Taste: A Love Story (32 page)

“Oh, hey.”

“Hey,” was all she could manage as he stood, hair falling into his eyes. Logan wiped his hands on his jeans and pushed his hair off his face.

“So, I thought”—he moved to her—“since we were super adults the other night, dressed up and all, that we might try something a little—”

Kara couldn’t say anything. She was pretty sure this was what stunned felt like. Logan must have noticed and misread, because he started to backtrack.

“Okay, maybe this was ridiculous, I just thought that—”

She reached for him and pulled him into her as if she was afraid he might disappear into the night. She held on and kissed him deep. She wasn’t sure how to put everything she was feeling into words, so she showed him. When they pulled apart, he slowly opened his eyes and smiled as golden flecks sparkled from the candlelight.

“You see, I knew you were a closet nature lover, princess.”

She laughed and he took her face in his hands.

“Just a little more,” was all he mumbled before he took them both back under.

The sweet smell of spring surrounded them and when Logan’s warm hands moved into the back of her white blouse, her skin knew his touch and welcomed it. His breath grazed her neck and then his lips found their way back to her lips. It was a slow dance of movement and Kara felt so safe, so wanted.

“Don’t let go,” she whispered and he pulled back and looked at her. He brushed her hair off her face, held her, and said nothing. He didn’t need to. He knelt down, took her with him, and pulled them both into the tent. There among pillows and blankets, amid the soft lilting music and the chirping of nighttime, Logan made love to her, slow and timeless. As Kara let go, looking up into his soft candlelit face, she knew even if she wasn’t allowed to have him, she would never be the same.

He could barely breathe. It hit him so hard he knew why he’d been avoiding this very thing for most of his life. He loved her. Brushing the hair off her shoulder, it was as clear as anything had ever been. He was stupid in love with the woman underneath him. Everything about her, even her prissy side—he loved that too. In that moment, as she slowly opened her beautiful eyes and a smile crawled across her perfect lips, he knew he was too close, too far to turn back. It wasn’t something he often admitted, but he was scared.

“What’s your tent story?” Logan asked in an effort to hang on to his stupid heart. He ran his fingers along her shoulder, down the bare velvet skin of her body. There were only a few candles left and dinner was surely cold, but Kara purred, opened her eyes, and his heart whispered she was everything.

“I love that you assume I have one. Does everyone have a tent story?” Kara asked kissing his shoulder.

“Eh, most people, at least the ones I want to know, have some version of a tent story.”

“I’ve never been camping, Logan.”

“Seriously?” His face fell. “Well, it doesn’t need to be a camping tent. There are lots of different—”

He stopped mid-sentence when Kara rolled up to a seated position and held the blanket to her chest. She was laughing. So stunning, not traditional California-girl beautiful, Kara was intricate, sort of like the glass she made, he thought watching her laugh at him. A mixture of light and dark, pieces of so many things—he wasn’t sure how he was ever going to breathe without her.

Kara touched his chest. “Oh, the look on your face was priceless. I have tent stories. Most of them are white cotillion or wedding tents, but those are boring. I do . . . ” She ran her finger down his chest toward the blanket covering him. Logan’s breath caught and she smiled and turned to face him, folding her part of the blanket around her body like a towel. “I have a fort story, does that count?”

“Forts qualify.”

“Okay.” Kara began her story like a little girl around a campfire. “My Nana was a big woman, tall and big. She used to wear these billowy tops with patterns on them. She must have gotten them all from the same place, because I remember every one of them had this pearl button closure at the back.” She moved her hands to the back of her neck as if to demonstrate and then dropped her hands and smiled. “She used to pick me up and I would wrap my arms around her neck and play with the button.”

Logan smiled, watching as the memory seemed to play out for her.

“Nana was a blast. There’s no other word to describe her. She had a refrigerator full of real Coke. She loved candy bars, especially Snickers. We used to play cards and every afternoon she would nap. Grady and I would usually get into trouble during her nap time and she would chase us around her house with a fly swatter, laughing.”

Logan could see Kara was right back there.

“She was great.” Kara returned to the story. “So, pretty much every summer, she would help us build a fort. Not only did she help design and construct, but she would sleep in it with us.”

“Was this like a bed, couch fort?”

“Nope. Living room, on the floor.”

“Nice! Sheet?”

“Pretty much every one she had in her linen closet. I remember because the next morning she would say she hadn’t seen this much laundry since ‘Hector was a pup!’” Kara laughed the sweet easy laugh of childhood and Logan’s heart nearly burst.

“Hector?”

“Yeah, I have no idea who Hector was, but it must have been a long time since he was a puppy because Nana always used that phrase any time something hadn’t happened in a while. She was all about the quirky phrases.”

“She sounds like a blast.” Logan touched the part of Kara’s leg that peeked out from under the blankets.

“She was. Grady and I used to argue over who knew more. I would never tell him, but I think he knows more of them. I guess it’s our way of keeping her close. We call them Nanaisms, as you know.”

Logan kissed her knee.

“Was she your mom’s mom or your dad’s mom?”

“Mom’s.”

Logan looked surprised.

“I know. They don’t seem like they’d be related, but my mom was a lot more fun back then, too. Then she became all grown up and dressed up, but Nana stayed the same. She understood the little things.” Kara was still wrapped in her memory, and then she was suddenly back. “Are you hungry? Why am I always hungry around you?”

Logan smiled and tugged his jeans on before he pulled her out of that blanket and showed her again why they were both hungry for one another.

“So, what’s it like being Logan Rye, middle son of the owners and operators of Ryeland Farms?” Kara asked moments later while they were in the kitchen heating up the chili Logan had made for their camping trip.

“Very cute.” He added both bowls back into the large cast iron pot on his stove and turned on the flame. “I thought we were telling tent stories. I’ve got one that involves Garrett and some man-eating raccoons.”

Kara laughed, flipping open the cloth napkin that held the cornbread he’d made that morning. She took a bite and moaned.

“My God, how is this so moist?”

“Corn flower and fresh corn. They are the keys to making a woman moan like that.” Logan unwrapped the cheese.

“So good. But, I’m serious, it can’t be easy doing all of this”—she gestured to the meal, his kitchen—“and helping run the farm. Seems like you must have been born responsible.”

Logan laughed and fed her a small piece of white cheddar as he grated more.

“Did I seem all that responsible when we were in Paris?” he asked.

“No, but that was just a flash, before I knew you.”

“And you know me now?”

“I’m trying to, but you’re a little closed up in there. You’re great at talking about me, but I’d like to talk about you.”

Logan sighed. “There’s not much to say. You’ve met my dad, Garrett, and Kenna. They’re all different kinds of pain in my ass, but I love them and we’ve been through a lot. The farm is work, sure, but it’s all I’ve ever known, as much a part of me as anything else. Other than that, my favorite color is navy blue.”

He laughed, Kara didn’t.

“What are we doing, Logan?” Kara asked suddenly very serious as if she’d been building to this conversation.

Shit.

“Why didn’t you tell me your mother left—that she didn’t die?” Kara continued and Logan was now certain this was a conversation that had played in her head.

He was standing in his kitchen, no shirt, no shoes, still trying to get a handle on his heart that kept leaping with the declaration that they were in love and her eyes did that thing when she asked. He hated the eye thing people did when they brought up his mother. Everyone had problems. His mom bailed; that was the bad in his life. He had so much good, and he saw no point in dwelling on it. It hadn’t affected his life. He was fine, so long as he was allowed a little distance.

“You never asked.”

“I never . . . oh that’s rich.” Kara let out a painful laugh.

“You assumed and I let you. Not the same as lying.”

“Really, well you never asked if I was a senator’s daughter.”

“No, but I did ask your name.”

On that, Logan pinned her with his eyes. He had her, direct hit and yet he wasn’t sure this was a game anymore.

“True, but the point is you weren’t being honest. You kept this from me and would have continued keeping it from me. Why?”

“Because I don’t talk about it and everyone doesn’t know my mother left us. I don’t share that part of my story. I don’t see the point. She left when I was seven. I have no idea where she is and I haven’t spoken to her. She may as well be dead. I’m not sure how the hell you found out, but now you know.”

“When I interviewed Makenna, she didn’t realize I was in the dark. Does it bother you that I know?”

“Does it bother me? I’m not sure. You just brought it up after what I thought was incredible sex. I’m making chili here, princess.” Logan tried to slip back into their usual casual banter even though he was pretty sure Kara was not going to budge. “I’m not too keen on discussing my mother under most circumstances. I at least like to have my clothes on.” He turned for the bowls. Admittedly, at least to himself, he was now annoyed that Kara knew about poor, sad, little motherless Logan.

He poured them both a glass of wine, his last attempt at bringing things back to normal.

“Can you believe this is a Syrah? It seems too much fun for such a serious wine.”

“It’s a good wine. Well done—are you changing the subject because it’s uncomfortable for you to talk about yourself, or because it’s none of my business?”

“Both? Is both an acceptable answer? Kara, I’m kind of boring, not much to tell.”

Kara let out a breath she’d been holding since he said, “Both.”

“Fine. Let’s stick with food, wine, and my odd circus of a life. That’ll be the extent of it. Forget the fact that I’m in love with you.”

Logan could tell she hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but there it was, her words floating between them. He loved her too, but she needed to back up a few steps. Unfortunately, he couldn’t figure out how to do that without hurting her.

“Whoa, you love me? When did you decide that?”

Kara was struck. He could tell she was grabbing for a clever comeback, a pinch for his pull. That’s how they usually played, but she said nothing and hurt poured off of her. Logan’s heart squeezed and tried to reach out and help her, but Logan wouldn’t allow it. One of them needed to survive this and it was going to be him.

“I’m sorry,” Kara said and Logan’s knees nearly buckled. Why the hell was she sorry?

“I didn’t mean to say that and . . . I must have misunderstood what we were doing here.” Kara turned toward the back door and then spun back around. “You know, isn’t this all a bit hypocritical? I mean your issues with me have always been that I was fake, I was a liar—”

“I never said you were fake.” Logan’s eyes were still averted.

“Word choice, the point is I was billed a liar after Paris. I was hiding something when you found out about my studio, and yet your mother left, she’s not dead, and you didn’t say a word. What’s that, Logan? Isn’t that hiding? Isn’t it a lie?” Kara asked now clutching her hands on the small chair in his dining area.

He wasn’t ready to look at her, especially not after what had hit him less than an hour ago back in the tent.

“I’m not discussing this.” He folded his arms across his chest like a sulking child. He warned his heart to shut the hell up because this was the part he knew was coming. This was the part where she would dig around and find poor motherless Logan instead of the man he’d become.

Leaving him in Paris was actually the best thing that could have happened. Sure, she always took the blame for Paris, but the truth was she left just in time. Before she got too close, before she wanted all the way in. Now she was standing in front of him, asking for something he couldn’t give her. He didn’t want to let her all the way in. He couldn’t; he wasn’t made that way, but looking in Kara’s eyes, he knew she wasn’t one for staying on the front porch. This was the part where she frantically gathered her things from his yard and left him anyway.