Page 21 of Tactically Tied

His staff came and went. The restaurant industry was a revolving door of personnel. Most of them wanted one thing—Jed Winchester’s name on their résumé. They came to Grits and Grub to learn a specific skill from him, to master one of his signature techniques. Maybe it was how to perfectly smoke a brisket, how to balance sweetness and heat in a barbecue sauce, or how to manage a kitchen with precision. They absorbed what they could, honed their craft under his watchful eye, and then they were off. Off to the big city, to fancier restaurants with Michelin stars in their sights, or to bigger kitchens where they could make a name for themselves.

Jed had come to expect it. Most of them weren’t here to stay. They were transient, ambitious, and hungry for something beyond the small-town fame of Grits and Grub. And as much as he wanted to hold on to the talented ones, he knew it wasn’t his place to keep them. That’s how the culinary world worked. He had a reputation for mentoring young chefs and sending them off stronger than they came in.

But Jami? She was his wife. Jami wasn’t here for her résumé or her skills. She was here because... she was meant to be here. With him. Forever.

Jed tried to focus on his own station, tried to ignore the chaos next to him, but when she reached for a sugar substitute—a small bag of monk fruit that he definitely did not stock in his pantry—he couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

"Whoa," he said, grabbing her wrist before she could add it to the pot. "What do you think you're doing?"

He eyed the substitute with suspicion. It was a foreign object in his domain. The kitchen stilled, the only sound the low simmer of sauce on the stove.

“It’s monk fruit. My sister has diabetes, and in Asia, they don’t use as much sugar and sweeteners as we do here in the West. I think we have a responsibility to show people healthier options.”

“A responsibility to who? People don’t come to Grits and Grub for healthy food, Jami. They come here because it tastes good. Because they crave it. And they come back because it’s the best comfort food they’ve ever had.”

She set her jaw. The stubbornness in her eyes was fire on a grill. Jed wanted to tame it.

“Who says it can’t be both?" Jami asked. "Healthy and good?”

Jed opened his mouth to argue, to tell her that this was his kitchen, his rules. Then he remembered the cameras. The room around them was full of staff and camera operators. Rick stood off to the side with a grin, eating up every bit of their banter.

Jed took a breath and changed tactics. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low tone as he tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear, and he felt her shiver.

“You know, I usually let my wife win many of our arguments,” he said, his voice just loud enough for the cameras to catch. “But in the kitchen, I’m the king.”

He pulled back slightly, watching her expression. Jami looked dazed. Her nostrils flared, her lips parted. Then her gaze flicked toward the cameras and back at him, a small, seductive smile curling on her lips. Her eyes gleamed, daring him as she played along. She leaned in closer so that their faces were mere inches apart.

“Oh, really?” she purred, her voice sultry, the edge of a challenge in her tone. “In the end, you always give me my way because you know I’m right.”

Her fingers brushed against his lips, her thumb grazing the corner of his mouth before she leaned in and nipped at his lower lip. It sent a shockwave of heat through his entire body. Jed fought to keep his composure. Fought not to pull her body flush against his. He lost that battle and pulled her into him.

“I give you your way,” he growled softly, his voice rough with need, “when you’re sweet.”

He didn’t wait for her response. He captured her mouth with his, not holding back this time. The kiss was hot, consuming. Jami let out a soft moan of surrender before she melted into him, her fingers tangling in the front of his chef's coat. Her taste was intoxicating, sweeter than the most refined sugar. He lost himself in her, the cameras and his crew forgotten. They were a nonfactor as he sipped from his wife's mouth. If only he could put her on his personal menu, he'd have her for every meal of the day.

When he finally pulled away, they were both breathless. Their foreheads rested against each other’s, their chests heaving from the exertion of it all. Jed caught the faint tremble in Jami's knees, saw the way her eyes were half-lidded, her lips parted. She was speechless, her defiance replaced with something much softer, much more vulnerable.

Jed’s gaze dropped to the sugar substitute on the counter. He reached for it. His hands were steady, precise, as he measured out the monk fruit sweetener, mentally adjusting the recipe in his head. He felt her watching him, felt the shift in the air between them. He couldn’t hide his grin as he saw her bite her lower lip in triumph.

That was fine. He'd let her think she won. Because in the end, Jed was determined to be the victor in all their games. So long as she kept playing with him, so long as she remained his partner, he was the king of the chessboard.

“Cut! That was perfect.” Rick’s voice broke the spell.

The room erupted in a mix of chuckles and applause. The cameras pulled back. The staff relaxed.

Jami didn’t wait for the fanfare. She turned on her heel, her cheeks flushed, and made a beeline for the kitchen door.

Jed watched her go. He’d pushed her buttons, played up the scene, but he knew this wasn’t just about the cameras. Not for him. Not anymore. He wanted her to know that he meant every word, every kiss.

But as he watched her slip out the door, he realized he might have pushed too hard, too fast. She was running from him, running from what was between them. Likely running from the realization that this wasn’t a game.

Still, he was going to catch her, and he was going to win.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

It was strange being in the one house on the block she had never stepped foot in. Not even for trick-or-treating. While the other kids in the neighborhood had piled into the Winchester yard each Halloween, Jami had always stayed away. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go—in fact, she had always wanted to. The Winchesters were famous for their Halloween tradition, where instead of handing out candy like everyone else, they gave out skewers of barbecued meat, straight from the grill.

The smell was legendary. Jami could still remember the smoky-sweet scent that would drift down the street and hang in the autumn air, wrapping around her like a temptation. It was different from the sugary smell of chocolate and caramel everyone else was handing out. It was rich, mouthwatering, and impossible to forget. Every year, she’d secretly wished she could be like the other kids, that she could just walk up to their porch, knock on the door, and get one of those skewers. But her family’s rivalry with the Winchesters had kept her away.

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