Page 1 of Jesse
Chapter 1
Beck
“Two ordersof the Big Wolf Burger, extra pickles, three Loaded Fries with a side of Inferno Sauce, and I’m still waiting on those wings!” I rattled off, my voice loud enough to carry over the festival noise and the hum of the fryer.
My hands worked quickly, sprinkling a final dusting of paprika onto a plate.
“Got it, Chef!” Preston replied, sliding three steaming boxes of food in front of me with practiced ease.
He wasn’t technically my sous chef, more like a co-captain in this madness, but we were a good team.
“Order for Mindy!” I shouted, poking my head out of the food truck window and waving a box as I added the final drizzle of honey mustard.
A hand shot up from the crowd, and I handed the box to a smiling woman who quickly disappeared into the throng.
The familiar ding of the service bell cut through the air. I frowned. Didn’t someone just get to the cashier? It had been maybe a minute since I cleared the last order.
“Preston, what’s next?” I asked, glancing at the slip of paper clipped to the overhead rail where we kept the orders.
He handed me two more boxes, checking the name scrawled at the top.
“Tim,” he said, shoving the receipt holder back into place.
I took the boxes, added a swirl of the chipotle aioli, and stepped back to the window.
“Order for Tim!” I called out, passing the box to a young man in a flannel shirt.
I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped toward the cashier’s side. The space was cramped, just enough to move without colliding with Preston, but it was my domain.
The receipt printer hummed, spitting out a new ticket. Grabbing it, I skimmed over the details.
A flicker of movement outside the truck drew my attention. The instant I saw the smug grin on the face across from me, I felt the twitch in my eye.
There was only one person who could look that annoyingly self-satisfied while standing in front of my food truck.
I crossed my arms, glad for the height advantage the truck gave me over him for once.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, my voice flat.
Jackson, my older brother, leaned casually against the counter. “What, can’t a guy say hi to his baby brother?”
Ignoring him, I turned back to the grill and flipped a row of sizzling patties. “You couldn’t have just sent me a text? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Oh, come on,” Jackson said. “First day of the festival. And I haven’t seen you in months.”
I fought the small pull of warmth his words brought. Despite the annoyance, I couldn’t deny it was good to see him. Until he ruined it.
“Besides,” he added, his tone turning more serious, “Father wanted me to check up on you.”
And there it was. My frown deepened as I glanced at him over my shoulder.
“Way to kill the mood,” I muttered, turning back to the grill.
“Beck.” His voice dropped, making me pause mid-flip.
I sighed, set the spatula down, and turned to face him.
“You know a few packs were invited here,” Jackson said quietly, his tone carrying a note of warning. “And you know how these things can go.”
