Taste: A Love Story

by Tracy Ewens

  “I love you,” Logan said.

  “I love you too.”

  “I’m sure I’ll screw up a lot before we make it to Bill and Rosemary.”

  At the mention of their names, Kara squeezed his hand.

  “I’m sure I will too.” Her throat felt thick.

  When the swings slowed, Kara pushed off, still holding tight.

  “I want the things you want. Our children in the garden, pancakes on Sunday,” he said.

  Kara couldn’t breathe.

  “I want the rooms of our house filled with your light, your refracted magical sea light. I want to wake up every morning wrapped around you,” Logan continued and then his voice hitched and he stopped swinging.

  He got off of his swing and knelt down in front of her. Kara let out a gasp. She was out of her body at this point. She jumped out of her seat and knelt down in the sand with him.

  Logan laughed.

  “Okay, well this is one way to do it. Crazy-haired princess Kara, I promise to try. I promise to cook for you and always keep bologna and Miracle Whip in the house. Please marry me and I will give you everything I have; it’s all yours and I will love you all of my life.”

  Kara nodded. She couldn’t speak yet, so she stayed there in the sand in nothing but Logan’s T-shirt. Very undignified, her mother would say. Kara couldn’t care less.

  “Farm boy, I think I may have loved you from the very moment I met you. I’m certain I was gone once I tasted your hollandaise sauce, but nothing prepared me for imperfect you.” Kara started to cry. “Thank you for letting me keep you safe.” She held her hands to her chest. “I love you.”

  She held his face and kissed him.

  “Is there a ‘but’ coming here because you haven’t even looked at the ring. Is this going to be an ‘I love you, Logan, but I can’t spend every damn day with you’ type of thing?”

  Kara laughed and her eyes fell to the dark velvet box in his hand. The band was platinum, she could tell, and mounted on top was a gorgeous square stone, but it wasn’t a diamond. It sparkled more with tiny intricate cuts. It had a wash of blue and reminded Kara of the sun glinting off the ocean. She loved it.

  “Logan, it’s incredible.” She kissed him again.

  “It’s a white sapphire and the band is recycled platinum.” He slid it onto her finger. “Kenna said I needed to get off my damn soapbox, because every woman wanted a diamond, but I couldn’t do it. Have you seen Blood Diamond?”

  Kara laughed and a breeze blew across her face, drying her tears.

  “Yes, I have, and I’ll climb up on the soapbox with you. I love it and I love you so much.”

  There they sat, kissing in the sand by their new swing set. Canopied by the magnolia tree and surrounded by Logan’s garden. He stood up and gestured to his back. Kara hopped on and he carried her piggyback into his house, their house.

  “Life was meant to be tasted,” her Nana had told her over banana splits one summer. Kara smiled and kissed the back of Logan’s neck. Nana really did know what she was talking about.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank:

  Katie McCoach, my editor, for just about everything.

  My favorite restaurant, The Parlor, for being brilliant, gentle, and delicious.

  Barb Froman and Barb Vitelli for reading, sharing, and supporting my work.

  My family for putting up with my closed door, imaginary friends, and often absent mind.

  Anyone making a small batch, growing a small patch, or finding a different way.

  Tracy Ewens shares a beautiful piece of the desert with her husband and three children in New River, Arizona. She is a recovered theatre major that blogs from the laundry room.

  Taste is her fourth novel, and the third in her A Love Story series.

  Tracy is a horrible cook, wishes she could speak Italian, and bakes a mean Snickerdoodle.