Page 18 of Jesse (Pecan Pines #6)

Beck

“Smoking brings out the best flavor. No contest,” Jesse said, arms crossed, looking every bit like he thought he had already won the argument.

I huffed, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet with more force than necessary. “Yeah, and it also requires constant babysitting. We don’t have time for that, not with everything else going on.”

“Not if you do it right. A good smoker holds steady. It’s about knowing how to control the heat,” Jesse shot back.

“Or,” I said, reaching for a spoon and a jar of smoked paprika, “you just use the damn oven like a sane person. Low and slow. Same results, less hassle.”

He gave me that look again, the one that managed to be both exasperated and amused at the same time.

It reminded me of the first time we sat down to plan our menu. I didn’t think it was possible to get on my nerves and make me laugh in the same breath, but Jesse had somehow mastered the art.

Back then, it had been infuriating. Now, I couldn’t resist pushing him a little.

“Maybe you don’t trust yourself not to mess it up,” I teased.

Jesse’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I trust myself just fine. I’m not the one resorting to shortcuts because I’m scared of a little hard work.”

“Scared?” I scoffed, turning to face him fully. “It’s called efficiency.”

He leaned in. “Maybe if you stopped cutting corners, you’d actually taste the difference.”

The tension hung in the air for a beat too long before I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Jesse rolled his eyes, but I caught the faint curve of his lips. “And yet, here we are. Still arguing over brisket.”

As I turned back to the spices, the banter faded into a more comfortable quiet. My hands moved automatically, pulling out more bowls and measuring spoons while my mind wandered.

It was strange how quickly I’d gotten used to being here with him. Living together, even if only for a few days, felt easy.

Usually, moving into someone’s space, even for a few days, came with some awkwardness. Setting boundaries, figuring out who got the bathroom first, that kind of thing.

But with Jesse, it was almost seamless. Sure, we had one little spat about the hot water the other night. I’d used most of it soaking my feet after a long day at the festival, and he’d grumbled about taking a cold shower.

That argument didn’t last long though, not once he’d decided to massage my feet instead.

I smiled at the memory. Yeah, that didn’t really count as a fight.

But this? This was as close as we’d gotten to a real argument. And, honestly, it didn’t feel half bad.

Jesse cleared his throat, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Why do you want to change how it’s cooked anyway? This brisket has been our bestseller. Why mess with what’s working?”

His voice was quieter than usual as he sat down at the small dining table, tracing a faint pattern on the table with his finger.

“Because,” I said, not bothering to hide the exasperation in my voice, “smoking isn’t just time-consuming; it’s a distraction. You’re tied to it, constantly watching the temperature, adding wood chips. We need that time for other things if we’re going to keep up with everything else.”

“It’s worth it for the flavor,” Jesse said, though the conviction wasn’t quite there this time.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the counter. “In my old truck, I used to slow-cook brisket in the oven. It was foolproof. Put it in, forget about it, and I had time to prep everything else. That’s where we always fall behind. On the sides and extras.”

Jesse sank deeper into the chair. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his eyes distant, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.

This wasn’t like him. Normally, he’d be right in the thick of it, arguing every little detail with me.

“Hey,” I said, leaning closer, “where’s your head at?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his fingers drumming softly on the table before he finally spoke.

“We don’t need a huge menu. A few good items is enough.”

I frowned. “But some people come for the sides, Jesse. You know that. If we cut corners there, we’re leaving money and points on the table.”

Jesse just nodded. “Fine. You want to handle the sides? Go for it.”

I hesitated, watching him carefully. He’d been like this for days now, quieter and more withdrawn.

Usually, he’d argue me into the ground or at least make me laugh while trying. But lately, it felt like his spark had dimmed.

Still, I wasn’t about to let him off the hook completely. “Okay,” I said slowly, “but what do you think about tweaking the rub? Just a little.”

That got his attention. He straightened slightly, giving me a wary look. “Tweaking it how?”

I grabbed my notebook from the counter and flipped to the page I’d marked earlier. “I’ve got a few ideas for a new spice blend. Something to give it a bit more kick. Here, look?—”

But before I could get another word out, Jesse shot to his feet, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“You want to change the rub?” His voice was sharp, incredulous, and for the first time today, it actually had some energy behind it. “Are you kidding me? That recipe is my grandfather’s. Ever heard the phrase ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’?”

I blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“It’s just an idea,” I said, holding my hands up in mock surrender. “Relax.”

Jesse wasn’t having it. “You don’t mess with the classics, Beck. Some things are sacred.”

I smirked, stepping closer. “Sacred, huh? You usually go with the flow. If we run out of something, you improvise. But this?” I gestured toward the spices on the counter. “This rub? You’re ready to go to war over it.”

“That recipe’s been in my family for generations. You don’t just change something like that,” Jesse said firmly.

I tilted my head, studying him.

There was more to this than just a recipe. But I didn’t push, not now. Instead, I let my curiosity linger, wondering what the story was, why he was so fiercely protective of it.

“You’re really serious about this, huh?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his voice low and steady.

“Fine,” I said, stepping back. “We’ll stick with the original for now. But if we really want to win, I want it to be something we created together.”

Jesse’s expression softened slightly, though he still looked skeptical. “And you think a new rub is gonna do that?”

I shrugged, letting the moment linger. “Just think about it.”

The doorbell rang, cutting through the tension in the room. Jesse shot me a look, his finger pointing toward the mess on the counter.

“This discussion isn’t over,” he said, his tone firm but not without a hint of amusement.

I waved him off, grinning.

Jesse headed to the door, and I turned back to the counter, looking through my notebook again. A familiar voice that came next stopped me cold.

“Beck.”

The voice was enough to send a shiver down my spine. Jackson stood in the doorway beside Jesse, a tense smile on his face.

Behind him, the imposing figure of my father filled the space.

My stomach twisted at the sight of him. His gaze swept over the room, landing briefly on the mess on the counter and then shifting to my bag slumped on the sofa.

“Water? Coffee?” Jesse asked, trying to break the silence as he gestured toward the kitchen.

Jackson gave a tight shake of his head. “We’re fine, thank you.”

Father didn’t bother answering. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate walk around the room.

I caught Jackson’s eye and mouthed, Did you call him? My brother shook his head firmly. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not.

Father gestured toward the counter, his lips curling in disdain. “Is this all you’ve been doing here? Playing house?”

I felt my face flush. “No,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “We’re preparing for the competition finals.”

Jesse stepped in. “Sorry about the mess. Beck just moved in a few days ago. It’s easier to keep an eye on him here than at the motel.”

Father ignored him entirely, his attention fixed on me. “Cooper allowed me entry to this territory on short notice. I came because updates on the case have been nonexistent.”

He crossed his arms. “I expected one of my sons to keep me informed, but the only news I’ve received is from Preston. He said there were still no leads.”

I cursed under my breath. I’d forgotten about Preston heading back to Silvercrest a few days ago.

It wasn’t his fault. Anyone who spent more than five minutes around my father knew how relentless he could be when he wanted information.

I just hoped Preston had managed to avoid the worst of it.

“I’ve been focused on the competition,” I admitted reluctantly, hating how weak the excuse sounded. “But we’re working on it. Jesse and I?—”

Father cut me off with a sharp wave of his hand. “Spare me the excuses, Beck. This goes far beyond that silly cooking contest.”

His words stung, even though I’d expected them. That was always the way with him. Every decision I made was wrong, every effort not enough.

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to meet Father’s gaze. “I know what’s at stake,” I said evenly. “I’m not just playing around here.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push further.

Instead, he turned to Jackson. “And you? What’s your plan for keeping him safe?”

Jackson squared his stance. “The pack’s working closely with local law enforcement,” he said.

Jesse added, “We’re also focusing on restoring the corrupted security tapes. Might get something useful from them.”

Father nodded, just barely acknowledging Jesse’s point.

Then he turned to Jackson again, his eyes narrowing. “I expected more from you, Jackson,” he said, his voice sharp with disappointment. “You were supposed to manage this.”

“I thought you trusted us to handle it, Father,” Jackson said. “Beck and I both.”

Father’s gaze lingered on him. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

Jackson’s eyes darted to me. My throat tightened, but I forced myself to speak.

“We found a note,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. “It... specifically mentioned me.”

Father’s face darkened instantly. “You’re coming home,” he said, each word a command.

“What?” I stepped back, the word escaping before I could stop it. “No. We’re close! Closer than ever. We can’t give up now.”

Jesse stepped forward, his voice steady. “Beck’s right. If the suspect is watching, the finals tomorrow is the perfect chance to draw him out.”

Father’s lip curled in disdain, his glare cutting into me. “And how are you preparing for this so-called plan? By cooking?”

The words stung, sharper than I’d expected.

“We still need to cook,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. “We have to keep up appearances, show we’re serious about the competition. If we don’t, it’ll look suspicious.”

I was lying through my teeth, and I knew it. Somewhere deep down, I wondered if my father could see through me.

Did I believe my own argument? Not entirely.

I wanted to win the finals, not just for the investigation, but for me, for everything I had poured myself into. Still, a small, selfish part of me nagged with guilt, reminding me I shouldn’t lose sight of why this really mattered.

Father stepped closer. “But you don’t exactly need to win to do your job, do you?” he said coldly. “You’re losing focus, Beck.”

“I’m not,” I insisted, grasping at straws. “We’ve got everything under control?—”

“Enough.” His voice cut me off. “You’re still a member of the Silvercrest pack. You’re still my son. And I will not use you as bait. Pack your things.”

Panic bubbled up in my chest, and I turned to Jesse, silently pleading for help. For once, Jesse didn’t meet my eyes.

“He’s right, Beck,” Jesse said, his voice strained but firm. “I can work the counter. Someone else can handle the back. The windows are frosted. No one will know it’s not you.”

I stared at him, stunned. Of all the people to side with my father, I never expected it to be Jesse.

“You serious?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jesse’s silence was answer enough.

Heat flushed my face, the sting of rejection settling deep. They didn’t think I could handle it.

My father, Jackson, even Jesse. None of them believed in me.

Without another word, I spun on my heel, grabbing my bag and shoving my things into it.

My vision blurred as I yanked the zipper shut, refusing to look back at Jesse. I couldn’t stay here a moment longer.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and walked out the door.