Page 3 of Unexpected Pickle
Time to fix this. I turn around. “I’m sorry I insulted your apples.”
There’s a break in the rhythm of the cuts, then they continue.
“Your food is gorgeous.”
And so are you, I want to say, but I remember my new resolution about complimenting the important things rather than the superficial ones, and keep that to myself.
Thwack, thwack, thwack.
I have to keep trying. “Nobody likesAreola.”
The chopping stops. “Who?”
The sight of her looking at me snatches my breath. Her dark hair is tucked into a short white cap. Her cheekbones are high and sharp, and when her eyes meet mine, I feel like I’m drowning in their ocean blue.
I forget what we’re talking about.
She sets down the knife. “Are you talking about Adriel, the director?”
“I’ve been making up A names in my head.”
She almost smiles. I see it. My heart leaps.
Her voice is cutting, though. “And you went with Areola?” Her gaze snaps to my paper-thin shirt for a millisecond before she reverts to the chopping block, but I saw it.
She looked!
I take a step closer. “Areola, Arid, Avon, Asswipe.”
Her dark, arching eyebrows lift. “That last one fits.”
“I only did the commercial as a favor to Max.”
“Same.”
“So we have something in common.”
Her mouth quirks to one side, revealing a dimple I didn’t know existed. This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had,and worth every objectifying minute I’ve spent flexing my muscles this morning.
“Apparently.” She slides the perfect cuts of pickle into a clear bin. “Are you going back?”
“Only if he’s nice to you.”
She pops the cover on the container and tugs off her plastic gloves to replace them with a new pair. “I can defend myself.”
“I like having a common enemy with you.”
“Why me?”
I want to confess everything. How much I think about her, how often I make up excuses to come into this kitchen, how many times I’ve asked Max about her.
But I only say, “Because I’m ready to rumble, andAcneis the mark.”
I’m blessed by a full-on grin. TWO dimples. I feel lightheaded.
She straightens the dish towel tucked into the top of the apron over her chef jacket. “Okay, let’s go out there and be the most difficult talent he’s ever had to deal with.”
I hold out the crook of my arm. “Shall we?”
