A few minutes later, the back door opened and Jackson stepped inside, looking good enough to eat in a plain gray T-shirt and light blue jeans with a little tear at the knee paired with matching canvas sneakers.
“Morning, Reese.”
And his voice was all deep and thick from lack of use, like those were the first words he’d said this morning. It had an uncomfortable level of intimacy to it that was hard to deny and I took a step back, for some reason.
“Uh, morning, Jackson. I wasn’t expecting you already.”
He nodded and dropped a paper bag on the table in front of the stacks of containers that were ready to go into the van to make the long haul to Overton, about thirty miles away on the other side of the county.
“I thought you might want some time to get your game face on, but I had an early morning visitor who wanted to make sure we didn’t starve. At a cook-off.”
His tone was sarcastic and incredulous, making me laugh. “Excellent. Savor this non-barbecue dish because twelve hours from now, you’ll think of it fondly.”
“In that case, let’s load up the truck first and eat second.”
I gave a short nod. “I’ll load up the van, you can enjoy your breakfast. There’s coffee in the pot still.”
“You don’t really think I’m gonna stand here and watch while you do all the heavy lifting do you? No matter how fine your ass is, that’s never happening, Reese.” His tone was firm. Intense.
I frowned at his display of machismo. “You’re not even southern!”
“Newsflash, sweetheart, southerners aren’t the only ones with good manners.”
Maybe so, but I refused to give him an inch. “Break out in a sweat if you want to,” I mumbled under my breath and grabbed a box that contained a few side dishes. We loaded the van quietly. It only took about ten minutes, since I’d stayed up late to label and organize everything to get it packed and unpacked perfectly.
“I’m not afraid of a little sweat,” Jackson said once we were on the road, his hand wrist-deep into the bag of mystery food he still had yet to share.
“I didn’t think you were.” I’d seen him at the gym a few times, grinding it out, before I changed my own schedule. Not to avoid him, but to have my own space.
“Right.” He held up a long cylinder wrapped in foil. “Breakfast burritos. From Elizabeth.”
“Bless that woman!” I grabbed it and peeled the foil back with my teeth.
Jackson shook his head and laughed. “You are an animal, you realize that, right?” His expression was incredulous.
“I’m not an animal!”
“Oh, you are, but it’s kind of cute.”
Cute. That word was the bane of my existence—and just what I needed to stay focused on my breakfast burrito and the competition ahead. It was scheduled to be a long day and I was grateful for the sustenance when I realized just how far my tent was from the parking area.
“Great. Thanks,” I told the event organizer with my fakest smile.
Jackson grabbed the keys from me and slid behind the steering wheel. “Hop in.”
“I can’t. I need to start unloading, or I’ll never get my chili started in the allotted time.” Three hours might seem like lots of time, but everything had to be done from scratch right here on the fairgrounds. “Come on, Jackson.”
“Get. In.”
“If I get a ticket, you’re paying for it.”
“Fine.” In less than two minutes, we were unloading everything directly into the tent with my restaurant logo splashed all over it and I smiled as my pulse started to calm down. “Thanks, Jackson.”
“No problem. I’ll take the van back and come back to get started.”
“Thanks. Seriously.”
“What else is a second in command for?” There was that charming grin again.
“Using his big muscles to carry things?”
“That, too. Be back soon.” He winked before he turned away, whistling. Why would he wink at me? What kind of game was he playing?
By the time Jackson returned, I was no longer concerned with whatever thoughts were on his mind. I was squarely in competition mode. Focused on nothing but the two pots of chili I had to make in the next three hours. “Where am I, Boss?”
I pointed to the chopping station I’d set up while he was gone. “The recipe is taped to the wall, just get through all the veggies and put them in the labeled bowl when you’re done. Sit them here in the middle and we’re good. Got it?”
“Sure thing.”
Thank goodness. So far, Jackson didn’t need a lot of watching or babysitting, which I was grateful for. Too bad his presence made the tent feel small. Too small. His scent, a mixture of leather, mint and man, permeated the space and clung to my skin as the temperature heated up.
It was torture.
“Why do you care about this competition so much?”