Page 66 of Big Dill

“Underwhelming?”

“I mean, dude, aren’t you an iron man? A pickleball champion? I’ve seen better coordination from a couch potato trying to fork a slippery pickle from a jar.”

I bite back a laugh. “I kind of equate it to anchovies on a birthday cake.”

She pokes my chest. “More like a pickle that’s been sitting in the brine too long.”

“Pickle…” I blink. “Are you saying my⁠—”

She makes a face like she’s just bitten into something aggressively sour and points down.

“Uh, yeah.”

“And it’s been in the brine too long, like it’s…soft?”

With exaggerated innocence, she lifts her hands, palms out. “Your words, not mine.”

A laugh bubbles out of me. God, I love being around her. “You know, all this talk about dragons and pickles… Do you think there’s something here Freud would’ve loved to unpack?”

She lifts her chin an inch. “Fine. I may have a thing for dragons. And while I might not like pickleball, I may have discovered a pickle game I enjoy playing.”

“So… not underwhelmed? No lasting trauma?”

“Oh, there’s that,” she says sweetly. “Plenty of that.”

“Well,” I murmur, rolling closer. “All I know is this trauma is going to haunt me for… about five minutes.”

Her brows shoot up. “Five minutes?”

I grin and roll over her. “Yeah, I’m going to file this under ‘epic disaster, 10/10, would do again’.”

15

Jami

I stand in my yoga studio, a grin on my face as the last of my clients leave. I begin to clean up, stacking the blocks, lining up straps, and arranging the balls. I honestly can’t believe how many people signed up. It makes me happy to know I’m actually filling a need here and it’s not just a makeshift job to make me feel like I’m a productive member of society.

“Hey.” I turn at the sound of my brother’s voice. “How did it go?”

I throw my arms up. “It was amazing.”

He grins like he never doubted it. “Of course it was. I heard a few people talking on the way out.” He steps into the room, but now he’s no longer smiling. His head dips, his shoulders drop. “Why didn’t you call one of us to pick you up this morning?”

I shrug. Since my class didn’t start until ten and they had to be here at eight, they left the house before me. Last night, however, after I snuggled in bed and pretended to be asleep, my brother texted me, told me to call either him or Brody in the morning. They’d run over with the truck to pick me up and drive me in. I didn’t want to do that. I’ve put them out enough.

“It was so nice and sunny and I bundled up. I actually enjoyed the walk, and Mr. Cheeseman seemed very pleased to see that I put milk and not cream in my coffee at the café this morning. I probably wouldn’t have stopped in if you picked me up, and how fair would it have been to deprive that man the knowledge of knowing how I took my coffee?”

While all that’s true, I also didn’t call because I wasn’t sure I could stand being close to Brody in the truck. I don’t trust my damn ovaries, so best not to tempt them. Last night was one and done, we agreed on it. Besides, it was horrible, so who’d want to do that again? Or at least that’s what I convinced myself while snuggled in bed.

As for Jaxon…yeah, I was worried he’d know. Last night when Brody and I got home, I beelined it straight for the shower, barely sparing big brother a glance. I didn’t want him to see the glow on my face, or the rough beard marks on my chin.

I glance at my brother now and freeze. Why is he looking at me with narrowed eyes? Am I talking too much? Sounding suspicious?

OMG, does he know?

Do I have guilt written all over me?

Is he waiting for a confession, an apology?