Forbidden to Taste

by JC Harroway

  I drag in sea-tinged air, breathing through the burn of futility. All these years I’ve grappled with the shame and guilt of carrying that burden for nothing. She loved him anyway. That their marriage could weather infidelity confirms what I’ve always known.

  I might regret my choice for my own selfish reasons, but stepping aside for Sam was the right thing to do.

  I glance sideways, at Kenzie’s fresh beauty, her pensive focus on the view of the choppy waters of the Solent beyond our private beach a small patch on the gaping wound in my chest. Her love for my friend was strong. Perhaps she’s found a measure of peace from knowing exactly why Sam died.

  My stomach twists with guilt and revulsion. Perhaps she does blame me and can’t forgive either of my transgressions—keeping Sam’s secret and handing his fate over to the pointless toss of a coin.

  Either way, her sous-chef trial is almost up. Soon she’ll either be a permanent fixture at the Faulkner, a permanent reminder of my failures, or she’ll be building her career elsewhere, her fresh start and Tilly her only priorities...

  A seagull cries overhead, the sound resembling the plaintive rumble in my head, demanding a solution I haven’t quite reached. Now two of my secrets are out, could we continue to see each other on a casual basis?

  I’d give anything for her to be more than casual, but there’ll always be an enormous roadblock. There’ll always be Sam.

  But for me, he’d be holding her hand right now. He’d have been the one to make love to her in the early hours. He’d have laughed with her over cooking breakfast: eggs, bacon, all the trimmings—well, she cooked and I tried to keep my hands off her while pretending to learn how to perfectly sauté mushrooms.

  I look down at her fingers, which are wrapped in mine. I grip her hand tighter—the simple act a dream come true—then swallow, the taste bittersweet.

  Rising panic tightens my throat. I’m falling for her. Fair game with any other woman. But Kenzie and I aren’t playing on level ground. While the memory, the ghost, of Sam is always present, he’s not here in person.

  How can we be together when she’s his? How can I enjoy this when it’s at his expense? And how can I win her when it’s so far from a fair fight?

  I look at her and I feel small for my years of yearning and hiding my true feelings. I touch her and I recall the first time I saw her face and I want to scrub my mind free of memories, free of regret. I kiss her and feel like the man I was always supposed to be.

  I must utter some bleak sound, because Kenzie turns to me, her face glowing from the chill November wind and her eyes searching. ‘Penny for your thoughts...’ she says.

  Could I tell her every feeling waking up inside? Unburden some remorse over that fateful decision I made? Would she run if she knew how long I’ve wanted her for myself?

  ‘I was congratulating myself on bringing you here.’

  Fucking coward.

  I tug her close, pull her inside my coat and turn her away from the wind. ‘This has been... Let’s just say I haven’t felt so content in a long time... Perhaps not ever.’

  Does she feel the depth of our connection? Could she ever forgive me? Ever want me? Give me everything?

  Could I tell her what I’ve held back from day one? Would my final confession repulse her as much as my regret sickens me?

  She smiles, her lips cold against mine as she returns my kiss. ‘Good. I’m glad.’

  I can’t resist teasing. ‘And the sex was okay, too.’

  She thumps my arm, rolling her eyes.

  I grip her waist, sobering. I need to know that hearing about Sam hasn’t reopened wounds. ‘Are you okay? Can you forgive me...for Sam?’

  A sheen covers her eyes. ‘Ah... Drake. There’s nothing to forgive. If it wasn’t him it might have been you, or another member of your platoon. Sam was Sam. You knew him, I knew him. We loved him, despite everything.’

  Hearing his name, spoken with such longing, I shrivel a little inside. My arms around her waist tighten, keeping her close in case she turns into a wisp of smoke and disappears on the wind.

  ‘To be honest...’

  I hold my breath, bracing myself for the worst.

  ‘I’m a bit worried...about you.’ She nibbles her lip.

  My thoughts reel while I hold myself still. ‘Me?’

  She nods, her big eyes wary and her own arms tightening around my waist. ‘I want you to be okay, Drake.’ The stare she raises to mine is full of things I want so badly to be more than apparitions. ‘I want you to forgive yourself...’

  ‘I...’ I must stiffen because she rushes on.

  ‘Have you ever visited Sam’s grave?’ Now it’s her turn to hold her breath. I feel her chest expanding.

  I swallow razor blades as I shake my head. Admitting I’ve neglected my friend’s memory by staying away strips me bare to the sting of the sea spray. The notion this incredible woman sees so deeply inside me... It’s like I’ve been sandblasted until all my layers are revealed.

  Then I pull my head in. We’re talking about her husband’s grave. ‘I’m okay—I lost a friend. You lost more.’

  ‘Perhaps you should visit.’ She sighs and I press my mouth to the top of her head, both offering and sucking up comfort.

  She settles on my chest, as if it’s the most comfortable spot on earth. ‘I used to go there all the time in the early days and months, just like I’d take Tilly to visit our parents.’ Her head rests against my heart, her cheek cold even through the thickness of my sweater. I wrap the sides of my coat around her, enclosing her body in a tight cocoon.

  ‘I’d take a flask of tea, a packet of Sam’s favourite biscuits and just sit there, talk to him, imagine his unique brand of sage advice...’ She chuckles, the sound vibrating through my chest, and I’m torn in two once more.

  She looks up, her sad smile slaying me. It’s intimate, like a secret shared between a married couple. Like the smile she must have shared with Sam a thousand times. And if I close my eyes I can convince myself it’s similar to the smiles she’s shared with me this past week.

  A chill hits me like the icy spray behind, spreading to infect every corner and crevice, that makes me understand—she’ll always be his. Despite his flaws. Despite the passage of time. Despite how we might both want things to be different. She’s his because I didn’t fight for her the day we met.

  I turn us back in the direction of the cottage, my hand tightly clasping hers—if I have to talk I need to move.

  But what do I say to a woman I want for my own about her dead husband?

  If I talked to Sam, I’d have to confess I’ve not only been sleeping with his wife, but I’m falling for her, too.

  Even if you forgive me, Kenzie, I can’t ever forgive myself, because my desire for you mentally betrayed Sam, even while he was alive.

  Confessing my true feelings to you might, one day, earn me everything I’ve ever wanted, but at whose expense? At Sam’s expense.

  I’ve stayed silent for so long, Kenzie must assume she’s caused offence with her suggestion, because she says, ‘I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to push... I just...want you to be happy. Sam would want you to forgive yourself. If he were here, you know what he’d say.’

  I wince. Sam would toss his fucking coin—Heads I kick your arse, tails I beat the crap out of you...

  ‘And I...care about you.’ Her arm loops through mine and she leans close.

  Her caring should thrill me, but I feel it being snatched away by the wind. I put one foot in front of the other, trudging through the soft sand while my head fills to exploding point. I might lose her for good. But if I stay quiet, I’m risking any chance I might have with her in the future.

  At the deck at the rear of the cottage, I take a seat overlooking the ocean, tugging Kenzie down beside me. I suck in a breath tinged with possibility, the momentous words expanding in my throat u
ntil they break free. ‘Do you know why I held you at arm’s length while Sam was alive? Why I was never your friend?’

  Her understanding expression turns injured as she blinks rapidly and glances down at her lap, trying to conceal her hurt. ‘We weren’t close, but—’

  I press my fingertips to her frigid lips and then cup her freezing cheeks. ‘I couldn’t be your friend back then for the same reason I can’t be your friend now.’ The catharsis of last night’s confession drags out my final shameful secret. Words pour from me, a tidal wave I’ve trapped inside all these years. ‘I’ve always wanted you like this. The way we’ve been since you interrupted my dinner at the Faulkner that evening.’

  She pulls back, her face slipping from my hands. It’s hard to swallow, to admit my feelings, knowing I’ll be less in her eyes, but the truth, concealed for so long, erupts like the crash of waves, needing an outlet. ‘From the first day I met you, the very first moment I saw you... I wanted you that day and every day since. It’s never lessened.’ My self-recrimination is a dark pit, her comfort and forgiveness a foot up onto the first rung of the ladder out.

  Confusion streaks across her beautiful face. ‘But...’ Her frown, the flash of pain in her eyes, chops the ladder from under my feet. ‘You didn’t speak to me...that night in the bar.’ She shakes her head as if trying to clear her thoughts. ‘You all but ignored me.’

  I wince, admitting a colossal lapse of judgement. ‘The minute I walked in I saw you in that red dress. Your infectious laugh, the spark in your eyes, the way you carried yourself—you were hard to ignore.’ Her frown only deepens with my words. ‘You know the way you look at a stranger, and you just know there’s going to be sparks, a click, chemistry?’

  She opens her mouth and then closes it again, her eyes shining as she tries to piece everything she thought she knew back together.

  ‘By the time you noticed us, Sam had spotted you, too.’ My throat is raw.

  Then her hand covers her mouth and her eyes widen. ‘He didn’t...?’ She shakes her head. ‘You didn’t...?’

  I nod, feeling an inch tall, my nails ragged where I’ve scrabbled against the grimy pit wall. It’s so juvenile to think how I conceded so readily, that I allowed the toss of a fucking coin to seal my fate. To have lived the long-reaching consequences of that single decision.

  ‘Sam tossed it out there—heads he’d earn a shot, tails I would.’ I’m weighed to the seat, so heavy I may as well be a part of the timber. ‘I was about to tell him to shove it—I already knew I wanted you. And then...’ The razor blades are back in my throat, each word taking a little piece of me with it into the damp air. ‘You looked over. Looked straight at Sam. Smiled that dazzling smile at him.’ I shrug, the action painful, my muscles are so tight with repressed need.

  ‘But... I...’ Her confusion, her doubt is a blow to my sternum, smashing the wind from me, as she deflates on a sigh.

  I kiss the back of her hand, hating how cold her skin is, hating that I chose to do this here, outside. Or to do it at all.

  ‘You didn’t do anything wrong. Neither of us knew you. You might have been engaged or married. You might have told us both to fuck off. You’re not responsible for my appalling decisions.’ No good can come from telling her this. Only that, in some selfish way, I’ve set my final burden free.

  Her smile is brittle, unbelieving.

  I grip her frigid hand. ‘I was a dick. I threw away any chance of having you and had to live with the consequences. I know this...us...has an expiry date. You’ll want to move on, date for real, find someone for the long-term. I’m only telling you this because...you deserve more. Someone without my baggage.’ Someone who can give you everything, love you without guilt. ‘And you’re right—I need to work on forgiving myself. Get my shit together once and for all...’

  The clock in my head ticks louder. We’re expected back in London this evening. Back to reality.

  She’s still shocked speechless.

  I hold her eye contact, make her hear my hoarse words. ‘Part of me wishes I’d done things differently, but then I remember you loved Sam, had happy years with him.’ I shake my head, the impossible choice no choice at all. ‘I can’t change a fucking thing, and, aside from losing him, I wouldn’t.’

  She nods, her brave smile wobbly as reality dawns. Even if we could meddle with the time-space continuum, changes to one scenario have ripple effects for the alternative.

  I draw her close, the rhythmic lullaby of the waves my only solace. Because no matter how much I want to rewind time, Sam’s still dead, and the woman in my arms is still Sam’s.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Kenzie

  THREE DAYS AFTER leaving our coastal hideaway, I’m struggling to recall the fairy-tale moments—perhaps I made them up. Perhaps I imagined Drake opening up to me, confiding his pain and confusion and his long-kept secrets.

  Perhaps he didn’t give me everything after all...

  Dragging my mind back from the way he looked when he talked about the day we met, I jiggle the sauté pan on the stove with a sigh. I need focus. Rod is in a pissy mood. He’s already made the new waitress cry and bawled out the pastry chef. I get it. It’s his kitchen. He’s right to demand perfection.

  I add a glug of cream to the sauce in the pan. Spits of hot oil spatter the back of my hand, snapping me from thoughts of the phone in my pocket, which remains stubbornly silent.

  I could reread the last text Drake sent...

  Are you free for dinner tonight?

  I could scour the non-committal words for hidden meaning, but I haven’t fallen that low.

  Yet.

  I plate up the salmon steak atop a swirl of rich, creamy sauce and scatter a tiny trail of salmon roe as a garnish, my last lunch cover of the day. I take the plate to the pass, where Rod casts a critical eye over the dish, before wiping an imaginary speck from the rim of the plate with a pristine tea towel hanging from his waist and then sliding it forward for the waiting staff.

  The Faulkner’s maître d’ finds me as I’m heading back to my station to clean up.

  ‘McKenzie, you have a customer at table eight who’d like to thank you for their lunch.’

  Rod overhears, giving a reluctant nod of approval.

  I wait for the surge of euphoria at customer recognition in an otherwise thankless shift, and then offer a flat ‘thanks’ when it fails to materialise. My mind should be on this, my chance, my future. But...

  I wipe my hands on my apron and head for the restaurant. When I see Drake sitting at table eight, I imagine I must have summoned him up from my mind, a hologram.

  He stands, takes my elbow and presses a brief kiss to my cheek.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ So acute is the urge to touch him, to hold him, I’m tart, the deep trouble I’m in where my feelings for him are concerned sucking at me like quicksand.

  ‘I’ve just finished lunch. Have a seat.’ He pulls out a chair and I eye it with longing. My feet throb and I have kinks in my back only a ten-hour soak in a hot bath and a massage will fix—not that there’s any chance of either.

  I scan the restaurant before sliding in opposite Drake, but the lunch rush has dwindled and no one is paying any attention.

  ‘The salmon tasted delicious. Thank you.’ His smile reminds me of the day I turned up in this restaurant to ask him for a favour.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ It hurts to swallow. ‘You...you didn’t have to do this—why so formal?’ I look around, my eyes struggling to stay on his, which are haunted, distant. Is he embarrassed over what he confessed at the cottage? Does he regret trusting me with his demons?

  ‘I wanted to talk to you.’ He straightens his tie. He’s nervous.

  A sense of foreboding pounds at my temples. ‘I thought we were meeting for dinner?’ Perhaps he’s changed his mind. I fidget, feeling out of place in such an elegant setting dressed in
fat-spattered whites.

  Then I look, really look, at his face.

  My stomach plummets.

  I know what’s coming.

  I know this man now—why did I ever think he was hard to read? My fate is written all over his face, despite the warm smile he’s forcing for my sake.

  His fingers twitch on the table, a few short inches from mine. Is he thinking about touching me? Or just nervous to be the bearer of bad news? Those inches may as well be miles.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

  I cringe. Drake has left the building—this is Mr Faulkner talking.

  He does touch me then, the slide of his fingers brief on the back of my hand. ‘Rod has decided to go with Dominic—he says it’s an experience thing and Rod feels he’s a better fit.’

  ‘Okay.’ I wait for the crush of disappointment, but it’s not as profound as I’d anticipated. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t struggled under Rod’s tutelage. Admitting you’ve bitten off more than you can chew sucks, but I’ve come to realise I might be better off at a lower-profile restaurant while I hone my skills and learn to perfect my craft.

  ‘Well, thanks for such a great opportunity.’ I’m impressed by the strength of my voice. ‘I’ve learned a lot from Rod.’ He may be an arsehole, but he’s a talented chef. And I’ve had what I wanted—my shot at the big league.

  And more—I’ve had my time with Drake.

  Is that over, too?

  He drops his voice, leans closer. ‘Look, if it were down to me—’

  ‘It’s okay.’ I don’t want Mr Faulkner’s platitudes. I’m a grown woman. I gave this my best shot and it didn’t work. I’m not giving up on my dream.

  Trouble is, I still want Drake. But there’s no sign of him. Will he remove me from his life, as well as from his restaurant?

  His lips, lips I know are soft and demanding, thin. ‘We will, of course, give you a stellar reference.’ His eyes soften. He’s conflicted, trapped between professional and personal. ‘You have so much potential, Kenzie.’

  I nod woodenly. I was expecting this—not the marching orders, but Drake’s reaction. I seek confirmation that my growing unease is warranted.