by J J Knight
By JJ Knight
USA Today bestselling author of
Single Dad on Top
The Accidental Harem
Big Pickle
Hot Pickle
Spicy Pickle
Uncaged Love
Fight for Her
Reckless Attraction
Want to make sure you don’t miss a release?
Join JJ’s email or text list.
About the Pickle Series
★★★★★
"OMG I was snort laughing by page 2!" ~ Judy Ann Loves Books Blog
★★★★★
"It's laugh-out-loud, snort-your-drink, absolutely-do-not-read-this-book-in-public hilarious, with this crafty writer's clever wit creatively showcased on every page." ~ Book Addict Book Blog
★★★★★
"The poster child for how a romantic comedy should be written. I dare you to try and not laugh or fall in love with this book!" ~ Dog-Eared Daydreams
★★★★★
"Hilarious cute read full of pickle puns." ~ Cool Moms who Read
★★★★★
"You know you are in for a whole lot of fun." ~ Life, Books, and More Blog
★★★★★
"The puns, the innuendos, the hot pickles...I loved it all!" ~ Kay Reads Romance
★★★★★
"This series has so much hilarity that I can't stop laughing about it." ~ Southern Chics Lit
★★★ SPICY PICKLE ★★★
First, she tampered with my pickle.
Then, she got us both kicked off a cooking show.
Now, we’re fake engaged.
Sit back, friends, this is one crazy tale of treachery and pickle juice.
Anthony:
All right. Here’s how it went.
My pickle went viral.
Millions saw it. Thousands ate it.
Hold up, pervs. Let me backtrack.
I invented a very spicy pickle made with ghost peppers. One bite and you’ll swear someone stuffed a hot coal in your mouth. It’s extremely popular in pranks.
I’m in the middle of filming with a prominent cooking show when in walks Little Miss Perfect Pants from a rival deli to insist she has improvements for my pickle.
It all goes downhill from there.
___
Magnolia:
Read the reviews and weep, Anthony Pickle.
I got the best of you on reality TV.
You got me back with a very public kiss.
After your new deli poached on my territory, I swore to hate you. But every time those smoky eyes meet mine, I melt a little.
Cheesy, right?
By the time you kiss me, I already know I’m in deep.
But then you propose?
How am I supposed to keep faking it when every swoon is real?
Copyright © 2021 by JJ Knight All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews, fan-made graphics, and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Edition 1.3
Casey Shay Press
PO Box 160116
Austin, TX 78716
www.jjknight.com
Paperback ISBN: 9781938150920
Contents
1. Anthony
2. Magnolia
3. Anthony
4. Magnolia
5. Anthony
6. Magnolia
7. Anthony
8. Magnolia
9. Anthony
10. Magnolia
11. Anthony
12. Magnolia
13. Anthony
14. Magnolia
15. Anthony
16. Magnolia
17. Anthony
18. Magnolia
19. Anthony
20. Magnolia
21. Anthony
22. Magnolia
23. Anthony
24. Magnolia
25. Anthony
26. Magnolia
27. Anthony
28. Magnolia
29. Anthony
30. Magnolia
31. Anthony
32. Magnolia
Epilogue: Anthony
Ghost Pepper Pickle Recipe and TikTok Challenge
Books by JJ Knight
About JJ Knight
1
Anthony
I’m about to show my pickle on television.
I have to admit, I’m anxious.
It’s not that no one’s seen this pickle. Thousands of people have.
In fact, thousands of people have eaten this pickle.
But never on television.
Wait.
You seemed confused.
Whoa, whoa.
No, it’s not that kind of show.
Heh, heh.
Let me try this again.
I’ve made myself a new pickle.
Nope. That’s worse.
One more try.
I’m about to go on a cooking show with a spicy pickle recipe.
Now it’s starting to make sense.
My delicatessen, Boulder Pickle, got some fame after a challenge daring people to eat one of my ghost pepper pickles went viral on TikTok.
There are thousands of videos of men crying, women spitting out pickle bits, people running in circles, and diners dumping water on their heads.
We got so many take-out orders for the pickle that I had to hire two extra people to meet demand.
When the series coordinator for America’s Spiciest Chef calls asking to film a segment about the pickle in their traveling test kitchen, I know I’m about to get my fifteen minutes of fame.
With my pickle, of course.
Okay, maybe I like saying it.
Right now, I’m on the set, arranging the spices I need to teach viewers how to make their own ghost pepper pickles.
From the front, I appear to be standing in an ordinary kitchen with a sink, stove, and chopping block. Behind me is a wall with a double oven, a refrigerator, and shelves filled with aesthetically pleasing dishes.
But beyond the counter, a line of cameras, light operators, and runners zip around to prepare for the segment. Assistants move around me, setting up props. I fiddle with a set of clear bowls that hold my ingredients, trying to calm my nerves.
To be honest, I’d prefer anyone else from the Pickle family be on the show to represent our chain. Jason, the oldest, is pure charisma and the camera loves him. My middle brother Max is used to media attention, since he’s a sports figure.
But I’m just me. Third brother. Culinary chef. Not particularly smooth.
I tried to pawn this gig off. I really did. But in the end, Dad put his foot down. I’m the leader of the chain. I invented the pickle that went viral. It has to be me.
I have lots of reasons to feel concern. The show’s host Milton Creed is a polarizing figure in the culinary world. Everyone wants to be on his program, because it’s popular and sure to bring attention to a restaurant.
But the man himself is rather unpredictable. He can be funny and generous with some guests, then turn on a dime to be caustic and condescending to others. You never know what version of Milton you’re going to get.
I shift the bowl of garlic two millimeters to the left. Lik
e it matters.
“All set?” A young woman with a mop of black curls pauses as she shines the last gleaming ring on the stove top.
“I’m moving things out of nerves at this point.”
She nods. “We have to make it perfect for Mr. Creed.”
“He’s a stickler, then?”
“Totally.” She lifts each clear plate in a stack to examine. “I’ve only been here for three recording sessions, and that’s longer than half the stage crew.”
Wow. “That bad?”
She leans in and whispers, “Worse than you can imagine. He leaves a swath of disgruntled ex-employees in his wake.”
“Yikes.” I shift my collar away from my neck. I didn’t think I could get more nervous, but this has done it. “How is he today?”
“Haven’t seen him yet. But he generally hates Tuesdays.” She adjusts a kitchen towel on a metal hook. “Good luck.”
Then she’s gone, leaving me wondering why anyone would hate Tuesdays.
But that’s one question answered. I had a feeling Milton Creed might be a tyrant to his crew. I haven’t met him yet. His “people” have done all the contact—the phone calls, the segment coordination, and even the rehearsal.
I’m tempted to run. But Jason insisted the show would be excellent publicity for our family chain. Dad said he couldn’t be prouder.
A friendly man in all black approaches. “Mic time,” he says. “Don’t think about where it is or try to talk into it. Just act natural.” He clips the tiny bit of metal to the edge of my apron and runs the wire to a pack on the back of my belt. “This is going to be a fun one.”
“Because of the spicy pickle?”
“Maybe?” He gives me a wink, and I wonder what he means. My nerves kick up another notch.
A round, red-faced man with a headset crosses in front of the mock kitchen. “Places everyone. Milton is coming in.” He turns to me. “Don’t worry about the cameras. Just respond to Milton.”
I fumble with my hands, setting them on the counter, then hooking my thumbs in my apron pockets, then dropping them by my sides. The spotlights all focus on the right side of the set.
The opening music to the show blares from the speakers, and then, there he is, Milton Creed.
He’s shorter than he looks on television, thinning hair spiked out, pale face remarkably smooth. That’s a lot of makeup.
Milton waves to the camera. “Welcome to America’s Spiciest Chef. I’m your host, Milton Creed.”
He heads my way. “Today we have the young owner of one of America’s finest family delicatessen franchises. Say hello to Anthony Pickle!”
I sense cameras turning in my direction. “Thanks, Milton,” I say. “Glad to be here.”
So far, so good.
Milton shakes my hand. I realize he’s standing on a small step to be closer to my height.
He turns back to the camera. “If you’re on TikTok, you couldn’t miss Anthony’s ghost pepper pickle challenge, which went viral in a big way. Let’s take a look at some of those great pickle moments.”
A screen lights up on one side. Several of the pickle challenges are shown in quick succession. My shoulders start to relax. It’s unfolding like the rehearsal. After the video, I’ll show the ghost peppers, cut some up, mix the brine, and reveal the finished product, which is already waiting behind us in the refrigerator.
But when the attention is back on us, Milton says something we didn’t rehearse. “Now we all love a little healthy competition. So, when we put together the show about the spiciest pickle, we decided to find other enterprising deli owners who might blow our socks off.”
I turn to him in surprise. “What?”
He ignores me. “So, on this special pickle edition of America’s Spiciest Chef, you’re not going to see just one spicy pickle, but two.”
I spot my astonished face on a monitor and straighten my expression. The last thing I need is to become a viral meme. Shock-face Pickle.
Milton keeps going. “In our own special challenge, we will be tasting not only Anthony’s viral ghost pepper pickle, but one by another young chef. She says her fiery pickle will put Anthony’s to shame. Everyone, welcome the genius behind the Tasty Pepper, Magnolia Boudreaux.”
He’s got to be kidding me.
A young woman strides through the set door and into the light. She’s dressed in a bright green dress with a white apron. I want to seethe. Green and white are my deli’s colors.
Now I understand why my apron is black. I’m the bad guy in this situation. Magnolia’s long blond hair flows down her back, pulled away from her face with a ribbon to give her a fresh, innocent look.
I’ve never met Magnolia, but I know who she is. Her father owns the other family deli in Boulder. They completely resented me opening a restaurant in their market, even though Boulder is more than big enough for both of us.
And now his daughter has invaded my pickle segment.
Magnolia turns to me and extends a hand. “Hello, Anthony.” Her big sky-blue eyes are fringed with curled lashes. She looks like an American Girl doll. The viewers are going to love her, an angelic princess next to the big bad wolf who raided her forest.
I can barely say her name through my gritted teeth as I shake her hand. “Hello, Magnolia.”
“Ho ho!” Milton says, and the gleam in his eye tells me he hopes we go at each other’s throats. “Do I sense a rivalry here?”
“Of course,” Magnolia says, her voice simperingly sweet. “My family has been a Boulder tradition since 1958. How long has your deli been open, Anthony?”
I clamp my jaw again. “Four years.”
Her laugh is melodious, but each peal sets me on edge. “Such a newcomer.” She elbows me in the ribs. “But I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. How could I possibly dethrone the spiciest pickle in Colorado?”
Milton puts a hand on her shoulder. “Things are heating up in America’s Spiciest Kitchen!” he says, his glee apparent. “Let’s get to work on some fiery dishes!”
Magnolia’s smile is as innocent as a lamb as she says, “May the best pickle win.”
2
Magnolia
Anthony Pickle’s expression is priceless. Shock has taken over every feature. Those thick eyebrows lift to his hairline, his smoky eyes wide. His mouth is an open O.
Got him.
It’s about time I made some inroads on this rivalry. My family has owned the Tasty Pepper for six decades. Then a few years ago, here comes this Pickle brother with his ridiculous bread names and monthly pickle flavors, poaching on our territory.
And he’s the one who goes viral!
But he hasn’t won today. My family pitched this show to Milton Creed a few weeks ago, as soon as we saw the pickle challenge go bonkers on TikTok. Wouldn’t Milton like a viral segment to match?
My father told him to let us put our spin on that ghost pepper pickle, and we’d have a culinary moment to rival Gordon Ramsey challenging his own mother.
Milton bought it.
And here we are. Anthony has no idea this pickle competition was my family’s brainchild. I love the element of surprise. I just wish I wasn’t the one on camera. I’m having to fake every bit of confidence. To be honest, I’m petrified.
Milton pats Anthony on the shoulder. “What do you think?”
Anthony pauses a moment, looking from Milton and back to me.
He faces the cameras. His voice is low, rich, and resonant as he speaks directly to the viewer. “I’ll put my pickle up against what she’s got any time.”
Oh, my. My face flares hot.
Milton Creed snorts so hard that the director calls for a cut, and the crew collapses with laughter.
Anthony’s surprised face tells me he didn’t intend to be shocking. He whips around to face me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean —”
“Forget it,” I say. “It’s fine.”
But he’s upset. “No. Really. It wasn’t until the words came out of my mouth that I realized what th
ey would sound like.”
I wave my hand. “It’s fine. Payback for me showing up.”
“No! God! I was talking about pickles. Jesus! I should not be representing my family on this show.”
Now I’m amused. So, he really is that awkward.
“It’s fine, Anthony. I doubt the comment will make the show.”
Truth is. I’m totally as poise-challenged as him. I might come from a long line of deli connoisseurs, but my magic is in accounting. I do the books for the Tasty Pepper, not the cooking. I don’t serve customers. I hide in the back with my spreadsheets and financials.
I have no aspirations to be the spokesperson for the family. I’m only here because I drew the short straw and got stuck being the one who went on stage.
While the techs get their spotlights back in line and a makeup artist rushes on set to refresh Milton’s pancaked face, I glance down at Anthony’s artfully arranged assortment of spices, oils, and pepper. Our real head chef Dan has promised me that what I’m doing will work. I simply have to stay poised and confident while I do exactly what he taught me.
When the director has the cameras rolling again, Milton turns to me.
