A Taste of Love

  Quint Emm Ellis

  Copyright © 2022 Quint Emm Ellis

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without expressed written permission of the publisher.

  Independently published

  Cover Design Assembled by:

  Quint Emm Ellis

  Contents

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  Also By This Author

  1. Chapter 1

  2. Chapter 2

  3. Chapter 3

  4. Chapter 4

  5. Chapter 5

  6. Chapter 6

  7. Chapter 7

  8. Chapter 8

  9. Chapter 9

  10. Chapter 10

  11. Chapter 11

  12. Chapter 12

  13. Epilogue

  Join the Journey

  About the Author

  I love witnessing caring, mature, mutually respectful relationships develop between compassionate men and women; and I appreciate relating to the many frailties and burdens that both will bring to the table. If you do, too, join me on this journey as I continue to explore that remarkable dynamic.

  Click here to Join the Journey

  Also By This Author

  Books by Quint Emm Ellis

  The Bonfire Circle Series

  Whatever it Takes

  Bound to Love

  Tender & Kindling

  The Sisterhood of the Tiny House Revolution Series

  The Dream & The Real Thing

  Letting Loose & Letting Love

  For Better & For Worse

  I Was Blind and Now I See

  The Books of Love Series

  The Sum of Love

  The Art of Love

  A Taste of Love

  The Gift of Love (coming soon)

  Chapter 1

  A leaf of paper slipped from her fingers; the white flag fluttered to the floor in surrender.

  Hunched over its landing place, Therese sucked her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as she let her head fall into her open hands.

  “Not now. Not now,” she groaned, her palms cradling her face. “I’m so close.”

  “I was so close,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

  It’d been a long day, and David Lin had just shut down his computer when the bank’s vice chair walked in.

  “I see you got those letters out. Good work cleaning up Howards’ ‘charitable contributions’”, the man said, his hand raising in the air to surround his last two words with air quotes.

  David offered a curt nod, the snap of the laptop closing filling the air. Standing, he opened his stiff, leather briefcase and placed the computer in its allotted pocket.

  “Just doing my job, Mr. Hsu,” he said, shutting the case. He straightened, facing the older gentleman with a blank expression that mirrored that of the man before him.

  “Of course. And I expect we’ll see more of the same in the coming weeks,” the vice chair said, striding over and stopping at David's desk. “I appreciate you and your assistant—”

  “Her name is Mrs. Travis,” David inserted.

  Mr. Hsu grunted, continuing. “I appreciate your taking immediate action on this. This isn’t a food bank. Howards didn’t seem to ever get that—particularly during his last years here.”

  The older man’s lips bowed downward.

  David kept his face passive.

  Apparently, it was common knowledge as to why Mr. Hsu held Ronald Howards in such disdain: Howards’ father-in-law also happened to be the mayor—or rather, the outgoing mayor given that the recent election marked the end of his two terms. But during his father-in-law’s eight years in office, Howards had become an even less malleable employee than in years past. From what Mrs. Travis shared about her former boss’ endeavors, David figured it was safe to say that Ronald Howards had been a real, live pain for Mr. Hsu.

  Until Howards’ retirement, that is.

  And now, here stood David.

  David, who had committed himself to this predicament; to be placed in a situation where he had little voice.

  He fought the urge to grind his teeth.

  No room for self-pity, now.

  Besides, this was only temporary.

  If he played his part, the day would come when he would be in the position to make decisions of his own.

  Chapter 2

  “I’m sorry, Sweetie,” Therese heard her cousin tell her over the phone. “I can’t believe he just up and retired like that. You think he just forgot about your loan application?”

  “I don’t know. I mean—it doesn’t matter, really. Mr. Howards was the only loan officer in town willing to give me a chance. And I’d only heard about him because of other people in our neighborhood who he had helped. Seems like he was the only banker out there who didn’t exclusively offer loans to people who didn’t, actually, need the help,” Therese bit out.

  “And now, this new guy expects me to keep the appointment I’d made with Mr. Howards in a couple weeks; something about bringing my accounting information, discuss my credit history, all of that. For what? He’s already told me that my application was declined, like every other bank in town. Now they want me to beg for reconsideration so they can tell me ‘no’, again? But to my face this time?!”

  She huffed.

  “I’m not going, Nyla. I’m not going to another meeting just to have my dreams torn to bits right in front of me.”

  “You’ll figure this out, Terry. I know it. Lord knows, if I had some money to lend you I would. But—maybe…hey, have you thought of trying another fundraiser? Maybe Kickstarter or something?”

  “Girl, you know I’m no good at that stuff. You remember what happened the last two times? All the promoting and…well, you have to know people, still. And my introverted self knows you, my mother and a couple friends who I talk with every few months.” Therese sighed. “But I guess I gotta do something.”

  “I mean, what other choice is there, Terry? You gotta try.”

  “Or, I could just figure it wasn’t meant to be, Nyla. Maybe this whole thing was stupid to begin with. I’m no chef. I just love to create new things. I’m no business person. I hate worrying about numbers and taxes and marketing and all that stuff.”

  “But you love getting the chance to create, like you said. And you love seeing people enjoy the experience that you’ve prepared for them. You love this work, Therese. You’re not giving up on it. It’ll happen.”

  “Since when do you get to tell me what I will and won’t be doing with my time and money and life?”

  “Since you began talking foolishly about giving up. That’s not the Therese I know. Whoever that is talking from behind your lips needs to go.”

  “If that woman had started talking a year and half ago I’d be richer and less stressed.”

  “No, you’d be sorry. You’d be regretful for not trying. I’m proud of you, Cuz. You’re inspiring me. You’re inspiring a lot of people!”

  “By failing?”

  “By trying.”

  Therese felt the telling pang at the base of her eyes.

  In a hushed tone, she confessed, “I just don’t know if I can keep trying.”

  “Maybe you can, with some help? Listen, I got some vacation I need to take, anyway. Let’s figure out this fundraiser thing. We’ll work together. I can get some of the family together, too.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that. You work too hard to be working on your vac—”

  “You’re not asking me. I’m offering. And my vacation is for me to use the way that I choose. Come on. Let’s do this! You’ve still got the event tomorrow night, right?”

  “Yeah. And it’s using up the last of the savings I have available for the business. The rest has to tide me over til I get some real income.”

  “Okay, okay. You get past that. Do an amazing job. Get your cards and name out there. And we’ll start planning right after. It’s not over til it’s over, Therese. And it’s not over. We got this.”

  Therese inhaled deeply, letting her eyes shut, letting the tears that’d been forced out to roll down her cheeks.

  “Okay,” she responded in a choked whisper.

  David checked himself in the mirror and straightened his black bow tie. It’d be his first appearance at the bank's annual masquerade gala honoring the outgoing and incoming mayors, as well as the bank’s most prestigious members.

  A corner of his lips lifted at the image he had in his head of Mr. Hsu being forced to cordially greet Mr. Howards, who would surely be in attendance.

  The smirk disappeared as he continued staring at himself.

  Had it really come to this? That he would get his thrills from the petty prospect of someone else’s ire?

  Perhaps he was more like his grandfather than he cared to admit.

  His lips tightened and he spun away from the mirror.

  On his way to his apartment’s exit, he plucked his black scarf from the coat rack before flinging the door open. He charged down the hallway, whipping the scarf around his neck as he breezed toward the elevator doors and the fall chill.

  This party seemed to have no end.

  David flicked his wrist up, glancing at his watch. He’d made the rounds over the last hour;
greeting his manager, the vice chair, the bank’s CEO and his remaining leadership team. Surely, that was enough to justify a departure.

  “So you’re the man who stole my spot,” came the gruff voice from behind him.

  David turned and angled his gaze down to meet that of a large, balding man and then that of his equally plump wife.

  The man’s scowl deepened, while his wife’s smirk hinted at her odd, out of place sense of amusement at the unfolding scene.

  David blinked and swallowed before spotting a passing server. Gracefully placing his empty wine glass upon the tray the server held aloft, David returned his full attention to the couple standing before him.

  “Mr. Howards,” he greeted, his tone professional as he extended his hand. “I am honored to make your acquaintance. I realize I have—er—very esteemed shoes to fill.”

  The man’s bushy brows furrowed while David’s hand remained suspended between them.

  “Oh, Ronald,” his wife blurted, hitting her husband softly on the shoulder. “Let the poor boy off the hook. You’ve had your fun.”

  The man turned to her, his blustery visage dissipating like clouds parting before the sun.

  “Oh, Darling, I was just pulling his leg.”

  “I know, Hon, but you’ve had your fun. Come on, now.”

  She reached out her hand and gently shook David’s extended one.

  David blinked, again, his eyes flitting between the couple.

  “Sorry, Dear,” the woman said, letting David’s hand loose to drop to his side. “Ron just loves to play the hard-ass, sometimes. He don’t mean any harm, though.”

  Mr. Howards’ hand appeared around his wife’s hip as he smiled, gazing into her eyes before returning his attention to David with a smile and a wink.

  Chuckling, the man reached his hand out. David accepted the handshake, subjecting himself to Ron Howards’ humid, vice-like grip as the man gave his hand several large pumps.

  “Aww, that’s nothing compared to what you have to deal with with ol’ Steel Britches over there, am I right?” he stated, finishing his shake before hooking his thumb behind him.

  David looked over Howards’ shoulder only to encounter Mr. Hsu’s glare directed at the stumpy man’s form.

  Howards leaned in, speaking in a hushed tone. “The tacky old curmudgeon is staring daggers into my back right now, isn’t he?”

  David tried to pinch back a smile as he bobbed his head once.

  "Listen, you look like a good man. I can see it in your eyes. And the eyes don’t lie.”

  “Oh, you should listen to him. He’s never wrong,” his wife confirmed, nodding.

  “Well, I was smart enough to convince you to marry me, wasn’t I?”

  Turning back to David, he leveled his gaze upon the younger man. “Listen, don't let him completely grind you into the ground. From what I’ve heard along the grapevine, you're made of sterner stuff than that. I think you have it in you to give that raggedy goat a run for his money. Keep up the good fight."

  Grapevine?

  David’s brows bunched.

  “O…kay,” David responded, wondering who—in Howards’ circle—would be interested in his affairs. “Thanks for the advice. Regrettably, some of us don't have much of a choice."

  "We always have choices, Son.” He chuckled, “Though I'll admit that some of us have better choices than others do.”.

  “That said,” he continued, clapping David on the arm. “Hope you didn’t think anything of my teasing you. I knew he’d force me out of that seat, eventually.” He snorted. “Retirement, my ass,” he muttered.

  “Oh, Honey, now don’t you get started. Remember your blood pressure.”

  “I know, Dumpling,” he said, turning to his wife and laying a hand over the one she’d placed on his arm. Returning his attention to David, he nodded.

  “Glad to know someone like you is sitting in that seat, David. That helps, some.”

  “I feel at a bit of a disadvantage,” David admitted, cautiously. “It seems you know more about me than I, you.”

  Howards nodded. “It does, doesn’t it?” Howards craned to the side, looking past David. A broad smile stretched his lips. “Have you had any of the hors d'oeuvres on display over there, yet, My Boy?”

  “No, I ate before I arrived. I’m not very—”

  “Shame. They’re special order, you know? The best you’ll likely have in these parts. Dear?” Howards held out his arm to his wife who gracefully slid her hand to settle in the crook. “Alright, then. Don’t be a stranger, David. Mrs. Travis knows how to get a hold of me if there’s anything pertinent.”

  David nodded.

  “It was lovely meeting you, David,” his wife said, cheerfully. Without another word, the couple dawdled toward the hors d'oeuvres display, leaning in to one another as they spoke and laughed, or waved at others in the crowd in between being stopped on several occasions by individuals and couples.

  Looking further ahead, David noted that their destination was already blocked by a dense stream of people. Remarkably, the hors d'oeuvres bar seemed abuzz with life; its sizable crowd of admirers seemed to rival that of the open bar!

  David’s brows dimpled even as his feet began striding forward of their own accord, causing him to dodge elbows and slip past wine glasses that were delicately held aloft. Finally, he faced the wall of backs belonging to the front line of patrons jostling to keep their spot along the perimeter of the table.

  Was he at an hors d'oeuvres bar or a music concert? Would body-surfing be next?

  A corner of his lips twitched at the image of Howards coasting upon the many bejeweled hands of this crowd.

  Someone in front of him turned and vacated their space in possession of a full plate and a large smile. David pounced, claiming the narrow opening.

  “Wow,” he breathed, stopping short as his eyes widened, his gaze sweeping from one end of the heavily laden table to the other.

  The table’s rigid surface was disguised by an edible landscape: a world of hills, valleys and rivers intricately arranged out of thinly sliced sausages, small cheese chunks, fruits and shallow pools of nuts.

  Elegant architecture seemed to grow from the colorful landscape, offering patrons paper cones overflowing with prosciutto, olives, grapes, blueberries, a bar of cheddar and one of blue cheese along with a single Pirouline chocolate creme-filled rolled wafer cookie.

  Similar structures offered cookies, pastries and mints. And yet others offered meticulously crafted treats, many of which David had never seen before.

  Warm yellow light fluttered from electric candles nestled among the mounds of crackers, cheese, meats, florals and carefully composed finger foods.

  David’s lips drew into a broad grin as he marveled at the medieval feast before him.

  It all felt so…fun.

  Brisk movement snagged his gaze away from the buffet—a white coated army bustled behind the table, their plastic gloved hands gracefully darted in and out of the display as they feverishly restored skewed sections of the masterpiece.

  David marveled as attendants rearranged and refilled food, doggedly returning decimated mountains, scattered valleys and disheveled rivers to their prior glory.

  Behind him, the buzz of static and a beep caught his ear.

  “Luis, can you hear me? Fine time for our headsets to malfunction,” the voice mumbled. “Luis?”

  “I hear you,” came a static-y voice in response.

  “Alright, section one needs a refill on the cones. Sections three, seven and eight—refill everything,” he heard the woman’s voice command in a muted tone.

  Just as he was about to turn around he heard static and the same tinny voice responded. “We’re low on the cones.”

  “Great,” the woman behind him growled. “Are we low on the containers or on the fillings?”

  “Both.”

  “Wonderful.” There was a brief pause before she spoke up again. “Alright,” she breathed. “Get everything else prepared. I’m on my way.”

  He turned in time to glimpse the passing figure of a brown-skinned woman, long braids pulled back in a low ponytail that swayed against her black, gauzy top. She skillfully slipped through the crowd and was quickly swallowed up by the sea of people. He could just make out the top of her hair as it bobbed among the many faces. Finally, even that bit of her disappeared behind double doors that, he suspected, led into the facilities’ kitchen area.