Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
J ami burst through the courthouse doors. Her heart was pounding in her chest like it was trying to escape. It was trying to escape, but not in the direction she was going. Her heart was pounding not against her ribcage but against her back. It wanted to get back to Jed. Jami ignored the stupid organ and pushed forward.
The sunlight hit her full force, but it was nothing compared to the heat still burning on her lips. Her fingers kept brushing against them, testing the heat, feeling the imprint of his kiss.
She’d stood in Italy, next to some of the finest pizza ovens in the world, their heat radiating off the stone, crisping dough to perfection. She’d even traveled to China, where pizza was first born, but none of it—none of that legendary heat—compared to what she felt from Jed Winchester’s kiss.
This wasn’t just like standing near the oven—it was like being inside it, with the flames licking at her skin, warming her from the inside out. Nothing in her culinary journey had ever sparked this kind of fire.
Her mind raced as she scanned the parking lot. She needed to get away. But there was a small problem.
Her car wasn’t here.
She’d sold the car years ago to pay for one of her overseas adventures, back when traveling had been the only thing that mattered. She had walked to the courthouse this morning, convinced she could sneak back to Jacqui’s unnoticed after marrying Ryan. But now, after that kiss with Jed, there was no sneaking anywhere.
The heat still simmered inside her. Jami felt like it was about to bubble over. All she wanted was some space. Some air.
She set off on foot, her legs carrying her away from the courthouse with long, determined strides. Her mind whirred, replaying the moment over and over—Jed’s hands warm and firm on her waist, the way he had wrapped her up like he never intended to let her go. And that kiss… God, that kiss. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a declaration. One that left her feeling far more rattled than she was willing to admit.
As she walked, the late morning breeze ruffled her hair, a welcome contrast to the furnace blazing inside her. She’d been heading toward Jacqui’s, but she quickly realized the restaurant was closer. She could hide out there, regroup, figure out what she’d just done. Before she could make it far, she heard the hum of a car engine pulling up beside her.
"Get in, Jami."
She didn’t even look at him. She kept walking, her pace quickening as if she could outrun the heat spreading across her cheeks.
"Jami," Jed called again, this time with a hint of amusement in his tone. "Get in the car."
She shook her head, still refusing to meet his eyes. Her fingers brushed against her lips again, as if to remind herself of the chaos he’d caused.
"No."
Jed kept driving slowly beside her, the car creeping along the sidewalk at an almost ridiculous pace. Cars behind him began to honk, frustrated at his slow pace. Jed didn’t seem to care.
"You're going to cause a traffic jam," she muttered, keeping her eyes on the pavement in front of her. She was not getting in that car. Not after what had just happened. Being near him again? Not a chance. Her heart was still pounding from the kiss, her body still flushed with heat.
"Then get in and help clear the road," Jed replied with a chuckle. "Come on, Jami. You’re walking in the heat. It's only going to get hotter."
It was fall, sweater weather. The air was brisk. But she knew what he meant. Jed Winchester knew exactly how he was affecting her.
"No," she said firmly, still walking. "I need to… think."
Jed sighed, exasperated but amused. “Is this how it's going to be between us, my darling wife?"
That stopped her cold. Jami turned to him then. His darling wife? Why did that endearment cause her to get equally hot and cold at the same time?
Jed must have seen it because he smiled that devilish smile at her.
Jami turned away and picked up her pace.
"Just get in.”
She shook her head, setting an even faster pace. "I can’t be near you right now, Jed."
"Why not?" Jed leaned out of the car window. "Afraid you’ll like it?"
Her heart skipped a beat, causing her feet to trip. But she steadied herself and kept walking, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how flustered she really was.
Of course, she liked it. That was the problem.
The cars behind him honked again, louder this time. Longer, too. Jed glanced in his rearview mirror, then back at her with a sigh. "You’re making a scene, you know."
"Just go, Jed. Please."
Something flickered in his eyes—something she couldn’t quite place. He held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded, his expression softening. "All right."
And with that, he sped off, leaving her standing on the sidewalk. For a long moment, she stood there and watched his taillights disappearing down the street. Had he just left her?
Yes, he had. But that's what she’d wanted him to do. Right?
Jami let out a long breath, thankful for the space but already missing his presence more than she wanted to admit.
It was for the best, though. She needed to clear her head. This marriage was already proving inconvenient, and they hadn’t even made it past the courthouse yet. She couldn’t think straight with him around, couldn’t trust herself not to get swept up in the heat of the moment again.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Jami made it to her family's restaurant. She stepped inside, the familiar scent of garlic and ginger hitting her senses, comforting and grounding. The air was cool, and for a moment, she let herself relax, thinking she had finally gotten away from him.
But then she saw him.
Jed was sitting at one of the tables, waiting for her, looking far too calm, far too smug. He was still devastating in that military uniform, and Jami wasn't the only one who noticed. Women were gawking at him over their chopsticks.
He didn't appear to notice. He patted the empty seat beside him. Jami had the urge to go to him. To sit next to him. Maybe even in his lap. She couldn't remember why she had decided Jed Winchester was her enemy.
But then she saw Jacqui. Even worse, Jacqui saw Jed. That's when Jami remembered where the animosity had come from.
Jed was a Winchester. The third of his name. Jed Winchester the first and Jun Chou, Jami's grandfather, had had a bitter rivalry that had started at neighborhood cookouts and barbecues.
At first, there was respect, a mutual admiration for the other’s talent. Winchester’s famous smoky barbecue sauce versus Chou’s perfectly balanced marinades. But as neighbors began to take sides—some swearing by Chou’s sticky ribs, others singing praises of Winchester’s melt-in-your-mouth brisket—their friendly competition had morphed into something far more intense.
By the time Jed and Jami were kids, the rivalry had escalated into an all-out war of flavors. Every summer cookout became a battleground, each man trying to outdo the other, one-upping recipes, perfecting seasoning blends and getting more elaborate with their smoker setups. Chou introduced exotic Asian spices to his marinades, drawing from his family’s deep culinary roots, while Winchester stuck to his old-school methods, enhancing his secret sauce with subtle smoky notes from wood chips passed down through generations.
The town fed the flames, quite literally, with everyone from churchgoers to shopkeepers placing bets on whose barbecue would reign supreme. The rivalry became as much a part of the town’s history as the Fourth of July fireworks or the local football games.
Jami had grown up in the middle of the family feud, listening to her grandfather and father grumble about the Winchesters at every holiday and summer gathering. In her household, the idea of ever tasting Winchester barbecue was sacrilege. It was forbidden, the ultimate betrayal of her family’s legacy. She never even considered it—until that day in high school.
It had been a normal afternoon in Home Ec. But when Jed Winchester, the third of his name, had presented his barbecue chicken to the class, Jami had no choice but to taste it. It was for a grade, after all.
Her fingers had pinched off a piece of the chicken, and the moment it hit her tongue, her senses lit up. The smoky sweetness of the sauce mixed with just the right amount of spice. When Jed asked her what she thought, she’d crossed her arms, furrowed her brow, and told him the chicken was dry—which, honestly, it had been. He'd overcooked the meat.
But the sauce? The sauce had been something else. She couldn’t say it then, but she knew deep down that Jed’s barbecue sauce was unlike anything she’d ever tasted. And no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, that first bite had stayed with her. Just like that kiss he would give her a few years later. Much like the one he'd given her at the courthouse less than an hour ago. The heat from that kiss was still on her lips, smoky and sweet, just like his famous sauce.
"What are you doing here, Jed?" asked Jacqui. "Come to see what a real marinade tastes like?"
"No," said Jed, his gaze never leaving Jami. "I came for my wife."