Hello Readers!

A happy Friday to all of you! Do you remember Colton, the book Fel and I released back in April? This time, it's Jesse and Beck's turn in Jesse, the sixth book in our Pecan Pines series.

All Jesse wants is to serve killer brisket from his food truck and finally live life on his own terms. But fate has a spicy surprise: Beck, the annoyingly charming wolf from a neighboring pack, rolls into town with a rival food truck - and a truckload of sass.

We can't wait for you to read their story! If you haven't pre-ordered yet, you can check it out here.

Here's a little sneak preview of the first chapter~

Chapter One

Beck

“Two orders of the Big Wolf Burger, extra pickles, three Loaded Fries with a side of Inferno Sauce, and I’m still waiting on those wings!” I rattled off, my voice loud enough to carry over the festival noise and the hum of the fryer. My hands worked quickly, sprinkling a final dusting of paprika onto a plate.

“Got it, Chef!” Preston replied, sliding three steaming boxes of food in front of me with practiced ease. He wasn’t technically my sous chef, more like a co-captain in this madness, but we were a good team.

“Order for Mindy!” I shouted, poking my head out of the food truck window and waving a box as I added the final drizzle of honey mustard. A hand shot up from the crowd, and I handed the box to a smiling woman who quickly disappeared into the throng.

The familiar ding of the service bell cut through the air. I frowned. Didn’t someone just get to the cashier? It had been maybe a minute since I cleared the last order.

“Preston, what’s next?” I asked, glancing at the slip of paper clipped to the overhead rail where we kept the orders. He handed me two more boxes, checking the name scrawled at the top.

“Tim,” he said, shoving the receipt holder back into place. I took the boxes, added a swirl of the chipotle aioli, and stepped back to the window.

“Order for Tim!” I called out, passing the box to a young man in a flannel shirt. I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped toward the cashier’s side. The space was cramped, just enough to move without colliding with Preston, but it was my domain. 

The receipt printer hummed, spitting out a new ticket. Grabbing it, I skimmed over the details.

A flicker of movement outside the truck drew my attention. The instant I saw the smug grin on the face across from me, I felt the twitch in my eye. There was only one person who could look that annoyingly self-satisfied while standing in front of my food truck. 

I crossed my arms, glad for the height advantage the truck gave me over him for once. “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, my voice flat.

Jackson, my older brother, leaned casually against the counter. “What, can’t a guy say hi to his baby brother?”

Ignoring him, I turned back to the grill and flipped a row of sizzling patties. “You couldn’t have just sent me a text? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Oh, come on,” Jackson said. “First day of the festival. And I haven’t seen you in months.”

I fought the small pull of warmth his words brought. Despite the annoyance, I couldn’t deny it was good to see him. Until he ruined it.

“Besides,” he added, his tone turning more serious, “Father wanted me to check up on you.”

And there it was. My frown deepened as I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Way to kill the mood,” I muttered, turning back to the grill.

“Beck.” His voice dropped, making me pause mid-flip. I sighed, set the spatula down, and turned to face him.

“You know a few packs were invited here,” Jackson said quietly, his tone carrying a note of warning. “And you know how these things can go.”

I didn’t need him to spell it out. I knew exactly which pack he was thinking about. There was a truck earlier, manned by a couple of Thornebane wolves. They hadn’t seemed like trouble when I saw them setting up.

“You’re holding up the line,” I said, motioning to the growing group of grumbling customers waiting behind him.

Jackson crossed his arms. “He’s just worried. I am too.”

I glanced at the impatient faces in the crowd. With a resigned sigh, I asked, “What do you want me to say to get you to leave?”

“Just stay cautious,” he said, his voice softening. “And call me if anything happens.”

“Anything else?” I asked, raising a brow.

His smirk returned, and he nodded toward the counter behind me. “I wouldn’t mind some of those chili fries.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Is your mate here with you?” I asked, feigning casualness.

“No, he’s at home,” Jackson said.

Good. Noah was the only reason I’d tolerate Jackson hanging around longer, and he wasn’t here. Perfect. Grabbing a basket of fries, I handed it to Preston.

I leaned in and murmured, “Add chili. Make it extra spicy.”

Preston shot me a knowing grin as he doused the fries in an ungodly amount of our signature fiery sauce and handed the basket back. I placed it on the counter in front of Jackson.

“There. Now shoo. Go away before you hold us up any longer,” I said.

Jackson chuckled, taking the basket. “Thanks, Beck,” he said, nodding before popping a fry into his mouth. He stepped to the side, only to cough violently as the heat hit him.

“Next order, please,” I called, satisfied by the sound of Jackson hacking up a lung nearby.

As I waved another customer forward, the irritation simmering under my skin flared up again. My family was always meddling, always trying to steer my life like I couldn’t make my own decisions. A twinge of annoyance tightened my chest. I didn’t need their “checking up.” I could handle this on my own.

This food truck wasn’t just a job. It was my way of carving out something for myself, away from the pack’s endless expectations. Father had probably already decided what role I was supposed to play in the Silvercrest pack. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. 

Back home, every word felt like a test. Father’s eyes would always linger just a little too long, like he was measuring me against some invisible standard.

Hudson, my eldest brother, already looked worn out, like the pressure was crushing him. He’d been buried under Father’s rules ever since Jackson left. And Jackson? He had made his choice to leave for Pecan Pines and be with Noah. Though to be honest, I had never seen him happier. Even his skin looked healthier. 

When I told him that during my last visit, he just laughed it off, saying the air here was better. Maybe he was joking, but I wasn’t so sure.

Back home, the constant need to prove myself hung in the air like a heavy fog. It made me all the more determined to succeed here. Getting invited to one of the biggest food festivals in the region was not just luck. It was my chance to show everyone that I could do this on my own. 

Nothing was going to stand in my way. Not even Jackson and his vague warnings about how things could go. Whatever that meant.

I glanced around the square, taking in the bustling food trucks. Most were run by shifters, their pack logos or subtle signs of territory stamped on the sides. The crowd was no different. Shifters were everywhere. Many wore the marks of our world: scars like maps across their arms, tattoos curling up their necks or peeking from under sleeves.

Was that what Jackson meant? I scoffed quietly. Just a bunch of shifters with scars and tattoos. It was common around here, and it didn’t mean much. 

Scars didn’t automatically spell trouble, and tattoos didn’t make someone dangerous. I’d seen plenty of tough-looking shifters who were softer than marshmallows inside. Still, a flicker of unease crept in, but I pushed it aside. 

I could refuse service to any of these “rough” types, but then how would I run my food truck at the festival? How could I win the competition coming up in a few days? No way was I letting pack politics or appearances get in my way. This was my chance to prove I could handle it all.

I looked at the next few customers waiting in line. They wore their scars and tattoos openly. Nothing unusual. The man at the counter, a shifter with a neck tattoo, looked like any other customer. He studied the menu with a thoughtful expression.

“Need any help?” I asked, leaning forward a little. “Our brisket with fries is pretty popular.”

The man with the neck tattoo looked up, his polite smile never faltering. “You know what? That sounds great. I’ll take one of those.” His words came out slow and deliberate, each syllable carefully measured. 

“Actually, hold on.” He paused, his gaze lingering on the menu again.

See? He seemed polite. Nice. Maybe too nice.

Before I could think much about it, a low, rich laugh caught my attention. It was magnetic, like the first notes of a favorite song, drawing me in before I could stop myself. My focus slipped from the man at the counter as I scanned the crowd, searching for the source. There it was again, softer this time but unmistakable. 

My gaze landed on a guy standing with a small group, his posture easy, his head tilted back as he laughed at something one of them had said. His smile was wide and unguarded, a single dimple cutting into his cheek. For a moment, I couldn’t look away, my attention narrowing on him.

"I hear Briggs’ BBQ Delight is better," he said, pointing across the square toward another food truck. His words shattered the moment, sharp and cold, snapping me back to reality.

My chest tightened. Was he serious? Did he really just say that? I forced myself to turn back to the customer at the counter.

"Sorry, sir," I said, realizing I’d completely blanked on his order. "Could you repeat that?" The man’s polite smile returned, but something about it made my stomach twist. 

"Of course," he said lightly. "One brisket with fries and a lemonade."

I nodded, masking my unease as best I could. Was it him? Or was it the guy out there trying to draw my customers away? Either way, something felt off, and I couldn’t shake it.

Behind me, Preston tapped the counter, drawing my attention. A few baskets were already lined up, ready for pick-up. "Brisket with fries for Jay," I called out, scanning the crowd.

Dimples. Of course, it had to be him. He stepped forward, that same easy grin on his face. I handed over the basket, my smile tight. 

"Enjoy," I said, keeping my tone neutral despite the irritation bubbling under the surface.

Jay took the basket with a quick nod, but I caught him throwing a glance over his shoulder, already half-engaged with his group again. 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. My hand hovered over a bag of frozen peas when something caught my eye.

A hand.

My breath caught. A hand, pale and rigid, was sticking out from under the frozen packs.

The freezer door slammed shut as I stumbled back, my knees threatening to give out. This couldn’t be real. I didn’t just see that. It had to be some trick of the light, right?

I forced myself to look away, my breath coming in sharp bursts. “No,” I whispered, shaking my head as if I could make it all disappear. “No, no, no.”

A groan from Preston snapped me out of it. His eyelids fluttered and his breathing grew shallow, like he was fading fast. My hands were shaking as I grabbed my phone from my pocket and fumbled to dial the number.

“Jackson,” I said as soon as he picked up, my voice barely holding steady. “Help.”

Pre-order now on Amazon

Just a few days left until Jesse drops on June 24, 2025!

Fel and I had such a great time writing Jesse and Beck’s story, and we really hope you enjoy it as much as we enjoyed creating it.

We’re incredibly thankful for all your support and can’t wait to share their journey with you. Wishing you a wonderful weekend ahead! 😊

Yours sincerely,

Kara