Page 6 of Jesse (Pecan Pines #6)

Beck

Ethan met me at the pack clinic’s entrance, his face drawn with apology even before he spoke.

“Sorry for calling you in so early,” he said. “But I remembered you said to let you know as soon as Preston woke up.”

“It’s fine,” I replied quickly, waving off his concern.

Ethan hesitated. “Do you want me to call Jackson? He’d want to?—”

“No,” I cut in, sharper than I intended. I took a breath and softened my tone. “I’ll update him later. There’s no need to drag him into this.”

Jackson would be Jackson: overbearing and protective to the point of suffocation.

If he got any more involved, I wouldn’t be allowed to do anything but stand aside while he took over. This happened on my watch.

Preston was my friend, and I needed to handle it myself. The thought of Jackson swooping in and treating me like some helpless kid again made my jaw tighten.

Ethan nodded, though his worry lingered in his eyes, and led me down the hall. When we entered Preston’s room, Cooper was already there.

Preston was propped up in bed, pale but awake.

“Morning,” Cooper greeted, his tone brisk.

I nodded and stepped closer to Preston. “How’re you feeling?”

Preston gave a weak smile. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck. Twice.”

“Do you remember anything about what happened?” Cooper asked, cutting straight to the point.

Preston’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head slowly.

“I’ve been trying to piece it together since I woke up, but not much comes to mind. The guy was fast. I think he was about my height, maybe? There was something on his neck—a mark, maybe a birthmark or a smudge. It was too dark to tell,” Preston said.

I swallowed hard. Preston wouldn’t have been out there if it weren’t for me. I reached out to grip his shoulder lightly.

“You shouldn’t have been there. I’m sorry,” I told him.

His eyes widened. “Don’t. This wasn’t your fault, Beck.”

“Preston’s right,” Cooper added firmly. “We’re going to figure this out. You’ve got the full support of the Pecan Pines pack, and we’ll do everything we can to find the guy who did this.”

Preston nodded hesitantly, but guilt still flickered across his face.

Cooper turned to me. “We’ve got Jesse on the scene as an enforcer, and Beck will still be running his truck. Two trucks should give us good coverage.”

I winced. “Uh, about that,” I began awkwardly. “There’s... only one truck now. Mine’s out for repairs.”

Cooper’s eyebrows rose. “Repairs? What happened?”

I shifted under his gaze, suddenly tense.

“The freezer door broke.” I hesitated, then added, “Probably because of, uh, the body that was stuffed inside.”

Did I just cover for Jesse? Though it wasn’t exactly a lie. The truth that Jesse accidentally yanked the door off its hinges didn’t seem worth mentioning now.

Still, I couldn’t believe I’d jumped to his defense like it was second nature. My stomach twisted with a mix of confusion and frustration, but I brushed it off.

Cooper’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture eased.

“Fair enough. You can use Jesse’s truck for now. He’ll work the festival grounds to keep an eye on things,” Cooper said.

“I can be back tomorrow if you need me,” Preston offered.

I shook my head quickly. “We’ll manage. Jesse and I already planned a modified menu.” I caught Ethan and Cooper exchanging a glance but ignored it.

I continued, “The focus should stay on the truck area, which is likely where the suspect is operating. Jesse will still work the crowd and promote while keeping watch.”

Cooper nodded. “Sounds like a solid plan. Let me know if anything changes.”

“I will.”

Preston gave me a small smile. “Keep me updated, okay? And don’t hesitate if you need me back earlier.”

I promised I would, but the knot in my stomach refused to ease.

The festival grounds were already bustling when I arrived, the smell of fried dough and barbecue smoke heavy in the air.

My head swam with thoughts of the menu Jesse and I had thrown together last night.

We didn’t exactly cook the same kind of food. My dishes were modern Southern comfort. Rich, buttery, and balanced with just the right spices.

Jesse’s style was harder to pin down: rustic, simple, more heat, less fuss. When we worked on the menu, I tried to get specific.

“What sides do you usually put with your brisket?” I asked, pen hovering over my notepad.

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.

It wasn’t just the timing. Jesse’s presentation was all over the place—sauce smeared too thick, garnish missing, portions uneven.

I caught myself wondering if I needed to tape photos of properly plated dishes in front of him, like a checklist for toddlers.

The final straw came as I watched him pile the grilled vegetable mix onto a brisket sandwich. The vibrant colors were gone, replaced with a mushy, unappetizing mess.

“What the hell is that?” I snapped, pointing at the soggy vegetables.

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “Veggies. Grilled. Like you asked.”

“They’re overcooked,” I shot back, stepping closer. “They’ve lost the crunch, no color, just… sludge. It’s because you diced the peppers too small this morning!”

His jaw tightened. “You could’ve added them last. Kept them fresh if it’s such a big deal.”

“That’s not the way it’s supposed to be!” My voice cracked as I threw my hands up. “It’s all wrong! Everything is wrong.”

Jesse flinched, his calm slipping for a moment, before he set the spatula down. “Beck, it’s just vegetables.”

“No, it’s not!” I exploded.

It was everything. The rush, the mistakes, Preston, the truck. It’s all on me.

The walls of the food truck suddenly felt too tight, the heat stifling. My hands were trembling, and I needed to get out.

Without another word, I pushed past Jesse, flinging the door open.

Outside, the cool air hit me like a slap, but it didn’t calm the storm inside. I paced behind the truck, dragging my fingers through my hair, trying to catch my breath.

This was supposed to be my chance to prove I could handle this, that I could step out of my family’s shadow and make something of myself.

Instead, everything was falling apart. Preston had gotten hurt on my watch. My truck was broken.

Whatever this was with Jesse wasn’t working. And with the killer still out there somewhere, nothing felt certain.

A lump rose in my throat, frustration and guilt choking me.

“Beck?”

I turned to see Jesse standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets. His expression wasn’t smug or annoyed, like I’d expected.

It was something almost like concern.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “For earlier. I didn’t mean to push your buttons.”

I snorted, brushing my sleeve across my face. “It’s not just you. It’s just… I wanted this to work so badly, and it’s all going to hell.”

Jesse nodded, his gaze softening. He scratched the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically awkward.

“Look, I don’t have a magic fix, but we’ll get through this rush. Later, we can grab more vegetables, and I’ll cut them your way. Deal?” Jesse asked.

The simplicity of his offer, the lack of judgment, made my throat tighten again.

“I don’t know,” I muttered. “What if it’s not enough?”

Jesse hesitated, then placed a hand on my shoulder, grounding me.

“It’s one day, Beck. We’ll figure it out. One problem at a time,” he said.

For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers, but Jesse had a way of making me feel like I didn’t have to carry it all alone.

I laughed, shaking my head as I scrubbed my hands over my face.

“Come on. Let’s finish this rush,” I said.

Jesse gave me a small smile, clapped me on the shoulder, and headed back into the truck. I followed, bracing myself for the chaos.

As the orders piled up, I started to notice something: Jesse’s method of grouping similar orders was… working.

At first, I hated it. So different from the way I did things. But now, I could see how it sped things up, clearing the line faster.

Maybe it was his restaurant background. His smaller menu made sense too. Fewer items meant faster turnaround.

And even though his presentation wasn’t always consistent, it gave me an unexpected insight.

Customers gravitated toward certain variations of dishes. I made a mental note to tweak some of the recipes for future menus.

By the end of the day, the tension from earlier had mostly dissolved.

“That’s the last one!” Jesse announced, wiping his hands on a towel and tossing it onto the counter. “We survived.”

“Barely,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help smiling.

As we started cleaning up, Jesse shot me a quick sideways glance, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“So, was it the bell peppers or my ‘chaotic genius’ that saved the day?” Jesse asked.

I rolled my eyes, tossing him a damp rag. “Honestly, it’s a miracle the customers didn’t mind. A hungry crowd will eat anything.”

Jesse chuckled, catching the rag with ease. “Harsh. Real harsh.”

We worked in silence for a while, scrubbing counters and restocking supplies, until a voice crackled over the fair’s loudspeakers.

“Attention food truck vendors,” the announcer said. “Please gather at the main square for a brief announcement. Thank you.”

Jesse and I exchanged a look, then headed over together, falling in step with the other food truck owners.

At the square, the fair organizer stood on a makeshift stage, holding a microphone.

“Thank you all for an incredible first day of the festival,” she began, her voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. “We appreciate your dedication and the delicious food you’ve shared with everyone here.”

She paused, her expression momentarily serious.

“We also want to acknowledge the unexpected circumstances earlier this week. Thank you for your patience and understanding as we worked to address them. But now, we’re back on track, and the first round of the food truck competition will begin in two days.”

There was a ripple of excitement through the crowd, mixed with hushed murmurs.

“The rules are simple,” she continued. “Ten food trucks will compete, and at the end of the round, the five trucks with the highest sales will advance to the finals. There will also be one fan-voted favorite, which guarantees a spot in the next round. Unfortunately, those who don’t make it to the finals will have to pack up and stop selling for the rest of the festival.

So make sure to show plenty of love and support for your favorite if you want to see them keep cooking! ”

I felt a surge of confidence as I turned to Jesse. His grin was as smug as ever.

“We’ve got this,” he said, giving me a quick nudge.

I nodded. “Yeah. We do.”

We had to win. Staying in the competition meant staying on the festival grounds, where we’d have a better chance of catching whoever attacked Preston. But I wasn’t worried.

Our styles clashed at first, but somewhere along the line, we’d found a rhythm.

Sales had been strong today, and the crowd had loved our food. I’d bet we’d land in the top three, no question.

My phone buzzed with a message from Preston.

Preston: “Want me to come in tomorrow?”

I typed back quickly.

Me: “No need. Rest up.”

I slipped my phone away and glanced at Jesse shutting down the truck for the night. Somehow, it felt like we might just pull this off.