Page 20 of Jesse
Jesse shrugged. “Whatever works. Cornbread, slaw, potato salad. People just want good food.”
I blinked. “Sure, but it should complement the flavors. Otherwise, the balance?—”
“Balance?” He raised an eyebrow, amused. “It’s brisket. You eat it and feel good. That’s the point.”
He didn’t argue when I pushed for details, but I noticed he didn’t use an exact recipe. When I asked about it, he laughed. “It’s all in my head.”
Part of me bristled. That wasn’t how I was used to doing things. Jesse’s easygoing way of letting me make the calls without pushing back felt strange.
Maybe he really trusted me, or maybe he just didn’t care enough to argue. Either way, it made me want to prove I was up to the task.
At the truck, Jesse was already working, his sleeves rolled up as he stood over a cutting board. A pile of perfectly julienned vegetables sat neatly to his left.
“Not bad,” I said, genuinely impressed.
He grinned over his shoulder. “Told you I could chop.”
I stepped closer, inspecting the bell peppers. My stomach twisted.
“Except I said to slice the bell peppers into strips, not dice them,” I pointed out.
Jesse glanced at the peppers, then back at me. “They’re going in a stir-fry. Nobody’s gonna care whether they’re sliced or diced.”
“I’ll care,” I muttered, but the argument sounded weak even to me.
My fingers twitched toward the cutting board, itching to redo it. Instead, I forced a deep breath and let it go. It was a long day ahead, and this wasn’t worth the time.
“Whatever,” I said, reaching for the sink to wash my hands. “Just… follow the recipe next time, okay?”
“Sure,” he replied easily, grabbing meat from the freezer.
There was no bite to his tone, no teasing smirk. Just an understanding that I didn’t want to push it further.
We worked in silence for a while, the rhythm of chopping, stirring, and prepping filling the space. Jesse eventually broke it with a question. “You talk to Preston this morning?”
“Yeah.” I kept my eyes on the sauce I was mixing. “He doesn’t remember much. Said the guy was about his height. Thought he saw a mark on the guy’s neck, like some kind of birthmark or something, but he couldn’t be sure.”
Jesse frowned as he unpacked the brisket. “Better than nothing. I went by the Thornebane truck earlier, asked some questions.”
My head snapped up. “You think it’s them?”
“I’m not sure,” Jesse admitted. “But they’ve got a solid alibi. Still running their truck all the way until closing. Guess murder doesn’t stop business.”
I snorted. “Of course not. They’d probably sell food at a funeral if it paid enough.”
Jesse laughed, a short, sharp sound that caught me off guard. “Can’t argue with that. They were pushing their ‘killer hot wings’ like nothing happened.”
I shook my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “Classy.”
Maybe working with Jesse wouldn’t be so bad after all.
This was not working. At all.
Jesse and I might’ve brainstormed a decent menu, but executing it together? Disaster.
He preferred batching dishes to get similar orders out at once, while I insisted on preparing each one fresh, as they came.
It kept the food perfect, ensured quality. Jesse called it inefficient. By noon, the tension was palpable.
