Taste: A Love Story (18 page)

“Griff, I’m not sure what ‘relationship’ you’re referring to.” She could see aggravation creep into her father’s eyes. “As you know, my daughter is a food critic for the
Times
. She’s writing a three-part piece on Mr. Rye, his family, and his new restaurant. She has been spending some time with him, and any swirling rumors are simply that, rumors.”

“Sir, with all due respect, with the new farming regulations up for discussion this term, are you aware that Ryeland Farms supports the farm-to-table lobby that’s putting a lot of pressure on big businesses in Pasadena and Los Angeles?”

Bingo. That’s why she, and Logan for that matter, were suddenly so important. Politics, it always came back to politics and let the casualties fall where they may. All she wanted was to get in the damn car and away from the vultures, but then her father laughed and she was able to take a full breath.

“Oh, come on. Are you seriously linking this article to some other sinister plot to influence farming decisions? Just stop. Believe me, things are far more complicated than just one farm or one farmer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish the holiday with my family.”

“Okay, maybe that was a stretch, but do you think the rumors are true?” another reporter chimed in.

“Kara, are you and Logan involved?” another reporter shouted before the first question was even answered. Kara could tell they were entering what her father’s campaign manager, Stanley, liked to call a “feeding frenzy.” It was where the press, failing to get an answer to what they wanted, began throwing anything out to get a rise. Kara started walking toward the car.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Kate interrupted and stepped in front of the senator. She was a PR executive for Bracknell and Stevens and had helped Kara’s father win the recent election. Kara was sure she was stepping in for damage control before her father gave the reporters a sound bite he would regret by the time he got to the car.

“Kate,” three reporters called out in unison, and then one continued, “we thought the election was over. You part of the family now?”

“Soon to be, Griff. Now, what’s this about? The Malendars have spent their afternoon giving back to their community. They’re ready to go home now.”

“Kara,” another reporter addressed Kara directly and held up the
Tribune
article, “do you have a comment? As a journalist, should you be this involved with the subject of the piece you’re working on?”

Kate put her hand on Kara’s shoulder, indicating it was time for her to leave. Kara glanced at Grady who smiled and gestured for her to keep moving toward the car.

“This is ridiculous. Don’t you guys need to get home for turkey?” Kate tried to deflect.

“Oh come on, Kate. Do you have any thoughts you’d like to share?”

“I have lots of thoughts, Griff, but you probably won’t like any of them. You guys are absurd. Hey, Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Grady, how’s it going? Are you and Kate enjoying being engaged?”

Grady said nothing as he waited for Kate to finish.

The reporters turned and began moving toward Kara as she followed her father to the car. She felt like a damn child again, unable to speak, not allowed stick up for herself or her job.

Kate pulled Grady and stepped between Kara and the four men approaching for one last jab.

“I’ll say we’re enjoying being engaged, right babe? I mean why bother with Kara’s little dance when I can tell you all about the endless stamina that is her brother. Dear Lord!” Kate began fanning herself and it worked. All four men turned. Kara caught Kate’s quick smile as she ducked into the black Lincoln Town Car. When the door was about to close, she heard her brother.

“Well, you know I hate to brag, but let’s just say we’re not getting a lot of sleep,” Grady added wrapping his arm around Kate’s waist.

“Damn it, Kara,” her father launched right in as soon as they were in the safety of the car. “I’ve told you that you need to be careful.”

She felt foolish, certainly not for the first time in her life, but she was getting sick and tired of being treated like the same awkward girl she’d been growing up.

“Do you have anything to say? I mean they do have a point. The farming stuff was just politics, but as a reporter—”

“Dad, I write food reviews and the occasional feature. This isn’t Pulitzer Prize-winning stuff here. I danced with him at a fall festival. It was innocent; it was fun. I promise fun will never happen again.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t have fun.” The light of his phone screen illuminated. “Wait, hang on, I need to answer this.” He began typing.

“Who is this young man?” her mother asked, giving her what Grady called “the death stare.” When they were little he used to hum the Darth Vader theme when their mother would leave the room. God, how she needed him right now.

“Logan Rye.” Kara looked out the window. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she added softly.

“Excuse me?” More death stare.

“I said it’s not any of your business. I mean, if you’d read my article you would know all about him. The damn election is over and I’m thinking I can talk, work, or dance with whoever I want at this point.”

“Whomever, Dear.”

Kara shook her head. “Actually, no one uses that anymore, Mom. Whoever is perfectly acceptable now.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“Of course not.”

“I don’t like your tone either. Patrick, do you have anything to say?”

Kara’s dad was still on his phone.

“I think she’s right, Bindi. I mean I would prefer not to have been ambushed back there, but she can do what she wants.”

“It’s not ladylike. It’s certainly not becoming for the daughter of a US senator. You should remain professional at all times.”

Kara took a breath, her focus still out the window, and wondered why the hell she hadn’t brought her own car. She began wondering a lot of things, like why she hadn’t said anything back there to those reporters. What was wrong with her? She just froze and stood there like a little girl in knee socks and patent leather shoes. Anger simmered and all she wanted was to get out of the car. She cracked the window, but it didn’t help.

“Do you even know anything about this boy?”

“‘Boy’?” Kara laughed. “Logan passed ‘boy’ a very long time ago, Mother.”

“Oh well, look at you all grown up. I hope things don’t go the way of your other men. And dear Lord, I hope you haven’t taken pictures with him because when this blows up, I don’t want your father left dealing—”

At that, her father chimed in. “I think that’s enough, Bindi. I’d prefer not to think of my daughter in, er, compromising positions on Thanksgiving. As she explained, it was simple dancing and having fun. She has to deal with what it means professionally. Now let’s let it go.” He redirected his attention to his daughter. “Kara, how do you think that went? Good turnout, I thought.”

“It was a homeless shelter, Dad. Good turnout?”

“Right, well, you know what I mean. Stanley just texted me, wants to know how it went. I think it went well. You?”

“It did. I think it was a noble use of your valuable time.”

“Are you being a smart-ass again? I’ll have you know that your father—” her mother stopped as her father’s hand squeezed her knee.

“What’s gotten into you?” she continued at a whisper, clearly unable to help herself. Kara wanted to roll her eyes. Scream. Any reaction seemed better than none, but “none” was what she was used to. “It’s not enough that I had to deal with Grady’s antics, now all of a sudden you’re having what, some kind of sexual revolution?”

Kara laughed. “Mom, you seem awfully interested in my sex life.”

“Only if it shows up in pictures.”

“There are no pictures.”

“Well, you haven’t had the best luck with men.”

“Fully aware of that, Mother. Can we be finished now?” Kara asked.

“Yes, fine, if you’re sure you are being careful.”

“All my life, believe me, all my life.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Now, we’ve invited a few guests to Thanksgiving.”

Just like that her mother was back on task. Kara was grateful that the interrogation portion of the program was over and the car was once again filled with this and that, gossip and table settings. It seemed like there was always talk of table settings. Kara smiled, as her mother fixed her father’s hair. Despite the general yuck factor of public life, when her parents were alone, they seemed genuinely in love. Kara wasn’t sure how that was possible. It wasn’t a love she imagined for herself, but it somehow worked for them.

Logan rang the bell and asked himself again why he couldn’t simply keep his distance.

Kara opened her door in gray sweatpants and a white, tight-fitting T-shirt that read “finisher” next to some marathon logo. Her hair was smoothed down, but off her face, which appeared recently cleaned of makeup he was sure she’d worn for her parents. He preferred undone Kara much more. For a moment, he felt like he was backstage at some production, looking at the actors after the curtain dropped.

“Hey, nice place you have here.” Logan waited for an invitation.

“Hi. Why are you here?” she asked, letting him know she was not in the mood for much.

“Grady called and told me what happened. Makenna had a little flip out last night, so I thought we could hide out together. Since we’re that crazy dancing couple now.”

“It was nothing really. Stupid.” She paused for a minute and then it seemed like her hard exterior was softening a little. “But then there were the reporters and Thanksgiving dinner at the Malendar house. I’m just so tired of it all.” She shook her head and gave a small laugh. It sounded like a pity-laugh in Logan’s book. “I took my pies to go.”

Still questioning why he was there, he had the strong urge to comfort her. “Can I come in?”

“Are you sure you want to? There could be reporters lurking.”

He stepped into the entryway. “I’ll take my chances.”

Logan took in Kara’s sprawling house. Lots of white, clean-cut furniture and space, blank space. Like its owner, Kara’s house was refined, beautiful, and nothing was out of place.

“Should I take off my shoes?” he asked, smiling at her.

“Shut up. I like tidy.”

“I can see that. I mean this is gorgeous, love the windows, but I’m not going to lie. It’s a little intimidating.”

“Stop, can I get you something? I really did bring home pie.”

“What kind?” He intentionally threw his coat over a chair instead of on the designated hooks that held Kara’s coat and umbrella. Controlled, that was the word; the entire place was under control. The mischievous kid in him was begging to jump on the couch.

“Apple and pumpkin. Homemade.”

“Your mom?”

“My mom’s cook.”

Logan laughed. “I’ll have pumpkin and some coffee if you’ve got it.” He followed her into the kitchen. “I’ll help. I like the sweatpants, by the way.”

Kara shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Am I company?”

“You’re a visitor, maybe an unwelcomed one,” she joked, “but yes, you are company.”

She handed him the French press and Logan began scooping coffee into the glass cylinder.

“So I thought it was a good one,” he said.

“What?”

She was cutting the pie.

“The picture of us. It was a good shot. I would have preferred one with my hand on your ass—now that would have been something, right?”

Kara didn’t laugh. She stopped cutting and looked at him.

“Oh, come on. It’s not that big of a deal. Grady mentioned Olivia was fine with it. I know today was probably a nightmare for you, but it’s not like we were actually rolling around in the hay.”

“Do you want pie? Because if you do, zip it.”

Kara sat on the couch, legs tucked under. Logan sat next to her, pushed the plunger on the French press, and poured himself a cup.

“Coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Kara covered her cup. “I drink tea.”

“Right, I knew that.” He smiled at her and tried to hold her eyes, but she handed him a plate with a slice of pumpkin pie.

Logan took a bite.

“Hmm, this is great pie.” He took another bite.

“It truly is.” Kara left hers untouched on the table.

“My God, this crust is definitely butter, so good.” He noticed she wasn’t eating.

Logan lifted his fork to her mouth. Kara sipped her tea, didn’t budge. He held his ground. Kara shook her head and opened her mouth.

“Good, right?”

Kara nodded and then smiled. He picked up her plate and set it in her lap.

“Don’t make me eat alone, princess.”

After sitting in silence for a few bites, Logan had to say something.

“So, are we going to talk about this?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Kara put her fork down and reached for her tea.

“Kara.”

“What? We danced.”

“And?”

“And . . . you kissed me.”

Logan tilted his head.

“Fine, I kissed you, we kissed. It was . . .”

“Hot?”

Kara laughed.

“It was ‘holy shit,’ as you put it, and it was private. Mine. The whole night, the dance too, was mine and then it was stolen, taken from that place in me. Thank God they didn’t get everything on camera. I should have known better.”