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

Chapter Sixteen-Buck

Day 8 of Block Party Prepping (2 to go)

Jan and I actually agreed that we would set up the store and open the doors on the day of the block party, offering samples of our wares to the locals as well as Mr. Jones.

I had to admit, I was a little worried. Jan had let me try some of her samples this morning, and they were fucking fantastic.

She wasn’t making the kind of jams, jellies, or preserves you saw at the average tea house. Her recipes were fresh, bright, startling in their flavor profile, and just plain fucking delicious.

Like the woman herself.

But really, it wouldn’t matter if she won. In fact, I was kind of hoping she did. Jan was amazing. Maybe she would allow me to invest in her business.

I could still buy the building. Let her rent it from me. And maybe I could start my pickle business online, like she did.

Losing was disappointing, I wouldn’t pretend it wouldn’t be. But what was losing a store when I’d finally gotten my hands on the love of my life?

Exactly.

“Hey, it looks good in here!”

Sonny came through the front door, bringing the strands of outdoor lights, the kind with the big bulbs I’d asked to borrow.

“Thanks,” I said, stepping down the ladder where I’d been securing removable hooks for the lights.

Seeing how Mr. Jones had left many of the old stands and display cases inside the grocery store, all it really needed was some cleaning to make it ready for the block party.

Sonny helped me string the lights and move some cases. It was fairly simplistic, but Jan had already told me she had table cloths and things to style her side.

I was going with a more rustic look. I had some old wood barrels, the kind they used to use for pickling, and a plain black cloth to drape over the counter on my side.

The tabletop display cases were ready, and all I had to do was stack jars of pickles.

For the tasting, we’d decided on small plastic sample cups and toothpick-sized forks and spoons where needed. We also both agreed to offer crackers and bread with the samples.

“You look green,” Sonny observed.

“Nah, I’m good either way. I just, um, well, I want her to be happy,” I said.

“Oh fuck, you love her!” Sonny exclaimed, and the asshole laughed at me.

Like actually guffawed.

Freaking buffoon.

“So?” I said, exasperated by his reaction.

“So, you’re going to throw this competition for her?”

“No! I’m not throwing shit. If Jan wins, it’s because she earned it and deserves it. Really, her stuff is amazing,” I said, pride filling every word.

“I know. Del is obsessed with her raspberry merlot preserves at the moment,” Sonny said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, yeah?” I replied and grinned.

“Yeah. She, uh, puts it on top of your classic dill chips. I know it sounds gross, but it’s actually not bad. Shut up,” Sonny said and shoved me in the arm.

I could only imagine my expression.

Sonny had been my best friend for so long, I knew he wasn’t really mad. He helped me grab jars of finished pickles to stock the display case, and we divided the tasting cups and utensils, so I had half on my side and left the rest for Jan.

She and Delani were going to decorate her side tomorrow.

Last, I hung up my banner, which had my Pickled Possibilities logo and website information. It was clean, professional, and legible, which was all I really cared about.

What was the point of a brand if no one could read it?

The design was simple, done in black and white. The words looked handwritten, but neat, and at the bottom were outlined drawings of vegetables.

Not too detailed, but you could identify what they were. A carrot, a cucumber, okra, a tomato and garlic, onions, and some berries.

Simple. Easy to identify. And classy.

I exhaled, rubbing the top of my head.

There was just something about the store that just felt so right. Yeah, I’d be bummed if I lost. But I would be happy for Jan.

How could I not be?

She was everything.