Free Taste: A Love Story by Tracy Ewens Page A

the last thing is a tie between the basement—which I still haven’t decided what to do with yet—and the story of Bill and Rosemary Barbus.”
    “I read a little about them. They seem like lovely people.”
    “They are, well Bill passed away a few years ago, so I didn’t get to meet him, but he’s everywhere in this house. They bought the house for a dollar. Can you believe that?”
    Kara shook her head in disbelief.
    “Rosemary is still a docent down at The Gamble House. She comes over every month or so and I make her lunch. Great people and an incredible love story. Her energy is, well it’s special.” Logan looked like he’d caught himself sharing too much again.
    “Sounds like Bill and Rosemary are more important than the basement.”
    “Yeah, probably.”
    “I know you did a lot with the gardens or urban farm, but what about the house? Did it need a lot of work?” Kara tried to remember she had a job to do.
    “Nothing.” He walked to the front window that opened out onto another small porch. “It needed nothing. Bill worked every day on this house and the love practically pours out of it. I wouldn’t change a thing, so I just maintain his work.”
    Kara noticed the hardwood floors, buffed to a high shine, but the planks were a little misshapen in some areas, proof they were cut by actual human hands. The entire house felt like its own person, as if it had taken on bits of the lives of its former inhabitants. She had read about Rosemary and Bill and as silly as it sounded, she felt like she knew them, too. The house wasn’t specific to them now that Logan was in the space, but it felt like history and years of love, day to day. Kara watched Logan as he walked to the large wood banister and ran his hand along the polished surface. She lost her breath. She was drowning in the house, in him—pulled under by the unexpected weight of feelings that left her more confused by the minute.
    “This is the spine of the house.” His voice startled her a little, and Logan laughed. “Still jumpy, huh, princess?”
    He ran a hand up the banister and Kara walked toward the staircase.
    “Everything seems to culminate right here.” He gestured for her to walk up the stairs ahead of him. She brushed past him and even though it was just the two of them, it suddenly seemed crowded. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the sweat on him, and it mixed with the comfort of the house, sending her senses into overdrive. Kara stopped, not sure she should continue up the stairs, but then she saw the pictures along the wall. Different frames; some pictures were black and white, some color. She went up a few steps and took in images of the Rye family.
    “That first one is all of us.” Logan stepped up next to her. “That’s my dad, my brother, Garrett, and Makenna, she’s the baby. God that was taken a long time ago,” he added with something in his voice. “So strange how you can have a picture in your house, pass it every day, and rarely look at it.”
    She turned her head and he was right there. The sun was coming through the large glass window of the massive red front door. It brushed copper through his hair and highlighted the contrast between the white of his T-shirt and the tan skin of his neck. Kara suddenly felt more than she was prepared to feel when she first woke up that day and willed herself to treat this whole thing as just an assignment. On some days, the little affirmations she told herself in the morning seemed downright impossible as early as noon. This was clearly one of those days.
    “Your mom?” Kara asked, surprising herself by managing to stay on topic.
    Logan shifted and Kara could hear the creak of the stair below him. “I was almost eight in that picture. She was gone by then.”
    “Oh,” Kara whispered at the realization and then felt her stomach turn. “I’m sorry. You were so young. How did I not ask that question when we were in Paris?”
    He laughed, of all things, and Kara was