Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“W e're going to make some changes to the barbecue chicken dish for tonight’s special. We’re incorporating some of the fusion spices my wife brought over.”
A wave of shock rippled through the room at Jed's directive. His staff exchanged bewildered glances, some of them looking at him as if he’d just announced they were serving tofu in a steakhouse.
“What?” he asked, genuinely puzzled by their reaction.
One of the younger cooks, Tim, shifted on his feet, eyes flickering nervously. Finally, he spoke up. “It’s just... we’re not used to... well, we usually do everything by your recipes, Chef. Exactly how you want it.”
“And?”
“And...” Tim swallowed, looking around for support. When no one else spoke, he continued, “We’re just surprised you’re, uh, compromising.”
Jed raised an eyebrow, a slight annoyance flaring in his chest. “I compromise plenty.”
His declaration was met with silence. Not the kind of silence that came with agreement or satisfaction, but the kind that suggested his staff was holding back. Biting their lips, everyone avoided his gaze.
Jed was used to being in control. Used to having the final say. But… was he too controlling?
The silence spoke volumes. His team stood there, clearly uncomfortable, and it hit him harder than he wanted to admit. He had been ruling this kitchen like a dictator, so set on perfection that he hadn’t allowed room for creativity or input. Not from his staff. Not even from himself.
He took a deep breath, his jaw working as he tried to process this realization. He'd always prided himself on the success of Grits and Grub, on the exactness of his recipes. But in that pursuit, had he sucked the joy out of cooking, out of collaboration?
“All right,” he said, his voice softer, more introspective than usual. “Do you guys have any ideas?”
The room was still. No one moved. No one spoke. He could see the hesitation, the fear of crossing a line. It was a shame when his own team was afraid to speak up.
Jed took a step forward, his eyes scanning each face. “Look, I’m asking. If anyone’s got something they want to try, now’s the time.”
There was a shuffling of feet, and finally, a brave cook, Marissa, cleared her throat. “I, uh, I thought maybe we could add some lemongrass to the marinade? It could add a fresh, citrusy note to balance the smokiness.”
Jed studied her, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes. His immediate reaction was to dissect the idea, to think about how it might alter the dish's flavor profile in ways that might not be expected by their regulars. But then he stopped himself. This was about more than just the dish; it was about the process.
He nodded slowly. “Lemongrass... yeah, that could work. Let’s give it a try.”
Marissa blinked, clearly not expecting him to agree so readily. Her face brightened, and a murmur went through the kitchen.
Another cook, Sam, spoke up tentatively. “What if we added a bit of ginger to the sauce? Just a hint, to give it a warm, spicy kick?”
Jed raised a hand, halting the suggestions. “One idea at a time,” he said, but his voice wasn’t harsh. “Let’s start with the lemongrass. If that works, we’ll move on to the ginger.”
He watched as his team visibly relaxed. Shoulders loosened. The room filled with a different kind of energy—hopeful, excited. It was contagious. Jed felt it seep into him, lifting some of the heaviness he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying.
Jed turned back to the counter, glancing at the fusion spices Jami had brought over. He reached for the lemongrass, inhaling its fresh, vibrant scent, and something inside him shifted. Jami had challenged him from the start—challenged his beliefs, his methods, his way of running this kitchen. And she’d been right. He’d been so rigid, so focused on control, that he’d forgotten what it meant to let go, to explore, to innovate.
He wasn’t just changing a recipe. He was changing himself.
He handed the lemongrass to Marissa. “Prep it and add it to the marinade. Let’s see what happens.”
She nodded eagerly, and the kitchen sprang into action. The usual rhythm returned but with an edge of excitement, of experimentation. Jed stepped back, watching as his team moved around, hands busy, faces focused yet alive with possibility. It was like seeing his kitchen for the first time. It stirred something inside him.
Jed glanced at the clock. Jami would be arriving soon. The thought of her tasting this new dish, of seeing her reaction, sent a thrill through him. He wanted to show her he could compromise, that he was willing to embrace change. Not just in his cooking, but in his life.
He turned back to the stove, stirring a pot absently as he kept an eye on his team, feeling a newfound sense of pride and humility. He’d always been the Culinary Casanova, the man in control. But now, he was learning to be more—because of her.
He had built Grits and Grub from the ground up, molding it with his hands, his sweat, his determination. And in that process, he had built walls around himself—around his heart. Now standing here, watching his crew handle the kitchen without his micromanagement, it hit him hard. His desire to control everything, to manage every little detail, was driven by a deep-rooted fear of losing it all.
More than the restaurant, it was the fear of losing her. Jami had come into his life like a whirlwind, stirring up feelings he’d tried to bury, pushing him out of his comfort zone, challenging him to see things differently. His need to control wasn’t just about his business; it was about his feelings for her. He had held on so tight, thinking if he could just keep everything perfectly managed, he wouldn’t lose her again.
But he was wrong. Holding on too tight was the very thing that could make him lose everything.
He needed to let go.
Jed took off his cooking jacket and headed out to the dining area. The television crew was there, interviewing Jacqui and Jules. It was giving the Chou sisters some well-deserved press, and he was glad for it.
Outside the restaurant's windows, he saw a small crowd of neighbors gathering. Some were regulars, eager to get in for the lunch hour rush. Others were the town appointed gossips, looking for drama to tell while leaning against fences later in the day.
Jacqui and Jules were speaking animatedly about the old family rivalry between the Winchesters and the Chous. Rick was eating it up, the drama of their history a perfect subplot for the show.
“It goes back decades," Jacqui was saying. "Our grandfathers used to go head to head at every neighborhood barbecue.”
Jules nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Grandpa Jun would spend hours perfecting his secret sauce, swearing it was unbeatable. And then there was Old Man Winchester, grilling up a storm and bragging that his brisket could make a grown man weep.”
“They were obsessed with outdoing each other. Every cookout was like a showdown. You could practically smell the competition in the air, along with the ribs.”
“Everyone came for the food but stayed for the drama. It was like our own personal food war.”
Standing behind his wife, Noah smirked and shot a glance at Jami standing off to the side. “Little did we know one day a Chou would marry a Winchester. Guess some things really do come full circle.”
Jacqui leaned back into her husband's embrace, pressing a kiss to his chin. Jules' hands were entwined with Fish, who leaned stood like a solid wall behind his wife. The two were always close, always touching.
Jed wasn’t interested in the interview or his in-laws. His eyes tracked to Jami. She stood off to the side, watching her sisters.
Crossing the space between them, he grabbed her hand and tugged her away from the crowd, ignoring the surprised glances and murmurs that followed. He pulled her out of the door and behind the restaurant, into the small alleyway where they were hidden from prying eyes and cameras.
And then he kissed her. Because he could. And because she let him.
The kiss was fierce, hungry, filled with all the things he’d been holding back for far too long. He poured every emotion into it—the fear, the longing, the need. He felt her tense in his arms, felt the stiffness in her body, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not until he had made her understand how much she meant to him.
But then, he felt the resistance, the hesitation. He broke the kiss, breathing hard, his hands still cupping her face, holding her close. Her eyes searched his. It wasn't fear he saw, it was longing. But for what? Whatever it was, he would give it to her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice rough, his chest tight as he looked at her, trying to read her thoughts, her emotions.