Page 69 of Jesse
“Got it!” Beck’s voice came sharp and clear from the back, cutting through the sizzle of the grill and the bustle outside.
We moved like we were wired together. I manned the front, greeting customers, handling orders, slinging out jokes and charm like I wasn’t dead on my feet.
Beck was the engine, keeping everything hot and perfect behind the scenes. Our new brisket had blown up since the morning rush.
The rub had gotten more than a few customers closing their eyes in delight. By the time lunch rolled around, we were drowning in customers.
My throat burned from talking and my arms ached from sliding open the service window over and over again, but I didn’t care. This time, it wasn’t just popular vote we were gunning for.
This time, we were gonna win.
“Jesse, I swear to God, this is the best brisket you’ve ever made,” came a familiar voice near the window.
I looked up to see Mr. Thompson. He was an old-time regular from the restaurant and he was grinning at me with his wife tucked under his arm like always.
He held up his sandwich like it was a prized trophy.
“You serving this full-time or what?” he asked.
My eyes flicked past him, back into the truck. Beck had just slid another tray into the warmer, but he paused, head tilted like he was listening. He definitely heard the question.
I leaned a little closer to Mr. Thompson with a grin. “We’ll see,” I said, giving Beck a wink.
Beck didn’t say anything, but his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, and his shoulders straightened just a bit. Truth was, we hadn’t talked much about what came after the fair.
There hadn’t been time. Between everything with the competition, the killer still at large, and the chaos of Beck leaving and coming back, we hadn’t touched the future.
But I was starting to picture one. Could he stay here in Pecan Pines? Move in with me? Open a place of our own? The idea settled in my chest like warm coals, steady and glowing.
Not today, I reminded myself. But someday. Maybe soon. Another order came in. I turned back to the line and kept working.
By late afternoon, we were both dragging. My voice was hoarse and Beck looked like he could fold in half if he stopped moving for too long. But the line? Still there. Still hungry. Still growing.
Remy and Colton popped in to run a few supplies from the restaurant and help serve drinks for half an hour. Without them, I wasn’t sure we’d have made it through the last rush.
Even so, my senses stayed sharp. Every few minutes, I scanned the crowd. My wolf wouldn’t let me stop. We hadn’t forgotten the killer was still out there.
Beck and I agreed: if they were going to strike again, today would be the day. Finals. Big crowd. All eyes on the trucks. Perfect place for something to go wrong. But nothing did.
We sold out thirty minutes before closing, the last customer high-fiving me and shouting about how she’d never tasted meat so dang good in her life.
Beck leaned against the prep counter, laughing under his breath as I rang the cowbell Ethan rigged above the window to signal we were done for the day.
I locked up the window and slid the panel shut, exhaling hard.
Done. We made it. Now we just had to wait.
The final announcement was held at the main stage just before sunset. The other trucks gathered near us, a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion hanging in the air.
Beck stood beside me, arms crossed loosely, our shoulders touching. I kept glancing around, scanning the crowd. Still no signs of trouble.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Beck murmured.
“What thing?” I demanded.
“The broody wolf stare. Like you expect someone to jump out of a popcorn cart and stab me.”
I didn’t smile. “If they tried, I’d gut them before they got close.”
