He holds up a jar. “You like pickle?”
I frown. “Those aren’t pickles.”
“Pickle. Singular. As in Branston. I brought it with me.”
I take the jar he holds out and open it. Inside, a brown and vinegary concoction awaits me. “The hell is that?”
“You really don’t know? Jax sold me this place as cosmopolitan.”
“What’s that got to do with whatever that is?”
Joss laughs, free as a bird, and despite the stress still spiking my blood, my face warms with humor too, lifting my lips.
He nudges my arm. “At least try it before you pull that fucking mug at me.”
I open my mouth, but he’s already there, stealing the jar back. He smears the freaky brown stuff on a slice of cheddar cheese and holds it out. A challenge that, despite the rocks in my belly, I inexplicably want to accept.
Roll with it. He probably already thinks you’re out of your damn mind.
I take the sample and slowly ease it into my dry mouth. Chew, absorbing the familiar flavor of Vermont cheddar alongside some bizarre shit that tastes as strange as it looks. Sharp. Sweet. It’s crunchy too. And…it’s not that bad.
Joss can tell. His anticipatory smirk has a knowing glint, and he steps closer. “Listen, I know we’ve just met, and we fucked up the introductions, but do you trust me enough to make you a banging sandwich?”
No hesitation, I nod.
He smiles some more, hypnotizing me. “Good lad. Sit down, I’ll bring it to you.”
His no-nonsense tone does odd things to me. I find myself obeying without question and sidling out of the kitchen and into the living room. Under the glow of the lamp, my notebook is split into a dozen pages on the coffee table.
Fuck. I must’ve stumbled right past him.
I try not to let that impede the calmness he’s gifted me just by forcing a simple conversation.
The couch is old brown leather and dressed in a ton of blankets and cushions. I sink onto it, perplexed, as always, as to why I don’t sleep here more often instead of crowding Tanner and Jax’s place if my bed is such a fuckin’ hell space. But the answer isn’t one I want to contemplate, so I focus on the detritus of someone else living with me instead. On the cracked iPhone, the crumpled notebook pages, and the empty bottle of Belgian beer.
One of the pages is on the floor.
I scoop it up and unfold it, squinting at the chaotic notes that have been crossed out so hard the paper has torn. The only word I can make out is haddock,and Joss said something about that already. I set the page with the others and restrain myself from snooping, but only because I hear Joss leave the kitchen.
He appears in front of me, brandishing a plate and a glass of iced lemon water.
“We have lemons?”
“Auntie Tanner.”
I snort. “You say that to his face?”
“Not yet. Jax told me on the phone he’s a teddy bear, though.”
“He can be.”
“But?”
“But nothing. Guess he’s like everyone else when he cares about something.”
Joss folds himself onto the floor, ignoring the fuckton of space on the couch. He has his own plate that he sets on the table and immediately seems to forget as he scowls at his aborted notes.
I’m not hungry, not even for whatever magic he’s worked with that weird-ass jar, but my mamma didn’t raise me to be rude, so I take a bite and a couple more, until I’m halfway through, and the lemon water is an elixir I fuckin’ need to open my throat.
