Spicy Pickle (Fake Engagement)

by J J Knight

  Sonata lifts a gold chain with a perfect teardrop ruby. It twinkles in the light like a hypnotist’s charm.

  It’s beautiful.

  “This will complement that neckline perfectly,” Sonata says. She walks behind me and fastens the necklace. I bend to an oval mirror on the counter. She’s right. It is the perfect thing.

  “And these earrings,” the woman says. Small rubies drip in a cascade. She holds one to my ear.

  They are so lovely that my stomach quivers. I touch the sparkling waterfall of gems.

  “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” I say.

  “I must agree,” Sonata says.

  “I’m assuming these are real gems?”

  “But of course.”

  My heart falls. “I couldn’t.”

  Sonata spreads the glittering earrings on her palm. “I was specifically told that any jewelry you chose would be a gift from the gentleman.”

  I snap my gaze to hers. “Really?”

  She smiles. “Really.”

  Now I’m even more concerned about accepting. What are we doing here? And why would Anthony buy me jewelry?

  I bite my lip. “How much is the necklace?”

  Surprisingly, the sum isn’t much more than I would have paid for a plane ticket and hotel if the show hadn’t covered those. “I’ll take it. But not the earrings. And I would like to pay for the necklace myself.”

  “Whatever you like,” she says.

  By the time we finish the transaction, Esmée has run back with my red shoes.

  “Try them now.”

  I slide my feet inside and sigh. “That’s perfect.” I wish I’d known I could do this. There were so many beautiful shoes in my life I could have bought.

  Esmée claps her hands. “I cannot wait to see the pictures. Everyone is breathless to catch you together again.”

  “Really?”

  Esmée leans in. “You are, as they say, a viral hit.” She holds up her phone. “I saw the whole thing while I waited for the shoes. So romantique.”

  Sonata closes up the fabric bag holding my old outfit and shoes. “Should I have this sent up to your room?”

  I take it from her. “I can manage it. Thank you so much for your help.”

  I cross the lobby with my bag.

  Now it’s time for the date.

  15

  Anthony

  I have to take a deep breath before I knock on Magnolia’s hotel room door to start our pretend date. A thousand competing worries buzz through my head.

  The fact that I actually like Magnolia is the biggest and most pressing. I know it will do well for appearances that I feel so strongly about her.

  But I practically dragged her to New York to do this, and she only agreed to any of it because of the benefits for her business. So I most certainly need to proceed with caution.

  She calls out, “Coming!” The ensuing flutter of footsteps makes me smile.

  The door flies open, and I immediately have to take a step back. Magnolia is stunning. She shines like a jewel, her red dress fitted at the waist, leading to a neckline that draws my gaze like a beacon in the night.

  Nestled in the cleavage that has me already breaking out in a cold sweat is a glittering pendant. If all went correctly downstairs, it is my first gift to her, even if she doesn’t know it.

  Her choice feels like an omen. My mother’s favorite gem was a ruby. And although she didn’t live long enough to see any of her sons find their brides, both my brothers have reported small signs that suggested her approval.

  I wonder if I will look back on this day and know that the ruby necklace was mine.

  “Have I rendered you speechless?” Magnolia’s mouth is pressed into a bewitching smirk.

  “Completely,” I say. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so beautiful.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere. But watch this.” She backs away from the door and turns in a quick circle. The flowing skirt lifts in a perfect swirl of red, showing off a long expanse of slender legs. My mouth goes dry.

  Magnolia holds still, letting the dress fall. “I’ve been practicing so I know exactly how fast I can spin without showing off my knickers.”

  “Knickers?”

  She laughs. “My sister and I love the Great British Bake Off. Sometimes we forget certain words aren’t actually American.” She leans forward. “Besides, I feel like panties is too much for us, don’t you think?”

  At the word panties, my mind goes completely blank. I can only stare at her like a big dumb rock. She waves her hand up in my face “Anthony? Are you in there? Is red your kryptonite?”

  No, but she is. I try to shake myself free of the wild thoughts racing through my head. Concentrate, Anthony.

  “Maybe.” I draw in a steadying breath. “Charity found us a clever Thai place to go to. Sound good?”

  “Sure!” Magnolia turns to snatch up a short black coat. “Is it freezing out?”

  “Pretty cold, but for the few blocks we’re walking, I think we’ll be fine.”

  “I guess you keeping me warm will make the photographers happy!”

  I can only nod lamely as she slides her arm through mine. For a moment, everything good in the world settles around my shoulders.

  We head toward the main elevator instead of the secret one in the back. Tonight is the absolute opposite of everything we’ve done before. We want to be public, witnessed, talked about. Magnolia seems completely on board. Charity’s optimism must have infected her, because I’ve never seen her so happy and easygoing.

  I press the elevator button. “Imagine the Tasty Pepper Two, serving the finest pickle relish in the Rocky Mountains.”

  That gets a big smile out of her. The doors slide open, and we step into the elevator.

  Magnolia’s face is mischievous. “I love that you are known for the pickles, and I will be famous for the very same item, only chopped into tiny bits.”

  I can’t help burst out laughing “You have to use that line on one of our future shows. It’s epic.”

  She seems pleased by the compliment, and by the time we cross the lobby and exit the hotel, she’s glowing. Good. I want her to feel like we belong.

  Even if this is only a big fake to the world, the product of what will happen between us is very real. Her dreams for her deli coming true. And for me, an end to this stressful part of my life.

  “So, when can we expect photographers?” she asks.

  “Anytime. Charity thought we shouldn’t know exactly when they’ll appear because she doesn’t want us to overact. We’re to look as natural as possible.”

  “Makes sense. We must convince everyone we’re a happy new couple.”

  I draw her closer. As we pass shop windows, I glance over to see how we look. Magnolia is perfect in her black coat and golden hair. I’m awkwardly hunched over, so I quickly straighten my posture and plaster on a smile.

  “Are you checking out your reflection?” Magnolia asks.

  “Busted.”

  “How do we look?”

  I squeeze her arm. “Absolutely perfect.”

  Our gazes clash, and for a moment I think she understands that I mean it, no fakery. But then she bursts out in a peal of laughter. “You’re so funny!”

  Wait. What? “You don’t think we look good together?”

  Her voice drops to a whisper. “I see a camera across the street.”

  “Oh.”

  She bumps me with her hip. “Laugh, so we look like happy lovers.”

  My mind stumbles, this time on lovers. But I pull together enough to crack a jocular, “Should I break out in song?”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “Don’t I dare? What wouldn’t I dare?”

  I grasp her hand and initiate a move I haven’t tried since high school. It’s risky. We could go viral in the wrong way if this fails.

  But I spin her out and away from me. Her dress swirls, and she gasps.

  I circle her back toward
me, not stopping until our bodies are flush against each other. “Want to do it again in case they didn’t get the shot?”

  “I’m glad I didn’t eat anything, or I’d be puking down the front of my coat.”

  I touch the tip of her nose. “You’re so romantic.”

  Now she’s really laughing as I twirl her out again, this time creating a big finish that draws her to my side.

  When we walk again, our bodies touching, my heart beats painfully. If only this were real.

  After another block, we pause at a flower vendor approved by Charity. I choose a cluster of red roses that match her dress and pay the elderly gentleman in a vivid green apron.

  “I’m the luckiest girl in the world!” Magnolia exclaims, her eyes wide. She pauses. “Too much?”

  I can’t help but grin. “Maybe a little.”

  She draws the flowers to her face. “These do smell amazing.”

  “I’m glad you like them.”

  “I guess this is when I should kiss you,” she says.

  My heart hammers at the thought of having her in my arms again. “Only if you want to.”

  “Maybe we should save it.”

  Disappointment washes over me. “Of course.”

  We reach the restaurant, and I open the door for her.

  Despite not knowing for sure if the cameras are following us, she pauses in the open door, her eyes gazing up at me, her face close to mine. It’s an almost-kiss for the camera. I can barely stand it.

  “How’s that?” she asks.

  “Perfect.” It takes all the control I can muster not to press my mouth to hers.

  We head inside. I assume no one will follow us into the restaurant, but when we arrive, the host seems to know we were coming. “We have a table by the window,” he says.

  Of course he does. Charity is thorough.

  When we’re seated, Magnolia examines the menu as if it’s a textbook.

  “Do you make a lot of Thai?” I ask. We’ve never had much opportunity to talk about our culinary pursuits.

  “Not really,” she says. I wait for her to expand on that, but she doesn’t.

  “I took an entire course on Far East cuisines in culinary school.”

  She continues to study her menu. “Nice.”

  I follow her lead and keep reading. I choose the spiciest item on the menu, just for fun. “What are you going to try?”

  “Pad Thai.”

  “You’re going for tangy instead of spicy today.”

  She nods and sets down the menu.

  The waiter arrives with a bottle of white wine. “Compliments of Charity,” he says.

  When he’s poured two glasses and taken our order, I figure it’s time to talk shop while we can.

  “What did you think of Charity’s ideas? Relish? Pickles? Maybe something completely different?”

  Magnolia’s face grows serious, then she seems to remember herself and plasters on a smile. “I can’t forget where we are,” she says. “I like the idea of the shared menu. I think anything that could draw extra foot traffic into our delis in the short-term will have the quickest impact.”

  “Agreed. Just know we are limited on how many people we can draw in Boulder. When we open our products up to shipping anywhere, we will make the most of this opportunity.”

  She nods. “I agree with that, but we have to remember that there will be a delay between when we will be up and running and taking orders. We don’t even have our products figured out. Then there’s the matter of manufacturing and upfront costs.”

  “Don’t worry about those,” I say.

  She hesitates. “Like I wasn’t supposed to worry about the jewelry?”

  I glance at the ruby. “I love what you chose.”

  “You should know I paid for this myself. As much as I appreciated the gesture, it didn’t seem appropriate to accept such intimate gifts.”

  I glance around, but the diners all seem oblivious.

  “Sorry,” she says. “I should be more careful about what I say, but I wanted to put that out there.”

  “Point taken,” I say, disappointed again. “We’ll keep it strictly professional.”

  “Other than when we’re making out for cameras?”

  I assume she’s trying to make me laugh, but I’m feeling crushed. Sometimes this hope in my heart is too much to bear. “Except for then.”

  “I enjoy talking shop,” she says. “Let’s plan our imminent total world domination.” Her smile seems genuine.

  That’s good at least. She no longer seems to hate me.

  If nothing else, I’ll have yet another friend-zone to add to my collection. I’m not the Casanova that my brothers are. Women flock to them. They think of me as a friend. This is my lot.

  We hash out tons of ideas for dishes to add to our menus, and some preliminary concepts for things that can be shipped. We take notes on the back of napkins, and I carefully fold them and tuck them in my pocket.

  Occasionally I take her hand and bring it to my lips, holding it there in case someone might be taking a photo. We find ease in moving in and out of normal business talk and romance-for-show.

  Our food arrives. Even the steam from the extremely potent spices makes my eyes water. “This is gonna burn,” I say. “Since you were already working on a recipe to adjust my ghost pepper pickle, though, you must be able to take spice with the best of them.”

  Magnolia’s eyes stay downcast as she busily stirs together her noodles and tofu. “Sure,” she says.

  I lift a slice of beef bathed in fiery red curry. “This will wake the dead.”

  “I bet.” Magnolia stuffs a bit of tofu in her mouth.

  I take my first bite, savoring the fire. “Hurts so good.”

  Magnolia doesn’t comment on that, carefully twirling noodles with chopsticks.

  “You have to try it. It’s amazing.” I capture a bite and hold it out. “Besides, it’ll make a great picture.”

  “Did you say it was red curry?”

  I lower the chopsticks. “Yes. That’s the main spice in Pad Prik.”

  “Sorry. I’m allergic.”

  I set the bite down. “Red curry allergy. That’s good to know.”

  “If you want to share a bite for the camera, I can give you some of this,” she says.

  I nod. “Sure.”

  She spins a bit of noodles and holds them out to me. We take it slow, enabling a photographer to get the shot, if anyone’s even out there.

  “What is your family business culture like?” she asks. “Mine swear that if we don’t spend every moment in the restaurant, we’re somehow going to cause it to close forever.”

  “I hear you on that. In fact, a year and a half ago, my dad staged a competition to see which of his three sons could turn the biggest profit. He decided to retire, and he wanted one of us to take over the chain.”

  “Really? Who won?”

  “I did.”

  “Are you the oldest?”

  “The youngest. Jason’s the oldest, down in Austin. He got married last summer. And Max is the middle brother. He’s in L.A.”

  “I’m so jealous how you’ve managed to expand.”

  I point my chopsticks at her. “You’re going to get there. That’s what this is all about.”

  She seems pleased, tucking back into her meal. Even though there won’t be any real romance here, I realize that makes things easier. I don’t have to worry about making a move or blowing it. Everything is for show.

  When we walk out the door, Magnolia pulls me close. “I see a photographer over there.”

  I glance across the street. A long lens is trained on us.

  “We should probably do that kiss,” she said. “That’s probably what he’s waiting for.”

  I lead us closer to the light below the awning, nerves firing up again.

  This kiss won’t be like the one on the show. That was spontaneous. Full of emotion. It fit.

  This one is manufactured. I take the flowers from her, so they do
n’t get smashed between us.

  “Here goes,” I say.

  “Ready when you are.” She closes her eyes and lifts her chin.

  I look at her a moment. Her long eyelashes rest on her perfect cheeks. Her lips are no longer shiny with gloss. She seems more natural, like when I saw her at the coffee shop. I like it.

  I rub my thumb across her cheek. She relaxes her stance, resting against me. That’s better.

  I lean in. When our lips meet, they are cool at first, chilled by the frosty weather. She exhales, her breath feathering against my skin. I claim her mouth slowly, bit by bit. I gently bite her lower lip and she smiles.

  Her body sinks into mine, her hands moving to the back of my head.

  I don’t intend to deepen the kiss, as the lighter one probably will look better for the picture. But it happens anyway. Her lips part. My tongue traces hers. She tastes slightly sweet, like the Pad Thai she ate. I realize that I’ve been eating something she’s allergic to and back away in an instant.

  Her eyes fly open.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. “There might be some trace of the curry. How sensitive are you?”

  She sinks down, and I realize she’s been standing on her tiptoes. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” Her eyes are wide, her lips pinked up.

  I let out a long breath. “Okay, good. I won’t make that mistake again. If I know we’re going to be staging a kiss, I’ll be careful what I eat.” I take her hand and lead her back toward our hotel.

  That was close.

  We walk back in silence. She holds her flowers close to her chest, as if to have a reason not to hold my hand.

  I went too far on the kiss. And I had put her at risk.

  This is my fault.

  It seems I can’t even fake date correctly.

  16

  Magnolia

  I’ll admit, the first time I walk in the back door of the Tasty Pepper after returning from New York, I sneak into my office on tiptoe like a teenager after curfew. Pictures of my kiss with Anthony on a New York boulevard are everywhere.

  I don’t want to talk to anyone about it, least of all my dad. I’m barely allowing myself to think about it in my own head.

  Readers, I could use advice. I’m in a hot mess. You all know I’m a spice wimp, and I LIED to Anthony about being allergic to red curry to avoid him finding out.