Big Pickle: A Secret Boss Romantic Comedy - JJ Knight Page 0,26
had to use them for something else, okay? So back off.”
I don’t look at him. I didn’t mean to snap like that, but the rich boy needs to shut up. He’s probably never had to take out a loan. Or have a school question the use of funds when you’re late on tuition.
We work in silence for a while, and the camaraderie evaporates. My upset hangs between us like a cloud.
I steal a tiny glance at Jason. He seems focused on the task of sifting flour.
“So exactly how do you compensate for the humidity?” I ask. It’s the best I can do as an olive branch.
I already know how to do it. But it’s conversation.
“If it’s wet after you’ve mixed it, add a tablespoon of flour at a time. “Yesterday I had to add two tablespoons to the recipe to get the right consistency.”
His voice has a husky quality, and I wonder if he’s disgusted with me for overreacting.
“You might want to make a note on the sheet. That way the Monday crew knows what to do.”
“I’m happy to come make it Monday morning,” he says. “You want it to be perfect on the first day.”
“It’s nice of you to offer.”
We’re talking normally at last. I measure out baking powder into my bowl.
“I’m trying to absorb all I can,” he says. “Honestly, my family thinks I’ll never settle down enough to do any meaningful work.”
Interesting. Sounds like he’s aware of what Jace Pickle told me about him. Audra, too.
I lean on the counter and watch his hand knead the dough. “I don’t know which is harder,” I say. “Having your family expect great things from you and fail…” I pause for a second, brushing a smear of flour off my sleeve. “Or having the world expect nothing from you and trying to make something of yourself anyway.”
Jason turns to me. “Why would anyone expect anything less than amazing from you? You’re smart and fiery and strong. You’re a great leader. The crew here loves you. You’re probably the best thing that’s ever happened to this deli.”
I didn’t expect praise from him. “I don’t exactly come from much. My mom works at a dollar store. I’ve never in my whole life owned more than two pairs of shoes.” I glance down at my Army boots. “I buy them sturdy, so they last.”
Jason sets down his sifter. “But you got into business school. At UT. That’s hard to do. You should be proud of yourself.”
“And I had to quit because I couldn’t manage the loans. How can I manage a business if I can’t even manage my life?”
I don’t look at him, snatching up the sifter to add flour to my own bowl.
“Did you apply for scholarships? Isn’t there aid for you?”
Rich kid has no idea. I set down the sifter and look him straight in the eye. “I don’t think you understand the level of privilege you live in. Poor people don’t know how to fill out Pell Grant forms. And at the time I was doing it, I didn’t even have a permanent address. We moved from sofa to sofa, sometimes getting a ratty hotel room if no one would take us. We almost never had our own place for more than a month before Mom couldn’t pay the rent. We kept all our things in trash bags, in case we had to take off before we got evicted.”
Jason tries to hold my eyes, but they keep dipping to the table.
“It’s hard to have a high school counselor help you through this process when you change schools every few weeks. I got lucky at one, and the counselor got me a bus pass so I could stay at the same school my senior year. They helped me write some essays that got me in. But it was too late for most of the deadlines for the big grants. So I took out student loans.”
“And what happened to that money?”
I can’t meet his gaze so I run my thumb along the handle of the sifter instead. “The first round went to tuition. But I needed to live somewhere. I couldn’t abandon my mom and sister. So I used the rest to get us an apartment. A permanent place to live. Mom found the checkbook, and she decided she wanted to buy things she’d never had. We’d never had a television. She’d never had a cell phone. And she could buy clothes for my sister. She went through it.”