed her up against the flower truck with a little more force than he’d expected. Then, right when he thought he had the upper hand, she pulled back from their kiss a little breathless and a lot sexy. She held his chest and smiled no doubt at the look of shock on his face.

  “So, I’m sure I’ll show up at your door again someday. Try not to blow it next time, farm boy.” With that, she walked away, back into the sea of floats and flowers.

  Logan laughed and then walked back to work. The woman was going to destroy him; there was no question now.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dine LA Restaurant Week ran from January 23 to February 6. Logan had worked some variation of restaurant week three times at two different restaurants. It was always exciting and hectic, but this was different. This was his: his name, his food, and his to fail if things didn’t go right. Most restaurants didn’t participate their first year in business. “It takes some time to establish and settle once a new restaurant is opened.” That’s what a couple of his mentors had advised when he called asking for guidance. Guidance he promptly ignored.

  “Okay, the guy I know at Fresco told me they’re doing a beef short rib too, as a starter. He wouldn’t give me the details, but I’ve eaten there and I’m guessing they’re working the same ragu as when they run it as a special. It’s good, not as good as ours with the celery root puree, but good. I think we should steer clear of the ribs and change it up.” Travis sat up on the counter.

  “Geoduck carpaccio,” Logan said. “Remember Benji’s chowder when we were at Margot’s? Geoducks—he used to say they’d make great—”

  “Carpaccio, yeah, yeah I remember. Great idea, let’s do that.”

  “Garrett has a friend up in Bodega Bay. Fisherman, crabs, and this year he has geoduck clams. Fresh and simple.”

  “Perfect,” Travis said with the enthusiasm Logan loved in him.

  “I’ll see if he can get us some by Thursday to prep and run a few taste tests with you before we go live on Friday.”

  “I think it’s what we need. The taste is mainstream enough, but it’s different. Perfect. I’ll even make some fritters with the bellies. Remember when Benji did that?”

  Logan nodded along with Travis’s excitement.

  Travis gave him a high five. “Done deal! What’s next?”

  Logan started flipping through his yellow pad and Travis sighed.

  “That thing never seems to get any smaller.”

  “Tell me about it. Do you think we should have some type of loyalty program? Maybe with the wine?” Logan asked.

  Before Travis opened his mouth, Makenna came into the back kitchen, grabbed a stack of mail off Logan’s desk, and said, “Yes, we should, but nothing cheesy. I’m meeting this guy next week.”

  “Oooh, you got a hot date, Ken?” Travis asked.

  Makenna glared at him.

  “As I was saying, this guy next week runs a local promotion company, social media, giveaways, a
ll the crap we hate. He says his company can handle it. I like their website and some of the other restaurants he’s worked with are really impressive. You know that pie place that just went in on Third?” Makenna asked.

  “Pie? That’s all they do?” Travis asked.

  Logan could tell his sister had had enough. She walked over to Travis and stood between his legs.

  “Travis,” she spoke almost like a kindergarten teacher.

  “Yeah, Ken?” He sat casual and unflinching.

  That was until Makenna put one hand on each of his thighs and leaned into him. Logan had known Travis a long time and the look on his face was priceless. He was nervous.

  “Logan and I are trying to have a grown-up conversation,” Makenna continued. “So why don’t you go play . . .”

  Travis smiled; his eyebrows wiggled and Logan could actually see the game change in his favor.

  “Play with myself?” He raised his eyebrows.

  Logan couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing and Travis jumped down, sliding into the small space between Makenna and the counter. She quickly moved back as if she’d been shocked. Logan was rooting for his sister, hoping she’d make a comeback, but when Kenna turned to him, her cheeks were scarlet. Game over. She picked up her bag and her laptop.

  “You’re a moron.” She spun around and Travis was still laughing.

  “Oh, come on. That was a good one. It’s all in the timing, Ken. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that? You paused—it was fair game.”

  Makenna shook her head and glared at Logan who willed himself to stop smiling.

  “I have an interview with Kara in a couple of weeks. Paige has a birthday party, so Kara agreed to meet me there. I guess she’s moving on to the last piece about the farm and she wants to ask me some questions because I work both?”

  “Makes sense.” Logan tried not to notice Travis who still had a smart-ass grin on his face.

  “I’ve got bills to pay and I’m ordering that new whiskey or Scotch, whatever it was that Sage wanted, today too. I’ll be in the front if you need me.”

  Travis opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Makenna held up her hand and walked out.

  “She’s something else,” Travis said, and Logan caught the look in his friend’s eyes. It was a flicker of something he recognized in himself lately.

  “She’s my sister.”

  Travis’s head jerked up as if he was startled out of the dreamy look that watched Makenna leave. “What? Oh Jesus.” Travis busied himself with the asparagus. “I know. I was just having fun. Ken, believe me, Ken is not my type.” His eyes didn’t quite meet Logan’s and damn, he was blushing now too.

  What the hell?

  Makenna turned on some music and Sarah McLachlan filled their space. Travis rolled his eyes at her selection and Logan laughed the whole awkward thing off. There was nothing between them. Travis and Kenna hated each other; Logan kind of liked it that way.

  “Speaking of Kenna’s interview, what’s up with you and Super Hot Food Critic Lady?” Travis asked.

  “Why?” Logan tried to tone down whatever stupid, weird, guilty thing he was feeling.

  “Well, we’re friends and you never get any action, so you’re kind of boring. I just thought since you were finally lusting after someone there might be some good stories.”

  Logan turned to face him.

  “Oh, there’s no one else here, man. Give it up, you’re totally into her.” Travis continued chopping as if what he was saying was perfectly understood.

  “You’re wrong.” Logan turned to grab cream out of the walk-in.

  Travis followed behind him and held the door open as he returned.

  “Please, I can’t read her debutante vibe yet, so I’m not sure if she’s into you. But, you, my friend, my boss, you are into her. That kiss right out there on the floor? Yeah, you’ve never done that before. Totally blew the whole ‘not dating the clientele’ shit right outta the water.”

  Logan whisked and added cream to the large silver bowl in front of him.

  “Stop. That was for the customers. Ever since that article, they love the idea of us as a couple. We were just playing that up.” He was no longer able to make eye contact.

  “Oh, right, sure. So that was all business out there. Got it.”

  Logan could tell he wasn’t buying it, but he just kept whisking. That was his story and he was sticking to it.

  “Hey, Makenna,” Travis called to the front of the restaurant.

  Shit! Travis was bringing in backup.

  “What?” she yelled, clearly still annoyed.

  “Logan,” he called back to her, “totally into the foodie lady, right?”

  “Oh yes, in a bad way.” She came around the corner with her laptop and a piece of red licorice clenched between her teeth.

  “What the hell are you two smoking? Kara is writing an article on me, on us, our place. It’s great for business if we appear to be a couple, as you yourself said Makenna.”

  Makenna nodded.

  “That’s it, I mean I’m sorry to let you down, but there’s no me ‘being into’ anyone. Now, I’m pretty sure we have stuff to do.”

  “Just as well.” Makenna was still typing away on her laptop. “She seems like a massive bitch to me.”

  “What? Jesus, Makenna, you don’t even know her. She’s not like that at . . .”

  The words were out of Logan’s mouth before he noticed they were both waiting him out, like kids on a playground hoping some bonehead would take their dare. Logan was clearly the bonehead in this scenario.

  Makenna bit off a piece of her licorice. She chewed and, smiling, pointed the rest of her red twisty at Logan as she walked back to the front of the house.

  “I love you, Makenna.” Travis was back to laughing. The guy could be really annoying.

  “No problem,” she called.

  Logan shook his head. “You two are idiots.”

  Travis just smiled.

  “Can we please get back to work? Geoduck clams, carpaccio, thoughts? Do you have anything productive, like job thoughts, in there Travis?”

  “I do. I think the carpaccio is a great idea. It’s a definite showcase dish. I think if Garrett can get us those clams we will be a hit.”

  Logan nodded, grateful to be talking about something other than Kara.

  “I also think you need to lock those legs down and take that woman on a proper date. You know, a meal or a movie, or hell, just get her into your bed. That is if you ever actually use the damn thing.”

  “Great. Thank you for that valuable input.” Logan dried his hands and threw the towel in Travis’s face. “We open in two hours. Summer will be here in”—Logan glanced at the large round clock above the entry pass from the kitchen to the serving window—“twenty minutes. Mushrooms are already done, but you’re going to need to finish this sauce for me. All it needs is cheese,” he continued, taking his apron off.

  “Where’re you off to?”

  “All this talk about Restaurant Week made me remember the chandelier over the private dining area. You know that lamp I bought for the dark corner?”

  “Lover’s cove?” Travis wiggled his eyebrows.

  Logan laughed—he couldn’t help it. “Anyway, I love that lamp and I want to see if we can commission the artist to make the ceiling piece for the private dining room. You know, like a chandelier, but better. According to Jill at zenDeluxe, the artist uses sea glass and repurposed brass lamp bases. I was thinking it might be cool if she could use some of that old green bottle glass we saved.”

  “The stuff from the garage door panels?”

  “Yeah, maybe incorporate some of that into the design.”

  “Great idea. Who’s the artist?”

  “Not sure. She was supposed to call me back with the name, so I’m going to give her a call now.”

  Logan walked out to the bar, grabbed a phone, and called zenDeluxe. After some paper shuffling, Jill, the owner, came back on the line.

  �
�Sorry, here it is. We are expecting two more pieces from her next week, but you wanted something special if I remember, right?”

  “Yes.” Logan grabbed a piece of paper from the bar register.

  “Okay, well I’m not sure if she does commissioned work, but give it a shot. The artist’s studio is on the grounds of her private residence and her name is Winnie Parker—”

  Logan froze and almost dropped the phone as Jill kept talking in his ear.

  “So, did you get that e-mail address, or do you need me to repeat it?”

  “I know her, um, know it. Thank you.”

  Logan hung up, told Travis he might be late for lunch, and grabbed his keys. He wasn’t sure what game she was playing this time, but he wasn’t going to be left standing in some lobby, that was for damn sure.

  Kara loved a new year. She’d made a pot of tea and was grooving around her studio to R. Kelly’s “Ignition.” It was her feel-good song. R. Kelly had just gotten to the “toot toot, beep beep” and Kara was rolling as his lyrics suggested. She dropped into her chair and wheeled up to the counter space that took up an entire wall of her studio. Her hands were in the air, she was in full dance club mode, when the lights blinked off and on again. She turned and immediately started patting her hand on the counter for the remote to the stereo because Logan was standing in the doorway. The look on his face was one of shock, similar to the look she’d left him with in the lobby of his apartment a little over eight years ago in Paris.

  “Christ, Kara, what are you doing?”

  “Well, I’m dancing around my studio, what does it look like I’m doing?” She tried for casual in contrast to the thundering in her chest.

  “Winnie Parker designs lamps now?”

  “She does.” Kara held her ground. There was nothing else to do at this point.

  “What is this?” Logan moved toward her. “Some kind of game?”

  He surveyed her space as if something on the walls or sitting on her work table would give him answers and explain why she was once again standing in front of him as Winnie Parker. He wouldn’t find any answers; those needed to come from her.