Page 7 of A Sweet Mess

“But still. Let’s do a quick recon.” Tara dug out her phone and thumb-typed a search with blinding speed as Aubrey peeked over her shoulder. “Oh, look. He was named one of this year’s most eligible bachelors. He’s so hot and successful. He totally deserves it.” After a peek at Aubrey’s incredulous face, Tara swallowed the rest of her fangirling. “But we don’t care about that. Okay, here’s a good blurb. ‘Food critic Landon Kim is renowned for his sharp, droll observations and sometimes brutal reviews. But his opinions are accurate, fair, and highly regarded in the food community.’ More of the same. The same…”

“Put your phone away. He was an accidental tourist passing through Weldon. That’s all. Let’s move on as though he were never here.”

Landon lifted his foot off the gas when he realized he was pushing one hundred. He raked his fingers through his hair and growled in frustration. He didn’t know what he was expecting in the morning, but it wasn’t to find her gone. His first instinct had been to feel used and discarded. Then his conscience butted in. He’d left many lovers’ sides in the middle of the night. If this was how he’d made them feel, then this might be his comeuppance. A humorless laugh filled his car.

Aubrey didn’t owe him anything. The unspoken decision to keep it a onetime deal had been mutual. They hadn’t even exchanged numbers. But he’d changed his mind as the night wore on. He fell asleep with her warm, smooth body pressedagainst him, looking forward to making love with her in the morning. He hadn’t thought much beyond that except for wanting to see her again. She, on the other hand, did not have a change of heart. Rather than walking the streets of Weldon and shouting her name into the sky, he’d decided to respect her wishes and leave as soon as his car tire was replaced.

Lost in his musings, he almost missed the exit to his office in Santa Monica. He signaled right and pulled into the exit lane, and several cars leaned on their horns. It was a relatively tame lane change with sufficient cushion, but West Los Angeles drivers weren’t the most patient lot. They blared their horns if someone sneezed wrong. He shouldn’t judge, though.Who wouldn’t be irritable with a diet consisting entirely of kombucha and green juice?

Landon parked the car in the space reserved for the editor ofCalifornia Coast Monthly,and rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor. He nodded his greetings to the receptionist and walked into Craig Blake’s office.

“Heads up.” He tossed the car key to his editor, who barely looked up in time to catch it. “And thanks for nothing.”

“Hey, my car is perfectly maintained.” Craig motioned for him to close the door and stood from his chair to lean against the edge of his desk. Landon had called to give him an update on his detour when he’d checked in at Lola’s. “You must’ve run over some broken glass or something.”

“Either way, it was a waste of time, and I don’t have a real review for you this week.”

On his drive back, Landon had decided not to rain down his wrath on Comfort Zone. It was a small operation, and his review would be incomplete without having tasted other items from the main menu. Then again, even if the other items were good, serving that cake deserved some tough criticism. Thememory of the pastry chef’s arrogance still rankled him, but he could let it go.

“Unfortunately, I need a review from you before you leave for Hanoi.”

“You mean in less than two hours,” Landon said incredulously.

“Yes.” Craig scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I agreed to print Gary’s exposé on a truffle oil conspiracy during our Christmas party last year.”

“Gary from marketing? Did you get shit-faced?”

“Of course I did. Why would I stay sober with free top-shelf liquor flowing? Anyway, I told him I really liked him and it’s not because I was drunk.” He paused to grin when Landon slapped his knee and guffawed. “Then we sobbed in each other’s arms about the USC football team’s decade-long struggle. My lovely wife captured the moment on her phone and pulls it up whenever she needs a good laugh.”

“That’s fucking priceless. But truffle oil? IsCalifornia Coast Monthlymoving toward satire?” Landon covered a yawn with his fist. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. Remembering the reason for his lack thereof both turned him on and pissed him off. “Besides, what does all that have to do with my review? I told you I don’t have one, and there isn’t time to visit another restaurant.”

“You know very well there’s no way in hell I’m printing an exposé on truffle oil,” he said. “Wipe that cocky smirk off your face. Gary’s a decent guy, just misguided. His article is well written, and all his references check out, but his conclusions rival the aluminum-foil-helmet-wearing sort. I ran out of excuses, and I have an issue going to print. I’ve already bribed an anonymous designer in Layout to be ready for the switch, so you just need to fill Gary’s spot. I don’t care if you review the downstairs cafeteria. Just get it done in two hours.”

“Screw you, Craig.”

“I love you, too, man. Looking forward to your piece.”

Craig was his friend, and Landon didn’t want to hang him out to dry. Besides, Landon was in an abysmal mood. Venting about the gummy worm that almost killed him might be cathartic. It would be an allegorical piece reflecting on his trip to Weldon entitled “The Pitfalls of Brilliance.”

“Well, you’re going to have to do all the fact-checking and background research,” he said. “I’m not missing my flight for your bromance gone wrong.”

His head was floating a few inches above his neck, and only three of his four limbs seemed fully awake. But Landon embraced his jet lag like a light hangover, an inevitable part of his lifestyle. Gulping a sip of his venti coffee, Landon rolled intoCal Coast’s parking structure in his new ride. He’d had his assistant pick up the Alfa Romeo Giulia and park it in his garage for when he returned from Asia.

He traveled eight out of twelve months for his job. It made no sense to invest in a car only to have it sit in the garage for a better part of the year. His condo was largely unfurnished for the same reason. “Home” was just a forgettable rest stop before he was on the go again.

Landon had chosen his profession because of the ever-changing landscape and the freedom it offered. When he’d given up his dream of becoming a chef, the nomadic lifestyle had lured him like the call of never-never land. He’d led an itinerant life for more than a decade, and it had never bothered him before. But this last trip had been different.

He’d gone through the motions of visiting eclectic villages,towns, and cities with their scenic beauty. He’d had the privilege of sampling unique, mouthwatering food at local institutions, as well as new, innovative restaurants, but none of it had moved him. None of it had beenfun.

Had he spent all his wanderlust? Landon swiped his hands down his face. He had no idea, but nothing felt right anymore. He’d been on edge during the entire trip, and the only thing that had settled him was impulse-buying a car online.

Landon entered the building lobby, appreciating its welcome familiarity, and hopped on the elevator with a light step. Flying home this time had meant something different. He came home because he’d missed it, and it felt good to be back. Walking into the office and sitting at his desk gave him a quiet satisfaction. He turned his gaze out the window, letting his lips curve in a content smile.

Craig threw a stack of email printouts on Landon’s desk, jolting him out of his reverie. “For your reading enjoyment.”

“I got back from a monthlong assignment in Asia less thantwelve hoursago. Can’t a man have some peace and quiet around here?”

“And byaround here,you mean yourplace of work?” His editor arched an eyebrow at him.

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