Big Pickle: A Secret Boss Romantic Comedy - JJ Knight Page 0,33
cheesecake.”
“Yes!” She pumps her fist.
“Now hurry. We have to leave in five minutes.”
Leah scrambles out of bed with her clothes and rushes to the bathroom.
Still no message from Mom. She’s been doing better since we got our own place. Regular food, a schedule, and neighbors who notice if she stumbles in at three in the morning, all work together to tone down her behavior.
I thought we had gotten a chance to start over, even if at the expense of my student loans.
Maybe this is just a blip. Maybe she really is hurt somewhere.
My belly quivers for a moment, imagining my mom bleeding in an alley. But hadn’t she said she was going over to see Rose? They were going to make drinks. So, no, she was passed out on the sofa there. And I have to deal with the fallout.
Leah emerges and we dash around the living room for a moment, looking for her shoes. Then we’re finally outdoors, starting up my ancient Ford Focus and headed toward the deli.
Leah’s had the foresight to grab her backpack, and she pulls out a notepad to draw pictures of unicorns and emojis, her two favorite things.
“Do you think Mom is passed out drunk somewhere?” she asks.
I suck in a breath. “What do you know about that?”
“I know she hides bottles in the cabinet over the refrigerator. She has to get the ladder out to get them down.”
Actually, I’m the one who hides my mother’s bottles up there, a fact that makes her very upset.
“I think she went over to her friend Rose’s and got tired.”
“She should’ve set an alarm.”
“You’re exactly right.” I reach over and tug on her ear, which makes her giggle. “I pulled the switch, now you have to tell me a joke.” It’s an old shtick of ours.
Leah scrunches her nose while she tries to think of one. Her hair is pretty crazy, still a snarl of long brown strands. But her cheeks are rosy and her eyes happy. She’s more of a morning person than I am.
“Okay. How do you get a squirrel to like you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Act like a nut!”
“That’s a good one!”
“I read it in a book.”
“Nice job remembering it.”
The drive is mercifully easy this early on a Saturday morning. I wonder if I can convince Jace Pickle to appoint an assistant manager to help, so I don’t have to be the first one there every day. Probably not. It’s not like we’re open late. The deli only serves through lunch and we close by mid-afternoon every day.
The hours aren’t unacceptably long, even as a manager, and I am guaranteed Sundays off since we’re not open. I’m getting paid to do this. And after my income increased, I secretly opened a second bank account my mother doesn’t know about. I only put the old amount I earned into the previous one.
I love her, but I’m not stupid.
I pull into my usual parking garage a couple of blocks down.
“Why don’t you park in front of the deli?” Leah whines. “There are spaces and nobody’s in them.”
“Those should go to the customers,” I say. “I’m here all day, but they go in and out.”
“But now we have to walk. It’s cold.”
“It’s not that cold.”
The two of us huddle as we scurry down the block. I unlock the back door, relaxing at the warmth inside. In the height of summer, when temperatures can exceed a hundred degrees for weeks on end, we sometimes have trouble keeping the kitchen cool while baking the bread. But now, firing up the proofing oven, I’m glad for the warmth.
I open my office so Leah can spin in my chair.
Then I head to Mr. Chill to grab some eggs and a jug of milk. I need butter, but there aren’t any loose blocks, so I have to pause to break open a new crate.
When I walk out of the fridge, I hear voices.
I recognize Jason’s laugh. “That’s a good one! You got any more where that came from?”
Now Leah. “What kind of tree fits in your hand?”
“I don’t know!”
“A palm tree!”
“Love that one, too!”
I plunk my ingredients on the mixing table and walk over to the office.
Jason leans against the wall while Leah gazes up at him with stars in her eyes. “Jason likes my jokes,” she tells me.
“I bet he does.”
“Do you like I Love Lucy?” Leah asks Jason. “Because last night, Nova and I watched three hours straight while we were eating pizza.”