Spicy Pickle (Fake Engagement)

by J J Knight

  But worst of all, I liked the kiss.

  Liked it, liked it, liked it.

  What is that all about?

  And of course, he had to shut it off when he remembered the curry.

  I guess that’s what you call poetic justice.

  What should I do know? Keep kissing him or cool this off?

  I have no idea.

  I turn on my computer, wincing at the startup beep. Dad surely heard it next door.

  I’m not sure why I’m delaying the inevitable. The only reason I haven’t been pestered to death by my parents since the live show is that they don’t like to text, especially when it’s important. I badgered Havannah into explaining about the fake kisses and why we did it.

  I thought I had gotten off scot-free and could focus on work when I roll back in my chair and smash into the metal filing cabinet.

  It tilts and smacks the wall I share with my dad’s office.

  I freeze, hoping the noise won’t send him over immediately.

  But the telltale sound of his chair rolling back on the hardwood floor next door tells me he’s coming. Sure enough, Dad’s gray head appears in the doorway.

  “There you are! Your mother and I thought you would stop by for dinner with your sister last night.”

  “My flight was late,” I lie. “I should’ve let you guys know that. I’m sorry.”

  In truth, I’d been home when Havannah left for the dinner. After all the covering I’ve been doing for her, so no one knows about her morning sickness, she knew good and well not to mention I was back in town.

  “You never know about those airlines,” he says. “Back in my day, it was a big deal if they were more than ten minutes off schedule. People would get fired.”

  I glance at the clock. The deli’s about to open and I know Havannah isn’t here. She was heaving up dry toast when I left.

  “You need me on the floor? Havannah’s going to be late.”

  He lifts a hand. “No, no. Your mom has it handled. To be honest, I think she prefers greeting customers over running social media. I think we’ve got those two roles reversed.”

  I seize on this new topic of conversation. “I think it’s a great idea to switch them. When Havannah came back from college, we should have put her on social media. She’s amazing at it. She can do that from home in the mornings and not even come in.”

  She better thank me for this.

  “I’ll see what your mom thinks about it. Ever since that TikTok thing happened, she’s realized she might be slacking. It took her years to get up to speed on Facebook. New apps pop up like mushrooms.”

  “They do.”

  I’m hoping our talk is over, but I don’t get that lucky.

  He absently taps on the door frame. “I guess you’re gonna tell your old man about what happened on that show?”

  “Havannah didn’t mention it?”

  “She did. But apparently there was also a date?”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yes. That. It was quite the talk among the staff yesterday.”

  “Well, to be honest, Anthony Pickle’s family hired a social media coordinator.”

  Dad nods. “And.”

  “She thought it would be beneficial for us to have a united front, so we planned the whole thing. It’s all fake.”

  Dad’s face screws up in confusion. “What is?”

  “The kiss. The date. They hired a photographer to capture it all. We’re trying to make sure that Milton Creed can’t do any more damage to us.”

  Dad claps his hands together, a sound so startling in the quiet that I jump an inch off my seat.

  “How about that. And here we were so worried about you. Thought that boy might be providing unwanted attention to our little girl.”

  I hadn’t expected this reaction. “No. Nothing like that. I’m fine.”

  “This is good news. It seems like all the publicity has been really positive.”

  I decide to go ahead and tell him some of our ideas, since he’s so jovial about it. “We’re thinking of creating some joint items on our menu. You know, to take the opportunity to upsell.”

  “Sure, sure. That sounds fine. Run them by Dan and Sakura to get them on the line.”

  Well, that was easy. “I’ll do that!”

  I swivel my chair to face my computer, but Dad doesn’t leave. I cautiously turn back to face him.

  His face is the picture of concern. “Magnolia, you’d tell me if you were in a bind, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course,” I say. “Just don’t spread it too widely that the relationship is fake. We don’t want any leaks ruining the plan. This whole thing has been weirdly popular.”

  “You might be grown, but I’m still your dad.”

  “I know.”

  Thank goodness I don’t have to lie.

  Except for maybe what I felt both times Anthony Pickle kissed me.

  Nope. I’m perfectly content lying to myself about that.

  When Dad’s gone, I review all the ideas that Anthony has already typed from our napkin notes. He’s suggested a combination menu with a soup, sandwich, and dessert. In addition, the Tasty Pepper will come up with a recipe for Love Relish, and his deli will serve an original pickle called The Kiss.

  These sound really clever.

  I wonder what our relish should be. I pull up the supply lists for our orders. I can’t cook my way through a box of mac and cheese, but I can analyze our shipments and see what sells.

  Our menu hasn’t changed since before I was born. But it looks like years ago, we would place a large order for cranberries this time of year. The practice ended around the time Grandmama stepped back from the deli for retirement. Interesting.

  I spin and turn to the safe that holds the family recipes for our menu.

  I sort through various breads, potato salad, sauerkraut, and a few other classics. Then I come across a whole sheaf of relishes. There’s one with cranberries. “Boudreaux Thanksgiving Relish,” it reads.

  Perfect.

  Suddenly I remember a few jars in the back of the supply pantry marked like this. They’d be old but could give me an idea of what the relish looked like, and if it seemed suitable for long-term shelf-stability and shipping.

  The kitchen is all hustle as I pass through. The lunch hour has already begun.

  I squeeze past staff members chopping and replenishing trays for the sandwich line and head into the supply closet.

  I’m not familiar with the order of things in here, but I know those jars are in the back. I walk deep into the pantry and begin shuffling boxes around. They’re not here anymore. Rats.

  I sense someone has followed me in. I turn.

  It’s Shane.

  “Hey. Can I help you find something?” he asks.

  “Just looking around.”

  “Nothing in particular?”

  I can’t let him in on what I’m thinking. He’s totally adopted my rivalry with Anthony. I step forward as if I’m going to push past him, but he doesn’t move.

  My face is level with the chest of his red apron, signaling that he’s the manager of the line.

  “Did you need something from me?” I ask.

  He’s tall, and his blond curls add to his youthful appearance. There’s nothing wrong with him, really. He’s just too young and aggressive for me.

  “I saw the show,” he says finally.

  Oh.

  He shoves his hands in his apron pockets. “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It didn’t look like nothing. Do I need to go crack his jaw?”

  I try to picture Shane’s long, lanky body trying to impact Anthony’s quiet strength. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “So, are you dating this guy? Because he’s the enemy, remember. He’s the one who poached on our territory.”

  “It will be okay.”

  “Are you sure? I’m looking out for you. I don’t like to think he’s playing you.”

  “He’s not
. It’s fine.”

  “It didn’t look fine. Listen, I can talk to reporters. Get this man off your back.”

  Whoa. That would be the worst. “No! Don’t do that. It was a publicity stunt.”

  “A what?”

  “It wasn’t real. Just a way to get Milton Creed off our backs.”

  His whole body relaxes. “That’s a relief.”

  “It’s a ploy. And a big secret. You can’t tell anyone, okay? Milton might come after us again.”

  His face breaks into a grin. “I like knowing your secrets.” He smacks his chest over his heart. “You can trust me with anything.”

  “Thanks. I need to go.”

  He steps aside.

  When I return to the kitchen, my head buzzing from the encounter, our head chef Dan is by the freezer.

  I head over. I could use Dan’s expertise. “Hey,” I say. “Did you ever make Grandmama’s Thanksgiving relish?”

  His gray-whiskered face breaks into a smile. “Sure did. You know, we should bring that back this year.”

  “I agree! Could we order the cranberries and make a batch to test?”

  “Will do, Miss Magnolia! Good to see some old traditions coming back!”

  “We might be doing a new soup and sandwich combo as well. I’m running the ideas by Dad.”

  “Sounds soup-er!” Dan lets out a loud guffaw.

  He’s a card, that’s for sure. But he’s worked for my father since before I was born. “Thanks, Dan.”

  I’m feeling better as I head back to my office. I have a time-tested recipe for Anthony, and I don’t have to admit I can’t cook.

  Finally, something is going right.

  17

  Anthony

  The first spontaneous text from Magnolia puts a smile on my face.

  I have samples of Love Relish for you to try!

  She sounds happy. I quickly text her back. I’m testing the new sandwich and soup this afternoon. Want to pop over?

  I sense her hesitation in the three dots that remain flashing for an inordinately long time. Sometimes I forget that she hates me and my territory-poaching deli.

  I quickly text her again. We can meet on neutral ground if you think that’s better.

  She finally replies. No, it’s fine. Just weird to think of going into your kitchen.

  I’m happy to have you here.

  Okay.

  My staff has been ribbing me about the televised kiss ever since I returned from New York. Charity kept my dad informed of our plan, so thankfully I never had to clarify to him that everything was fake. He told Jason and Max.

  Even so, I saved all the images that surfaced from our date. There are great ones from when I gave her the flowers. There’s the almost-kiss in front of the restaurant door. But my favorite? A whole series from the actual kiss after dinner.

  They’re convincing. Sometimes I look at them and wonder how it could have been fake at all. It didn’t feel that way at the time.

  I’ve sworn off red curry forever.

  Milton’s crew hasn’t commented publicly on our TV kiss or date. Hopefully, he’s decided to back off.

  I purposely suggest a time in the afternoon when the deli is minimally staffed. When Marie leads Magnolia through the door from the dining room, I’m surprised at how seeing her here affects me. It’s like the room got brighter just because she walked into it.

  Her blond hair is pulled back today, and she wears jeans and a sweater. I like seeing laid-back Magnolia.

  She sets her puffy coat on a stool and passes me a small glass jar. “This is the Love Relish. It’s a sweet relish with gherkins, pickled onions, and cranberry.”

  I lift the jar to the light. It’s pink and red with hints of green. Perfect for a Love and Pickles line, which Charity has suggested.

  “Was this your creation?” I unscrew the lid.

  “It’s an old classic I’ve revived.”

  “Lots of talent at the Tasty Pepper, and you’re right in the middle of it.” I rummage around for a spoon and dip it into the relish. It’s tangy and sweet. “I love it.”

  “It has an apple cider vinegar base that should be shelf stable. I think we could put this one in the online store.”

  “Perfect. I haven’t started working on the new pickle yet. But Charity has a team mocking up the branding.” I hesitate. “Unless you have someone you want her to coordinate with.”

  Magnolia shakes her head. “No. Our branding has been the same since I was born.”

  “Same here.”

  I love that these long family traditions are something we have in common. I lead her to a large pot on the stove. “So, the soup I’ve devised is sweet-potato based. It’s savory, with a hint of heat on the backend.”

  When she looks into the pot with trepidation, I add, “No red curry. It’s chili powder.”

  I dip a ladle into the soup and fill a bowl. “While that cools off, we can try the sandwich.”

  I carry the soup to the center workspace. “The cranberry relish tells me we’ve been on the same brainwave. Because the sandwich is turkey with a sweet mustard cranberry compote.”

  “I guess we’re all feeling the approach of Thanksgiving. Any spice to it?”

  “Not at all. Only in the soup.”

  I grab a slice of our signature white bread. The compote glides across the surface, and I add two layers of turkey, a slice of Swiss, and thinly sliced bread and butter pickles. A second slice of bread tops the sandwich.

  “I hope you came hungry.” I slice the sandwich into two triangles and pass one to her.

  “I can eat.” She accepts the sandwich and takes a bite from the corner. Her eyebrows shoot up. “Delicious.”

  I stir the soup to cool it down. “I think the sweet potato in the soup complements the sandwich. It has a Thanksgiving feel without being traditional.”

  I fill a spoon with a chunky bite of soup. “I can’t wait to hear what you think.”

  Feeding her here is different from the chopsticks in the restaurant. There’s no one taking pictures. No proof of what we’re doing. The kitchen is empty. Kennedy is manning the line, and Marie’s busy collecting supplies from the walk-in fridge.

  For these few seconds, we’re alone.

  Her gaze meets mine as her mouth closes over the spoon. She takes the bite and lets out a long mmmmm. I set the spoon on the counter.

  “That’s good,” she says, then claps her hand to her mouth. “Oh, there’s the heat!”

  “Is it too much?” I can’t imagine it would be for someone like her.

  She shakes her head. “No, it’s just a surprise. Even though you told me.” Her laugh is shaky and nervous as she looks around.

  I race to the sink and fill a clean cup with water. “Here. If it’s still too hot, I can get you some cheese or milk.”

  She tries to look casual as she accepts the water, but then gulps it like the soup set fire to her mouth.

  Huh. Something tells me Magnolia isn’t as big on spice as she’s let people believe. It doesn’t matter to me, but it’s interesting. She talked differently on Milton Creed’s show.

  But then, she was trying to make a splash.

  I take the soup bowl to the sink, so she doesn’t feel obligated to eat any more. “Do you think it’s too spicy?”

  Magnolia runs her hand across her mouth. She’s trying to downplay her distress. “No. It’s fine. But it should have a warning. A little flame by it or something.”

  I sit on a stool across from her at the prep table. “Do you want to sell the kiss pickle? We were going to have our own exclusive item, but we can share.”

  She lifts her relish jar and turns it in circles on the table. “I don’t know. It’s all happening so fast.”

  “Charity says we have to seize the momentum.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “Stay visible. She wants to know if you would like to do another show. She’s got six lined up.”

  “Six?”

  “Sure. The talk show of
fers are getting smaller, but the cooking shows are starting to heat up.”

  “So we’d cook?”

  “Sure, just like on Milton’s show. Hopefully with less drama.”

  “And she thinks it would help sell all this?” She gestures to the sandwich and the jar.

  “It’s our best shot at maximizing this opportunity.”

  She bites her lip. Maybe this is hard for her, consorting with the enemy.

  I have to step up. “For what it’s worth, I don’t like that my deli has caused your family distress. I want to make it right.”

  She doesn’t respond to that, and my belly churns at exactly how much she hates having to work with me to improve her situation. I fiddle with my half of the sandwich, lining up the edges more exactly. “Maybe the kiss and the date were a bad idea.”

  She doesn’t comment on that. “Will the shows cover travel and all that?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Maybe not first class—”

  “Will you not book me on fancy things? It makes me feel like I owe you.”

  I remember the jewelry mistake. “I won’t pay for extras. I’ll get Charity to negotiate them with the shows.”

  She slides off the stool. “Okay. See if she can book them in a row, so I can be in one place a little longer. It’s nice to see a bit of a city when I’m there. I can’t afford travel otherwise.”

  “Will do.” She’s on board. I can breathe again.

  She pushes the jar toward me. “You keep this. I hope the kiss pickle is worth the wait!”

  “It will be.”

  As Magnolia picks up her coat and leaves the kitchen, I can’t take my eyes off her.

  Even if it’s all fake on her end, I can’t wait for us to travel together.

  18

  Magnolia

  Once Anthony and I launch the new joint menu, everything starts to happen fast. Charity books us for five appearances in Los Angeles.

  My wardrobe for the upcoming shows is carefully crafted, along with Anthony’s complementary outfits. Everything is based on cranberry and cream, with some grays and blues mixed in. Charity has worked magic with several designers who let me borrow items to give them exposure on the shows.