Caught Up in the Touch by Laura Trentham Read Free Book Online Page A

she’d worked a six-month stint in Montgomery Industries’ experimental kitchens, but never had something tasted so comforting. It reminded her of her ma-maw and autumn.
    Finally, she opened her eyes. “Did I taste bacon? And maybe basil?”
    “You did. It’s our most popular dish. Next, I think…” He worked his way around the dishes, feeding her bite by bite, his satisfaction in her pleasure reflected in his crooked smile. Each dish was a unique spin on a classic. A slight protest clamored in the back of her mind. This didn’t feel at all like a business negotiation. It felt more like … a date.
    Unacceptable. She picked up her own spoon and went for more of the fancy mac and cheese, keeping her gaze down. With Logan describing the food, they polished off every bite on the table. The waistband of her skirt cut into her waist, and she shimmied to relieve the pressure.
    He sat back, linked his hands over his stomach, and stretched his legs out to the side of the table. How tall was he? A couple of inches taller than her in her heels, which put him over six feet. Her gaze drifted up his legs to his hands, cleaned of the black grease from the afternoon, but still ruddy and strong. A workingman’s hands.
    “What’d you think? Good enough for Montgomery Industries?”
    It would behoove her to play coy, but food-induced endorphins were still running through her bloodstream. “You would be a star. Everything was incredible. Where did you learn to cook?”
    The smile that tilted his lips at her compliment tipped down, not into a frown, but in a pensive, protective way. “My culinary education was atypical. And a story for another time.”
    She should stand up, shake his hand, and offer the deal again. Leave things on a professional level, and not this oddly personal one. Instead, she asked, “How about that drink I promised you?”
    “Actually, I don’t drink anymore, but I’ll take a coffee. How about you?” He didn’t wait, but signaled their young waiter.
    Once they were alone again, she bit the inside of her lip, studying him, not sure how deep to probe. “Are you in recovery?”
    “Nah, nothing like that. I made a promise to my grandmother after I got out of the army.” He stared off to the side, but his unfocused gaze seemed to be directed inside himself. As if it explained everything, he added, “She was a teetotaler.”
    The young waiter delivered their coffee, and she was grateful for the time to process what he’d revealed. Had he been deployed? In danger? Did demons battle behind his sparking brown eyes?
    She had conditioned herself to take her coffee black at an early age, but Logan emptied two sugar packets and half the cream into his cup, turning it a light brown. The spoon tinked against the sides as he stirred.
    She avoided the questions burning her gut and stayed on neutral ground. “I thought your grandmother passed. Isn’t the restaurant named for her?”
    He tilted his head toward the picture to their right and pointed. Superimposed over William Faulkner’s portrait was a quote. She read it aloud. “ The past is never dead; it is not even past. ”
    “Exactly. My promise didn’t die with Ada. That promise will live within me forever, along with my memories of her.” He took a sip of coffee, but his gaze remained fixed on her. Logan wasn’t simply a redneck Mountain Man or a two-dimensional entrepreneur in a magazine. His confessions and philosophical musings shaded and peeled back those images, revealing more than she’d imagined.
    Her colleagues referred to her as “the barracuda,” and the nickname filled her with an odd pride and satisfaction. No one noticed that behind the hard-nosed exterior lurked the soul of an anxiety-ridden, insecure teenager she had tried to cut out of her personality.
    There was a danger in revealing a vulnerability to an adversary. Yet, the words came anyway. “My ma-maw passed on nearly fifteen years ago. I drove by her house on the way here, but