Taste: A Love Story (11 page)

Summer arrived with the lamp, and by the time they opened for lunch, it was in the romantic corner and it was perfect. Something about it sitting at the table reminded him of Paris. He and Kara had gone to an exhibit on Émile Gallé and his influence over Louis Comfort Tiffany, the designer of the Tiffany lamp. It was a brilliant exhibit and on the way back to Kara’s apartment it had poured rain. That was the night they . . . People were seated and the hum of lunch filled the space, but the lamp stood there, holding his memory. That was the night they made love. They weren’t exactly “in love,” but there wasn’t an actual word for what two people did in between sex and making love, so he was going with “made love.” It had been more than sex. He had peeled her out of her wet clothes and then reached back and pulled his own shirt off. Her hair was soaked and water droplets sparkled on the eyelashes of her playful face. She’d pulled him onto the bed as she fell back, giddy with the day they’d shared and so damn beautiful . . . Logan closed his eyes in the middle of his busy restaurant because he could still see the pink in her cheeks, feel her cold rain-soaked lips.

It had been his first time with Kara, but her first time ever. Kara, or Winnie back then, seemed to be checking off a lot of firsts during her time in Paris. Logan’s twenty-three-year-old self had been more than thankful he got to participate in many of her firsts. He wasn’t sure when he’d sorted through those memories and turned them into “some girl I met in Paris,” but it had been quick. Sort of like the immediacy of putting your finger in your mouth after cutting it on a sharp blade to stop the bleeding. He’d put her away that fast. She had made it pretty easy when he’d walked into her apartment a few weeks later thinking they were heading to lunch, only to find two guys in suits standing over her as she packed her things. She had told him they “came to collect her,” which at the time he thought was such an odd thing to say. Once she told him her real name was Kara, everything else went kind of fuzzy. She was the daughter of US Senator Patrick Malendar. Some crying happened after that and then, “I’m sorry, so sorry,” was all she’d said as the men escorted her through the gate and into a waiting black SUV. He never saw her again.

Logan could still hear the clinking of dishes and the laughter of his guests. Years apart should have dulled his feelings, but there was something about the lamp. Damn if it didn’t remind him of Winnie Parker in all her vivid colors.

“I’m here to see Travis, but he’s pretty busy in the kitchen right now. Do you mind if I sit in the bar and have some tea while I wait for things to die down?” Kara asked tapping his shoulder and scaring the crap out of him. What were the chances that he would be in some kind of Paris trance and she would just show up? She was standing so close he could smell her perfume. It wasn’t flowery—more woods and spice. He had no idea what it was, but if a smell could be dangerous, that one was.

“Shit,” he exclaimed, louder than an owner should during his lunch rush, after being startled. Logan smiled an apology at the two people sitting closest to him at the pizza counter, took a deep breath, and turned.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.” He glanced one more time at the lamp and then turned to the very real, present-day, Kara. “I’m fine. Sure, you can have lunch while you wait.”

“I’m not—”

“Hungry,” Logan interrupted her. “Right, when
do
you eat, princess?”

Kara said nothing, but took her bottom lip between her teeth and Logan’s eyes dropped to her mouth. He cleared his throat and met her eyes.

“I got a new lamp.” He turned toward the bar.

“I can see that. It looks great there.”

“Yeah.” He looked at her. “Much better.”

Logan followed Kara into the bar and by the time he’d put out his first fire of the afternoon—the broken ice machine—things were back to normal. There was no Paris, no rain, and all was right with the world. Kara worked on her laptop while she waited for Travis, so Logan slipped some bread, a board of cheese and soppressata, and some olive oil on the table. She ate. He wasn’t sure she even realized she was eating, but she was. On his way back to the kitchen, he smiled, oddly thrilled that she had at least remembered how.

“So how did you meet Logan?” Kara asked after she and Travis finally settled at a table in the bar. The lunch crowd was starting to die down and Travis pulled up a stool.

“How did I meet Logan, you ask?” Travis was purposefully loud enough for Logan to hear him in the kitchen. “Well, I stole his girlfriend.”

“That’s a lie,” Logan said from behind the wall. “I hope you have a fact-checker at the
Times
.”

“See, he can’t come out here because someone has to cook while I’m talking with you.” Travis was like a child planning a prank. “So anyway,” he said a little louder, “Logan is quite the ladies’ man. He goes through them like nobody’s business, but me, I’m a little more stable. I’m a settle-down kind of guy.”

“Is that so?” Kara was enjoying their game.

“Yeah, so this woman wanted something more stable and Logan had like three, maybe four on deck.”

Logan appeared behind the bar, sizzling pan still in hand.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Travis laughed.

“This is for the restaurant. There’s no time for your sick delusional stories. I’m the ladies’ man, me?” Logan raised his brows.

Travis shook his head. “Hey man, I’m only trying to be honest here.”

“Really, well maybe you should tell Kara all about how handcuffs work, or what was her name, yeah Sheila and the duct tape. Yes, Trav, tell Kara all about how your ladies’ man friend here had to pick you up at the emergency room after you had an involuntary body wax.”

“Hey”—Travis looked around—“that was traumatic and private. I can’t believe you would share that with our lovely guest.”

Travis eyed Kara, who was loading some salami onto a piece of bread.

Where did this food come from? Dear God, this olive oil is incredible.

“Behave.” Logan shot him a playful warning glare. “I’ve got more stuff, my friend. Don’t make me lay your shit bare.” He pointed the frying pan at Travis and both men laughed. So did Kara because they were fun to watch. Between their show and whatever delicious cheese she was currently eating, she almost forgot she was there to work.

“Fine.” Travis held his hands up in surrender, but when Logan disappeared again into the kitchen, he leaned in. “Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s honestly the best human being I’ve ever known.”

Kara took a sip of water because the sincerity in Travis’s eyes was a little unsettling.

“Wow,” she tried to lighten the mood, “he must really have dirt on you.”

“I’m serious. If you are writing an article on this place, on him, you need to know that. The man lives by a set of ethics that are just . . . he’s a great friend and an incredible human being.”

For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say. She was supposed to be objective, but part of her wanted to say, “I think you’re right!”

Fortunately, Kara kept that part of herself under control. Besides, she barely knew the man he’d become. Travis must have seen something in the way Kara was looking at him because he moved on.

“So, what do you want to know?” he asked, reaching over and popping an olive into his mouth.

Kara started from the beginning and asked again how the two of them had met. Travis explained that he met Logan when they both worked in Seattle under head chef Benji Paradis. They were young and those were the days of killing themselves in the kitchen and then hanging out at the bar until closing.

“Well, that was my plan anyway. Logan would go along and then spend the whole damn night studying for his online classes.”

“Classes for what?”

“Anything he could get his hands on. By the time we left Seattle, he had another damn degree in restaurant management.”

Kara took notes and Travis told stories about their escapades, the endless months that went into planning and getting the restaurant to where it was now. He gave some examples of how they put together their menu, and he told a funny story about a melon salad he’d never make again. Kara found Travis to be much more boy next door under his bad-boy surface, but he did finally admit that he was, in fact, the ladies’ man of the two of them.

“Although, Logan wasn’t a monk, let me say that.”

“Sure I was.” Logan came back out of the kitchen, pulling an apron over his head and throwing it at Travis. “We’ve got to get ready for dinner, so your interview is over, celebrity chef.”

“Aw, we were just getting started.”

“I’ll bet.” Logan poured a glass of water from one of the pitchers at the server station. “Orders are current except for the one pizza that’s got another couple of minutes. It needs the greens salad and it’s out.”

Travis stood up and shook Kara’s hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m sure we will talk again very soon.”

She laughed and Logan popped Travis with the towel he was holding.

“Get to it, Romeo. We don’t want burnt crusts.”

“Thank you, Travis,” Kara said, “it was informative and entertaining.”

He stepped into the kitchen and Logan took the seat across from Kara, dipped a piece of bread in some oil, and put it in his mouth.

“That oil is great.” She finished the last bite of bread on her plate.

“Unfiltered. The monks make it.”

Kara laughed.

“No, I’m serious. We get it from one of the monasteries. They make small-batch oil, unfiltered and you’re right, it’s so nutty and smooth. I’m hooked. Can’t use anything else.”

Kara made note of the oil on her pad.

“Travis spoke very well of you.”

Logan snickered, but when he saw she was serious, his eyes warmed.

“There’s more to Travis than he lets on.”

“I can see that.”

“Comes from a big family, played high school football. His mom still sends him cookies.”

Kara smiled.

“He’s one of the very best people I know. I’d trust him with my life.”

“Huh, he said the same thing about you.”

“Well, we’ve been through a lot.” Logan looked down at the empty cheese board in front of her and Kara wanted to ask for more detail about what they’d been through, but instead she opted for a joke.

“It seems you two have been through a lot of women too.”

“I thought you said you weren’t hungry?” Logan ignored her comment, which was probably just as well.

“Oh, yeah, well I guess I was.” She glanced at him, but found herself not ready to meet Logan’s smile. It wasn’t his smug smile, but this one was uncomfortable too. “Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

“One condition.”

“And what would that be?”

“Nothing about my past. I’d like to focus on right now.”

This time, their eyes met and Kara wasn’t sure if he was asking her not to discuss his other women or his past with her. Neither were topics she wanted to cover, so she agreed. Instead, she asked him why he chose the hardware store for his restaurant and learned Logan had grown into a man who cared about preserving the world he lived in and he believed in reusing and recycling when possible.

“Why would I build from scratch when I can add on to the history of this place, give it new life?” he asked. “This would have been demolished for some strip mall eventually, but now it’s a restaurant, a place for people to gather. Kind of like the hardware store it was before. One honors the other. I hope someday when The Yard is past its prime that someone will come in and change it up. Layers, I like layers.”

Kara nodded. She agreed, but didn’t want to say so. She took notes because any more than that distant act would feed the yearning she felt every time he shared more of himself.

“Last question, do you believe in big farms? I mean you must since your family has run one for generations.”

“I believe in anything as long as it’s responsibly run.” He stood and put their dishes in a bin behind the bar. “I’m not against big. There are a lot of people on the planet. I’m against sloppy, lazy, and just plain wrong.”

“Can I quote you on that, Mr. Rye, because that was a great line?” She grabbed her keys and then standing, she slung her bag onto her shoulder.

“Sure.” He handed her a box.

“What’s this?”

“A surprise.”

“Logan, I don’t need—”

“I know,” he interrupted, and Kara could have sworn he looked concerned, “but just take it.”

She took the box.

“Now go.” He smiled. “Enough questions, I have work to do.”

She waved to Travis, and upon being questioned by the hostess about her hair, Kara told the beautiful young girl that she too had naturally curly hair, but she had it blown out most of the time.

“See, I need to do that. My name is Summer by the way.” She touched her curly auburn hair a bit self-consciously.

Kara leaned over the hostess station, not concerned about the waiting crowd. “Don’t touch one hair on your gorgeous head. You don’t want straight hair,” Kara urged, meeting her eyes. “Trust me.”

Summer smiled and Kara knew that, despite her advice, the young woman would spend countless hours with a flat iron. She would have to figure it out on her own someday. Women rarely took advice, preferring instead to learn as they went along.