Hot Pickle - J.J. Knight Page 0,47

and Karen elbows him.

When we’re outside, I thread my hand through the crook of his arm. “You know, I think your Karen in there has a bit of a crush on you. If her eyes had death darts, I’d be twitching on the ground.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He grins down at me, and the matter of his ardent employee disappears.

We take Max’s blue sports car to one of the public beaches. It’s a good forty-five-minute drive, but my day is free, and Max’s is open until his evening workout with my brother.

We’re not five steps onto the beach before I reach down to unhook my sandals. “You’re going to have shoes full of sand,” I warn Max.

He glances down at his shiny work shoes. “Good point.”

He sets the cooler down to remove his shoes and socks. His feet are darkly tan against the white sand. My work. They look good.

It’s cool here on the beach, the ocean breeze blowing across my skin. He tucks the blanket he pulled from the trunk of his car beneath the strap of the cooler, neatly shifting everything to one hand, leaving one free for me.

The beach is dotted with visitors, seagulls swooping over the water with great squawks. But it’s a quiet area, since most everyone’s at work or in school mid-afternoon on a weekday.

We head close to the waterline, leaving footprints in the damp sand. Max squeezes my hand and when he smiles at me, my heart is full.

21

Max

Walking at the water’s edge with Camryn is like a dream.

She’s braided her long hair aside one shoulder, and with her sunglasses and long dress blowing in the breeze, she could be a model for a vacation ad.

We wander along the beach until we find a secluded stretch, too far from the parking lots for the average beachcomber.

I spread out the blanket and anchor it with my shoes and the cooler. I’m glad I got out of the deli today. We need some easy couple time. Something ordinary after the intense moments we’ve had since we met.

Camryn goes straight for the pickles. “I believe you packed all the different kinds into one container,” she says, plucking the lid off the top. “That most certainly violates the law of pickles.”

“No such thing as pickle laws,” I say. “Unless I make them. I am a Pickle after all.”

She settles cross-legged across from me, the container in her hand. “That can’t really be your last name, right?”

I tug a water bottle from the bag. “We were all born as Packwoods. It was Dad’s genius idea for us all to function as Pickles. But my driver’s license says Packwood.”

Camryn scrunches up her nose. “But when you won the prize, they called you Max Pickle.”

“Lots of bodybuilders use stage names. Take your friend Behemoth.”

“True.” She lifts a pickle from the plastic tub. “Your pickle definitely has stage presence.”

She catches me mid-swig, so I sputter water into a coughing fit.

Camryn bangs her palm on my back. “Water have a bone in it?”

Now it’s worse, me cough-laughing. She pounds on me until the coughing subsides and I can take a normal sip of water.

She’s really something.

“So, tell me everything there is to know about Camryn Shultz.”

She crosses her ankles, legs stretched out on the blanket. “You should know a few things since it’s the same as my brother. Grew up in L.A. Two parents, still married, still living here.”

“I get the sense Franklin doesn’t talk to them.”

She frowns. “Neither of us, much. Franklin and I mostly raised ourselves.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “What about you?”

“Dad is great. Very involved with all three of his sons. My mom died when I was a senior in high school. Made graduation tough.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too. She was a great lady. Kept my dad out of trouble.”

“Is he often in trouble?’

“Not as much as us. But he opened a franchise for each of his sons in the cities we chose. He wanted us to have it easier than he did. His dad died when he was young.”

“And you met Franklin at UCLA.”

“Yeah. We had a mutual friend and when a spot opened up in the house he was renting, I got invited.”

“I would have been graduating high school that year, I think.”

“I didn’t even know he had a sister, but then, we didn’t talk about stuff like that.”

She holds the tub of pickles up to examine them. “And you decided to stay. Open your deli here.”

“It’s a great scene. I like the beaches. The weather.”

“It’s expensive.”

“So is New