His Pickle Her Jam (Cherry On Top Tales #4)

Chapter Eight-Jan

Still Day 3 of Block Party Prepping (7 to go)

Shit.

Maybe it was time for me to come clean.

I never told Del what happened the night of her wedding between me and Buck.

“I can’t believe this,” my best friend sputtered ten minutes later. “How could you not tell me?”

“Honestly, there was nothing to tell. We were going at it in the closet, for Pete’s sake. It wasn’t like we were in a relationship. His girlfriend busted in on us, and well, I just thought it was over. A flash in the pan thing. A passion born of forced proximity,” I explained.

“What girlfriend?”

“I don’t know. She was stunning, though,” I confessed.

“I honestly don’t recall who he took to the wedding, but is it possible you misread the situation?”

“I don’t think so, Del. Besides, that was a month ago. He never brought it up or tried to touch me since. I just figured he forgot about it.”

“Well, that did not sound like a man who forgot about it. Can you say possessive?” she teased.

“Oh my God, stop. We both know men don’t get possessive about me,” I replied, shaking my head.

The sound of a truck pulling up caught my attention, and I said a quick goodbye, washed my hands, and went outside to meet it.

Only, I wasn’t the only one there.

Buck was already chatting with the driver and checking off a list as the man unloaded box after box of fresh produce onto a hand truck.

“Excuse me, I believe that’s my delivery,” I said, interrupting the two men and frowning.

“Your delivery? Uh, I don’t think so,” Buck replied, his face scrunched up adorably.

“I placed an order with Kent Global, this is it, right?”

“You did? Oh, um, well, so did I,” Buck said, and dread filled my gut.

I took my cell phone out of my pocket and opened the confirmation email I’d received for my order.

“Here,” I said, showing both Buck and the delivery man.

“No, I believe you, Jan. But look, I placed one too,” he said, and showed me his phone.

Gulp.

“I don’t know, guys. I just take the stuff where they tell me,” the driver said, not pausing as he continued to unload.

“Well, can we just go over my receipt to make sure everything is here?” I asked, using my most professional voice.

“Look, I have three more stops in this heat, and I want to finish them before I melt. I already told you I just deliver what they tell me to. If anything is wrong, you can call the service number,” the man said, and I frowned.

He wasn’t being rude, but still.

“Alright. We can do that man, thank you for your time,” Buck said and handed the guy a crisp twenty.

I squeaked, and he turned towards me, his perfectly arched eyebrows raised.

It’s not that I was cheap, but the guy was being surly. Still, I appreciated a good tipper. I reached into my pocket determined to give him a ten dollar bill for my half of the tip.

“I’m not taking your money, Jan,” he said, when I offered him the money.

“But we should split it.”

“You can get it next time,” he said, but somehow, I doubted he meant it.

I nodded anyway, biting my lip.

“So, I got mostly fruits and herbs, but I also ordered some veggies,” I said, showing him my order.

“Shit. Me too. From what I can tell with just a glance, they didn’t bring everything,” he said, frowning.

I’d been surprised such a huge company was willing to take small orders like mine, but that was all part of Kent Global’s new farm to table distribution policy.

No order was too small. But, of course, they fucked it up. I mean, there were bound to be learning curves when a company did something new.

I just didn’t like that it was happening to me.

I frowned as Buck pulled out his phone and started to compare what was being delivered to what he’d ordered.

“I ordered the blueberries,” I said as we hauled the boxes in.

“I ordered them, too,” he told me, showing me his screen.

Fuck.

“Cherries?” he asked, and I nodded.

It looked like wherever our orders crossed paths, we only got one case or bushel instead of two.

Shit.

That was going to be a real problem.

I knew he had to prep his veggies for pickling today to get his contest samples finished in time.

But so did I.

“Let me call the people at Kent Global, see if they can’t rush the rest of our orders,” he murmured, and grabbed his cell phone.

I nodded, trusting him to take care of that while I opened each case and peeked at what was inside. Everything was fresh and healthy looking, at least.

I frowned as I went over my list.

Everything was there. Only, I had a feeling our ingredients were going to cross paths more than just twice.

I bit my lip and waited while Buck spoke on the phone. He turned to me, his expression unreadable.

“So,” Buck said once he ended the call, “their rep confirmed human error. The person responsible for manually checking orders assumed they were duplicates, since the address was the same.”

“Well, can they send what we need later today?”

“Afraid not. The next order coming this way isn’t for days. Maybe we could drive to the restaurant supplier,” he murmured.

“No, it won’t be as good, and we really don’t have that kind of time.” I shook my head, automatically rejecting that idea.

“Why don’t we see where all the duplicates happened first and maybe we can reach a compromise?”

I begrudgingly had to agree. It was difficult to see the man as my enemy when he was being all reasonable and shit.

We compared lists, made notes, and yeah, it was a good start. Once we finished, I realized our flavor profiles had crossed paths more than once.

The pickling process was a lot more interesting than I’d given it credit for, and I was surprised at how much experimentation went along with creating different recipes.

Buck was a regular maverick, pushing the envelope in what was standard pickling. He added hints of whiskey, vanilla, and spices I would never have expected in his recipes.

The fact he was sharing all that info with me left me speechless and a little curious to try his culinary inventions.

“Okay, so, we both ordered the blueberries, cherries, strawberries, jalapenos, just about all the herbs, and they also accidentally sent red tomatoes instead of green,” he said, confirming what I already knew.

“What are we going to do?” I asked, one hand on my hip, the other against my forehead.

“Okay, I know we can get a little competitive when we’re on opposite sides of a discussion, but what do you say we try to work together on this?” he asked.

“How do you mean?”

“For example, do you need the entire bushel of blueberries?” he asked.

“What are you asking exactly? If you want to know how much of something I am going to use to try to mess up my recipes?—”

Buck raised his hands when he saw I was ready to lay into him.

“Easy! I am not asking for your secret recipes, Pretty Girl. And I promise I have no intention of sabotaging you. I’m just trying to see if maybe we could share?”

His eyes glittered with humor, and I huffed out a breath. Buck wasn’t like other men who saw me as some big-mouthed brat whenever my hackles rose.

On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy my temper. I was a lot to take in, and after a few failed relationships where my partner wanted to try to tame me or curb my opinions, well, I learned to watch out for men with those same tendencies.

Buck was a surprise.

I supposed I was getting used to his nickname, at least, when I was thinking about him. But the urge to call him David was always there on the tip of my tongue.

His attitude was refreshing. The man honestly seemed to enjoy engaging in witty banter.

There was also the fact he had the whole bad boy charming bartender thing going for him.

Still, I needed to be wary. I’d been sort of tricked by him before and there was no way I was going to be one of the women he kept on rotation.

His dark gaze roamed over me, and my body responded. I could feel my nipples tightening beneath my clothes, and that needy little ache inside my core started throbbing all over again.

Animal magnetism. That was what the man had. And plenty of it.

If I was going to act on this insanely intense physical reaction I had to him, I was going to have to ask some questions.

Once we got this whole messy order thing figured out.

“Actually, I over-ordered, in case I fucked something up,” I admitted.

“Me too,” he said, grinning.

“So, you know what this means,” I replied, taking a step closer to him.

“What’s that?” Buck asked.

I bit my lip while he took a bigger, wider step, bringing his Croc-covered toes right up against mine.

“This means we split the orders. We get to work. We get serious about this competition. And you and me, we don’t do whatever that was before unless we have an open discussion and establish some ground rules.”

Buck’s smirk turned into a full blown grin, and Christ Almighty, he stole my breath from my lungs.

Why was this man so hot?

“First of all, do you really think you can resist whatever this is between us?” he asked, head cocked to the side, and his bad boy grin on his lips.

“Easy peasy,” I lied, trying not to squirm against the wetness in my panties.

“Is that so? Well, then I guess I’ll have to double my efforts,” he growled, closing his mouth over mine.

Double his efforts?

Oh damn. The man tasted so good.

Why did he taste so good?

My head was spinning as I kissed him back. The fragrances of all the fresh produce and herbs we’d split up and had spread across our countertops permeated the air.

I felt like I was right smack in the center of one of my favorite dirty fairytales.

The kind where the human woman snuck into the magical garden and was found out by the gorgeous, but devious fairy prince.

Only mine wore hot pepper Crocs and a wicked smile when he wasn’t kissing me to within an inch of my life.

I really should have put up a fight. Pushed him away. Or something.

Instead, I clung to him, my fingers clutching at his wide shoulders while I laid claim to his sweet mouth.

I was still uncertain if Buck had a girlfriend. And I needed to know before this went any further.

I knew this wasn’t a declaration of love or further intentions. But still, I didn’t generally make out with men who were involved with someone else. I flat out refused to be the other woman.

A tiny spark of hope ignited inside my body, and I closed my eyes willing it to snuff out. This wasn’t fair.

I couldn’t allow myself to get caught up in feelings. Not when I had a contest to win.

Plus, how did I know he was even serious about any of this? This could all just be some mind game to turn my head from the real prize.

“Hey, I don’t fuck around with people. I don’t have a girlfriend. And yes, I am very serious about you and me. Just like I am about our little competition, Jan Baby. And I have no intention of giving up on either,” he said, punctuating the last with a lip-smacking kiss.

Holy fuck.

Had I said all that out loud?

“Take all the time you need to wrap your head around that, Pretty Girl. I’m gonna go wash my cukes.”

My eyes went right to that area below his buckle and Buck barked out a laugh.

“That’s not what I call that specific part of my anatomy, but anytime you want to learn more and check it out for yourself, you just let me know, Pretty Girl.”

He walked away with a wink, and I stood there with a stupid expression on my face.

What the heck was that?