Page 9 of His Pickle Her Jam

I knew we were in the middle of a heatwave, but goddamn, sitting next to Jan was like being in front of a roaring fire. My skin felt flushed, my hands were sweating, and I couldn’t hear a fucking word the realtor was saying.

Mr. Jones finally appeared on the screen. I recognized the older man, having been inside his grocery store before they closed. He was all smiles as he explained what he was looking for in a possible new owner for the spot.

Color me shocked, but I hadn’t realized Jan had made a second offer, one to purchase as opposed to simply renting the storefront. The Building included two upstairs apartments, and a back parking lot that could fit four cars.

Sitting on the corner of a busy intersection, it really was a prime location. The parking lot was the best thing about the place, really.

The interior was outdated and would require more than a slap of paint to bring it up to code.

I wanted it so damn bad. But so did Jan. Which was tricky considering all the feelings that were stirring in my gut ever since I heard that nasty woman speaking so meanly to her.

Protective instincts I didn’t even know I had came bursting to the surface.

I mean, really? Body shaming?

How dare that woman insult my Pretty Girl like that!

Who the hell did that snooty receptionist think she was commenting on Jan’s eating habits like she had any right?

Fuck this fucking world for trying to make everyone fit the same mold. No, we weren’t all the same. We all had different appearances. Short, tall, thin, plump, light, dark, and they were all beautiful in their own way.

I never catered to the current fad or took it to heart what others tried to push on me as socially acceptable.

I didn’t give a rat’s ass what such and such website or social media platform told me I should look for in a woman. Why should I?

Every image you saw on your phone, TV, and computer was likely enhanced or doctored. Fun as that might seem, that meant they weren’t real.

Looks weren’t everything. They certainly weren’t the only thing. And I preferred to withhold my judgment on a person until after I discovered something about their character.

Sure, Jan and I butted heads. But my God the woman was as interesting as she was sincere. Thoughtful, hardworking, and despite what anyone else might think, she was a ten.

Gorgeous. Beautiful. With pale, soft skin, bright amber eyes, and honey-colored hair. And a peach of an ass I wanted to sink my teeth into.

Shit.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. Trying to tune back in to what the old man was saying.

“I was really hoping to sell the place to a couple. A husband and wife who would want to keep the old mom and pop store vibe going. Unfortunately, it seems like these days no one is interested in working together. Now, you both seem like good kids. But you see, I am just not sure. If only there was a way for me to decide,” Mr. Jones said.

“I got it!” Jan announced, a mischievous smile spreading across her face.

“How about a contest?”

“A what?” I barked, sitting up.

Was the curvy little object of my recent obsessions really suggesting we go toe to toe in some kind of competition for the store?

My interest was piqued. Jan was a firecracker at the worst of times, and I couldn’t even imagine what she would be like in a real life contest.

The possibilities were endless…just like my pickle combinations.

I licked my lips, biting back my grin. Her amber eyes sparkled, and I could almost feel her excitement.

“Go on, my dear,” Mr. Jones said, ignoring my previous outburst.

“Well, the Montclair Summer Block Party is in ten days. We can have a sort of cookoff, you know, and Mr. Jones, if you come back to judge the competition, you can choose the winner!”

She wants to put her jam up against my pickles?

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