Page 4 of Jesse
I turned back to the grill, focusing on the next few orders.
Still, my attention kept drifting back to him. He was laughing again, effortlessly charming the group around him.
One of the guys seemed particularly handsy, leaning in a little too close. Jay didn’t seem to mind, but then his demeanor shifted.
He paused, bringing the basket closer to his face. He sniffed it like he was sizing it up, then grabbed a fork and poked at the brisket, breaking it apart a little.
After dipping the meat in the sauce, he took a slow, careful bite, his expression unreadable.
I couldn’t hear what he said, but I saw his lips move.Too dry.
One of his companions must have asked what he’d said because, as if flipping a switch, Jay straightened up, his easy smile snapping back.
"The brisket at Briggs is definitely better!" he declared loudly. "Don’t bother eating this."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. I froze, unsure what stung more - the confirmation that he really was trying to draw my customers away or the blunt critique of my brisket.
Preston’s voice broke through the haze. "More brisket ready for plating," he said.
I shook myself out of it and turned to him. "Make sure we marinate the beef earlier tonight," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "It needs to be more tender."
Preston raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Yes, Chef."
I turned my attention back to the grill. I couldn’t let this get to me. Whatever Jay’s game was, I’d let my food do the talking. If there was one thing I could control, it was that.
The festival grounds had settled for the night, with only a few scattered voices and occasional laughter coming from the remaining open food trucks.
My truck sat at the edge of the grounds, tucked into the furthest corner.
It had been a prime spot during the day, right where the crowds passed by, and now, with the festival winding down, the quiet felt like a welcome break from the chaos.
I picked up my pace. The truck’s light was still on. We’d closed hours ago after selling out of brisket, and I hadn’t expected anyone to still be here.
Preston should have been back at the motel by now, but maybe he was still finishing up, getting the marinade done tonight like I’d pushed him to.
I shouldn’t have been too hard on him earlier about it. It was important, sure, but it could have waited until morning.
“Preston?” I called out, knocking on the side of the truck. No answer. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re sleeping in there.”
Still nothing. I climbed the short step into the truck.
The faint smell of smoke and grease clung to the air as my eyes scanned the cluttered counters with half-used spices, bowls smeared with sauce, and scattered utensils.
Then I saw him.
“Preston!” I rushed forward, dropping to my knees beside him.
He was sprawled on the floor, his eyes half-open, his hand sluggishly moving toward his head.
“Hey,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Head... hurts,” he mumbled, barely getting the words out.
Panic flared in my chest. What was I supposed to do? Ice. Something cold. That was supposed to help, right?
“Okay, just stay still,” I said, pushing myself up.
My heart was racing as I turned to the freezer. I yanked the door open, and a wave of cold air hit me in the face.
