Page 27 of Jesse
Just the almost-kiss that hovered like a secret waiting to happen. And that silence? That unspoken charge between us?
It told me everything I needed to know. Beck felt it too.
Chapter 7
Beck
I stoodat the edge of the prep counter, checklist in hand, rattling off items while Jesse sliced onions like we weren’t in the middle of a high-stakes competition.
“Onions, bell peppers…did you check the oil temp? What about the seasoning mix? And the garnish for the sliders? Please tell me you didn’t forget.”
“Relax, Chef,” Jesse cut me off, his tone calm but with a smirk that I didn’t even need to see to feel.
He continued, “By the way, I swapped the microgreens for cilantro. We ran out. And forget the stuffed empanadas. Half the trucks here are making them. I changed it up: spicy avocado crema with roasted corn fritters instead.”
I froze. “You what?” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “And when exactly were you planning to tell me this? I could’ve adjusted the menu so the flavors actually worked together!”
Jesse didn’t even flinch. His knife moved steadily, slicing each onion into impossibly even rings.
“Doesn’t matter. It’ll be fine. Trust me. Bold stands out, and people will remember this,” Jesse pointed out.
My fingers twitched, and it took every ounce of restraint to keep from slamming the clipboard down.
Yesterday, I wanted to kiss him. Right now, I wanted to strangle him.
I opened my mouth, a retort ready, but Jesse suddenly barked, “Behind!”
Before I could react, his hand brushed my waist as he passed, light but deliberate, while he balanced a tray of brisket in his other hand.
The touch was so quick it shouldn’t have registered, but it did. A jolt of heat shot up my spine, freezing me in place.
Was this truck smaller than mine? The space felt tighter today, more stifling.
Every time Jesse moved, I felt him—his arm brushing mine, the heat of him too close, too distracting. I shook my head.
It had to be the temperature in the truck or maybe competition nerves. I forced myself to refocus. The competition mattered more than anything else.
Winning meant staying on-site, keeping access to the other trucks and staff areas for the investigation. But it wasn’t just about that.
It was my shot to prove to my family I could do this.
It all had to be perfect. Except now, with Jesse’s last-minute improvisation, it wasn’t. I couldn’t afford any more surprises. No distractions.
But as my gaze slid to Jesse, my resolve wavered. He was loading the grill.
The sleeveless top he wore today revealed strong, sun-kissed arms I hadn’t meant to notice, the kind of muscle earned through years of hard work.
His shoulders flexed as he adjusted the heat, and I caught myself staring, unblinking. I swallowed hard, trying to focus on something, anything else, but my mind betrayed me.
I remembered the way he’d looked at me yesterday, eyes locked on mine, the air between us charged.
I imagined how it would’ve felt to close the distance, to run my hands up his arms, over his firm shoulders, pull him in?—
Heat rushed to my face, and I snapped my attention back to the checklist. What the hell was wrong with me? I needed to focus. No distractions, I reminded myself. None.
“Could you please wear something more appropriate?” I snapped.
He glanced over his shoulder, his biceps flexing as he reached for the cutting board.
