Page 117 of Bad Love

The chef greets us with a warm smile, and I introduce him to Monty. "He's our jury," Iexplain.

"What is this?" my friend asks as the chef brings out threeplates.

One is a pulled pork sandwich with exotic-looking toppings. Another something in tempura. The third is chicken kebabs threaded with brightvegetables.

"Food-truck-style recipes. To go with this." I nod toward the ice-cold bottles of Hunter’s Cross the chef hands us. "Cheers."

We clink bottles and take a long drink, but my friend’s brows are pulled together. “I’m notfollowing.”

"Hunter’s Cross fans aren't just college kids, and they want to engage with the product.” I think of the people I watched at my mom’s party. Some of my favorite moments were when someone new tried Cross and liked it. Men in seersucker suits, women in designer dresses, it didn’t matter. It was the shared human look of surprise and pleasure. The inevitable names of friends they thought they should share itwith.

“I don't just want to give them beer,” I say. “I want to thrill them. Make them feel something. This is how we do it. The ones who want to cook can cook at home. Ones who don't can grab it here. We'll be supplying Hunter’s Cross to this restaurant. Exclusive blends for an exclusivepartnership."

"How much will thiscost?"

"Half of what it should if we do joint advertising." I take another sip of beer. Damn, that'sgood.

He takes a bite of the slider, and his brows shoot up. "This pork is un-fucking-believable.” He takes another bite, chewing and swallowing. “But we’d need a business plan. With actual numbers and dollars and humanresources.”

“I’ll do it for the boardmeeting.”

Monty blows out a breath. “Logan. Don’t fuck with me if you don’t meanit.”

I clap him on the shoulder. “Stop looking constipated. It’s an offense to thechef.”

“I’m not constipated. I just don’t know what’s gotten intoyou.”

I take in my best friend. The guy who’s honest and hardworking and gets shitdone.

I shrug, glancing at my plate and shoveling the last bite onto my fork. “Maybe I want to see something through foronce.”

The chef returns before my friend can respond. "Well? What does the jurysay?"

"I like it," Montyadmits.

The chef lets out a hoot, celebrating with the smug delight of someone who was never in doubt. Then he claps me on the back. "Twice in one day. Look forward to seeing you tonight for your specialdinner."

"Special dinner?" Montyechoes.

I finish an out-of-this-world piece of chicken and nod. "It's Rory's birthday. We're not doing the food truck menu. This will be moretraditional."

Monty sinks back in his chair. "Is there a wedding I haven't heardabout?"

Light-headedness hits me. "Me and Kendall? We haven't talked about it.” I turn it over in my mind. “But someday… that could be a really fucking goodidea."

Now I’m picturing it. Not the wedding, because although I love a good party, I don’t care much for institutional ceremony. Though her red hair would look damn beautiful against a whitedress.

I’m picturing having her around always. Getting up every morning knowing she’s mine and I’mhers.

Seeing her all weekend only cemented further how much I love having her in my life. I want to show her the world. Everywhere I’ve been, I want to experience it again with her because I know it’ll bebetter.

I want to see her get everything she wants, the things she’s so determined to create in her life. I want to help her check off her “Do Me” list. To cheer her on as she gets promoted at Daisy’s company, or wherever the hell she chooses to work. I want to be the one to congratulate her at the end of an amazing week, to hold her at the end of a shittyone.

“What about the kid?” Montyasks.

A smile tugs at my face. “Rory’s so passionate. You'd get a kick out of him. He just needs a little encouragement. To know someone seeshim.”

“It doesn’t worry you that you’d be taking on two forone?”

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