Page 5 of His Pickle Her Jam

“Oh, how sweet!”

“Excuse me, sorry if I am a little early for our appointment, Mrs. Montgomery,” I butted it, breathing heavier than I’d have liked after that little jog.

“Oh, no I think you are right on time, Mr., um,” the realtor said, struggling to remember my name.

What the hell?

“Would you mind excusing us, Miss Morrow,” I growled, barely holding on to my anger.

It didn’t help that she looked sweet as cherry pie in her yellow sunshine dress and strappy sandals on her feet. Her toenails were painted bright red, matching the gloss she’d applied to her plump lips.

If Jan wasn’t so disagreeable, I’d have to admit she was fine as fuck. Curvy and petite, just how I liked my women. Not that there had been anyone filling that position for a long while.

Speaking of filling—down boy! She’s the enemy.

“Thank you again for your time,” Jan interrupted my naughty thoughts, shaking Mrs. Montgomery’s hand and giving me a grin that said she knew exactly what she’d done.

My eyes went to the paper the realtor was holding, and I frowned. The little minx had made an offer.

“Mrs. Montgomery, I don’t need a walk through. I’ve been inside before and well, I would like to extend an offer to Mr. Jones for ten percent above asking price.”

“You would buy the building, not rent?”

“That’s right. In cash,” I said before Jan was out of earshot.

I noticed the way she stiffened, shoulders slumping slightly as she walked away without looking back.

Take that!

Only, it wasn’t the win I thought it would be. Mrs. Montgomery relayed the information to the current owner of the property, and he had terms of his own.

It seemed the old man was not hurting financially. He wouldn’t be swayed with offers of cash.

“You see, Mr. Antonetti, my client simply wants what is best for the space. He ran a simple mom and pop grocery store here for years before retiring to Miami with his wife. They are looking for that same vibe.”

I nodded, shook hands with Mrs. Montgomery, and left, promising to wait for her call. But I stewed about what she said for hours.

I believed Pickled Possibilities would be the perfect addition to busy downtown Montclair.

We already had a bar, a chocolaterie, a pizza place, and a bakery on the block. The whole area was perfect for tourists and locals alike.

Filled with shops featuring local artists, handmade jewelry, hot little dining spots, ice cream parlors, and even a new legal dispensary, the one thing we didn’t have was a pickle store.

Of course, we didn’t have homemade jellies either. So maybe Jan’s offering wasn’t as off base as I thought. I frowned harder, looking at the prospectus I’d drawn up when I first came up with this idea.

Yes, I’d improved upon it. But still. It was nerve-wracking. This was the first time I’d ever truly wanted to do something myself.

Making money off other people’s genius was easy. It was gambling. What I wanted to do with Pickled Possibilities was different.

It was the first time the idea was all mine. I had a knack for flavor combinations and the science part was challenging enough to keep me interested.

I’d read all sorts of books about pickling, the histories of, and the mistakes people made. It was a wonder humankind lasts so long. Things could go seriously wrong with pickling.

Considering it used to be the only way a person could have any kind of produce during the winter months, I was surprised there weren’t more historical instances of mass poisonings.

Seriously. You had to be exact, meticulous, paying great attention to detail, not to mention patient.

Pickling wasn’t for the faint of heart, that was for damn sure.

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