Sam picks up the pickle spear from his plate and drops it onto mine. “Oh, thanks, bud.” Sam then reaches across the blanket to snatch Jasper’s, who quickly lets out a scoffing laugh, covering his plate with his palm. “And what do you think you’re doing?” “Give her your pickle,” Sam demands. Jasper’s eyes widen right as I sputter out part of my water, droplets spewing onto the blanket. “Pardon?” Jasper asks in his low tone. Sam giggles. “Please give her your pickle.” “And why should I?” “They’re her favorite.” Jasper looks to me, then his plate, and without additional hesitation, he picks up
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