Taste: A Love Story (21 page)

“Is this your lunch box?” she asked, smiling at Logan who had started sharpening knives.

“Nah, although it is pretty sweet.” He smiled. “That belongs to Paige. They must have left it. Just set it on the floor.”

Kara did and then scooted the chair closer to where he was working.

“Okay, so tell me about people who have inspired you in the industry, mentors?” She held her pencil at the ready.

“Wow.” Logan put the sharpener away and wiped down the knives. “That’s a broad question. When I was in high school I worked at Subway one summer with a manager who told me a sandwich worth making was worth making right. He also taught me that tomatoes tasted better at room temperature. Both valuable lessons I still use today.”

Kara stopped writing. “You want me to go back to my editor with a Subway manager as your culinary influence?”

“Not fancy enough? Fine. My father has taught me everything I know about hard work. Get up early, sleep hard, and don’t whine. No one is coming to save you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, that’s the Rye family fight song.” Logan laughed. “All right, I’ll get serious. Chef Trevor Brant at the Fairmont taught me about cooking good food fast. He told me to create it and then let it fly. Also to take responsibility if what I made was shit. Madame Auclair, who I know you remember, taught me sauces, how to cut meat, and the importance of presentation. And then I guess, Greg Rast from Tableu. He was an incredible all-around chef. I learned braising and that a salad dressing should be simple. I mean this is a crazy question. I’ve learned from everyone I’ve worked with and I continue to learn. Just last week, Bernie, our pizza guy, showed me that our sausage had too much fennel seed and not enough pepper flakes. He was right. We changed it, and that was only a few days ago. I guess that’s why I love this job. It’s constantly changing and I’m never going to know everything. It keeps me on my toes. I like that.”

Kara was no longer writing anything. She didn’t need to; she would remember this conversation. Logan was fun to watch in the kitchen. His hands continued to move as he put pasta through a press and laid out sheets for what she assumed would be some kind of ravioli.

“Christ, I need a nap after that question. Are we almost done? Can I get an easy one next while I cut these out?” He held up what appeared to be a cookie cutter.

“Sure.” She glanced down at her questions, none of which looked easy. She noticed Daniel Tiger looking up from the lunch box next to her with his sweet little eyes. She had her next question. “Did you have a lunch box when you were a kid?”

“I did.” Logan didn’t seem fazed by the change of topic as he turned the large strips of pasta into disks. “Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you make your own lunch?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

At that, Logan looked up.

“Your mother?”

Kara gave him the “try again” look.

“The cook?”

Kara touched her nose indicating he got it right.

“Ah. Yeah well, I made the lunches. Actually, Garrett had hot lunch, but I made lunch for Kenna and myself. After a while, I made lunch for Dad too. Now,
he
had a cool lunch box. You know the metal ones, they’re like a blue color, with the matching Thermos?”

Kara smiled and nodded.

“That thing was indestructible and so damn manly. It was like the alpha male of lunch boxes. My dad even called it a lunch pail.” They both laughed.

“What kind did you have?” Kara asked.

“First and second grade, I had the equally manly Curious George lunch box.” He cleaned up the pasta scraps and left to get something from the walk-in refrigerator. “Then third and fourth grade,” he continued, returning with two covered bowls, “was Spider-Man. That one was awesome because the plastic handle was a web.” He set the bowls down. “I must have become super cool sometime around fifth grade because from then on out, it was a paper bag. It’s a shame.” He pulled out a pastry bag. “I kind of wish I had one now, except not the little plastic Thermos that came with it. One day of forgetting to rinse out the milk and those things were nasty.”

Kara laughed. “How do you remember these things?”

“I don’t know.” Logan twisted the end of a full pastry bag. “Lunch boxes—lunch for that matter—was a priority in my childhood. What kind of lunch box did you have?”

“I don’t remember my early ones, but I do remember having a Hello Kitty lunch box at some point. It was retro and metal. Grady used to beat on it with his cereal spoon in the mornings when we were eating breakfast and I would get so mad at him.” Kara smiled and Logan stopped piping some kind of meat filling into his pasta disks and met her eyes. “Other than that, I think they were just patterns or different colors. I do remember having one with built-in ice packs. That was kind of different, but the thing weighed a ton.”

Logan laughed.

“Okay, since that one wasn’t so painful, let’s try favorite lunch sandwich?” Kara asked.

“That’s easy.” Logan finished up and set the pastry bag aside. “Peanut butter and jelly—actually, Smucker’s strawberry jam. You?”

“Bologna with Miracle Whip on white bread. Oh, and a Kraft single.”

Logan stared.

“What?”

“Sorry, I didn’t see that coming, princess. I was thinking chicken salad with walnuts and grapes on a baguette.”

“Very funny. I don’t like walnuts and I’ll have you know I had connections in the kitchen when I was growing up. Beatrice, our cook, loved me. She used to give Grady whatever our mother ordered for lunch, complete with carrot sticks. He threw his lunch out as soon as we got to school anyway and ate pizza pockets, but Beatrice set me up. There was a special part of the fridge and the cupboard where she would hide my lunch supplies. I even got Fritos for a while until my mother found one of the bags in the trash. Then it was back to fruit, but always bologna.”

Logan smiled, wiping his hands and walking to the end of the counter. “She snuck you junk lunch?”

“Yes!”

“Do you still eat Fritos?” he asked.

“I eat for a living now, so I don’t eat much in my free time anymore. Food is not as fun as it used to be.”

“You eat my food.”

“I do.” She held his gaze.

“Is that some kind of compliment?”

“Maybe?”

“Huh, look at us getting all philosophical over lunch and lunch boxes.” Logan was now leaning on the counter in front of her.

Kara stood up and closed her pad.

“Are we done?” He moved toward her.

“For now.” She stepped back.

“No one’s here, princess. You’re looking at me like that again.”

“You’re delusional. I’m thinking about . . .”

“Yes? Please be specific.”

Kara laughed, probably blushed, but when he moved into her again, she didn’t back away.

“I’m thinking about my story and how I’m going to convince Olivia that lunch boxes are something for the
Times
crowd.”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, that’s about it.” Her eyes betrayed her and dropped to his lips. Her pulse jumped.

Logan put his arms around her and pulled her against him as his lips brushed hers. Just then, they both heard a wailing voice thunder through the kitchen door.

Holding his motorcycle helmet, Travis came through the door belting out a really bad version of AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell.”

“Oh, shit!” He was still yelling until he took his headphones out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t”—he looked at Logan who had moved away from Kara by that point—“I didn’t know you were coming in this early. I was going to do the—” he broke off when he saw the finished ravioli on the counter. “You did them?”

Logan nodded.

“How was the filling? It looked good last night, but I was a little worried it would be dry this morning.” He took his bag off his chest and set it down with his helmet. “Hey, Kara. Sorry about . . .” He gestured between her and Logan.

Kara waved and turned to put her notebook away. She needed to get going.

“The filling was great.” Logan gestured toward the finished ravioli. “Smooth enough for the bag with the large fitting, but nice substance. We’ll have to try some out.” He held Kara’s arm as she made her way to the door.

Travis diverted his eyes, grabbed Paige’s lunchbox off the floor, and headed out to the front. No doubt to put some music on. Kara rarely saw Travis without some kind of soundtrack.

“Are you leaving?” Logan asked.

“I need to get into the office, put this into draft form, and get two other reviews finalized for Olivia.”

“Good or bad?”

“One of each.” Kara smiled.

“Hmm, getting a little soft?”

“You’ll just have to read and find out.” She moved closer to the door.

“Do you want to come back for lunch? I’ll make you the special.”

“Which is?”

“Pork Milanese salad.”

“Seriously?” Kara sighed. “I’ll be back around one. I think you’re trying to fatten me up, farm boy.” She walked past him out the door.

“Trying,” was all she heard as the door closed between them.

Less than an hour later, Makenna came spinning into the kitchen with Paige in hand.

“Paige the Magnificent, is that you?” Logan scooped his niece up onto the counter.

“Uncle Rogan!” She giggled. “Mommy forgot Daniel Tiger again. I need him for lunch.”

“Absolutely, I’m pretty sure I saw him . . .” Logan looked over to where Kara had been sitting, but the lunch box was gone. Before he had a chance to look around, Kenna came whirling back toward them.

“Got it. Let’s go, sweetie. Give Uncle Rogan a kiss, we’re going to be late.”

Paige planted kisses on both his cheeks and one on Logan’s nose and then she was gone, giggling under her mother’s arm.

“I’ll be back.”

Before he had a chance to tell her to relax, the door closed behind them.

Later that day at lunch, Kara sat at the pizza counter again and could hear the whispering of a couple next to her.

The damn newspaper
, she thought.

She found that the more time that went on, the less she cared. Still noticed, but cared less.

“Would you like to go see the trees on Christmas Tree Lane?” Kara asked as Logan moved around the kitchen full of boiling pots and sizzling pans. He took something in a tiny ladle and added it to one of the pans and then lifted it and swirled it over the flame.

“Are you asking me out on a romantic Christmas date, princess?”

Kara shook her head. “No. It’s just a really cool place and I thought if you hadn’t seen it we could . . . Oh, forget it. I was trying to be nice.”

Logan handed the pan he was holding to Travis who nodded and took over as if they spoke some secret language. Logan crossed to the counter where Kara sat working on her laptop. She was trying hard now to bury her face behind the screen. He wiped his hands and leaned up on his end of the counter with his arms flexed.

That tattoo—Kara could not get it out of her mind. She was now pretty sure it went past his shoulder. It was like a teaser trailer, but she wasn’t allowed to see the whole movie. The damn thing was driving her nuts. Logan poked his head near her computer.

“Hey, could you come a little closer. I never excelled at gymnastics.”

Kara leaned in, still not smiling at him even though he was pretty damn cute in his apron and glasses.

“You’re not wearing contacts?”

“I took a break, they hurt my eyes. Could you ask me what you just asked me one more time?”

“It’s not a big deal. Forget it.” Kara took a look around the restaurant, certain they were starting to draw attention.

“Any reporters?” he teased.

“Shut up. Get back to work, farm boy.”

“Damn, I can’t get past how hot it is when you call me that.”

“Yeah, well try.”

“Come here.”

“No.”

Logan laughed, dropped back down into the kitchen, and then disappeared into the back. Kara was trying to figure out where she was in her notes, when the chair she was sitting on suddenly spun around and Logan stood between her legs. She didn’t have time to protest or look around. She barely managed to grab a breath before he was kissing her, hard and completely. He was nothing if not thorough. Kara went to that happy fuzzy place she always did when he touched her. His tongue swept through her mouth, leaving sensory devastation in its wake, and then he pulled back and kissed her again, but gently this time.