Page 34 of Stuck with my Mechanic Daddies

I tuned it all out.

The only thing that mattered was the grill in front of me.

Mason was making some kind of salmon dish, playing it up like he was a damnFood Networkstar. But I kept it simple—perfectly grilled steak, garlic butter melting over the top, bourbon-glazed sweet potatoes on the side.

Solid. Reliable. Just like me.

“Smells good,” a voice teased.

I knew who it was before I even turned.

I tightened my grip on the spatula as I looked up.

Aurora was standing at the edge of the cook-off area, arms crossed, watching me with those sharp green eyes that had been haunting me for weeks. Her auburn hair was loose, catching the glow of the festival lights, and the way she looked in those jeans. Damn.

I tore my eyes away, focusing on my grill.

“Didn’t peg you for the competitive-cooking type,” she said, tilting her head.

I arched a brow. “Didn’t peg you for the fall-festival type.”

She shrugged. “I’m expanding my horizons.”

My gaze dropped to her mouth before I could stop myself.

Bad idea, Grady.

Before I could respond, Mason slid up beside her, grinning like an idiot.

“You know,” he drawled, “if you want a taste of something really special, I’ve got a plate with your name on it.”

I shot him a look. “Mason.”

He smirked, completely unbothered. “What? Just being hospitable.”

Aurora laughed, shaking her head. “I think I'll wait and see who wins first.”

Smart woman.

Mason winked. “Fair enough, bookstore girl.”

I watched as her lips twitched, amusement flickering in her expression. She didn’thatebeing called that, not really. And the fact that Mason could get her to loosen up, to smile, was frustrating.

But I had more things to focus on right now.

The cook-off was getting into full swing.

The flames from my grill flared, the scent of butter and bourbon filling the air. Around me, the competition was heating up—literally and figuratively.

Mason was still running his mouth while attempting to sear his salmon, which smelledwaytoo fancy for this crowd. Owen, ever the silent competitor, had opted for a slow-cooked pork tenderloin with caramelized apples. Solid choice.

But it wasn’t just the three of us.

Jaxon was a last-minute entry, flipping burger patties like he was born to do it. Ryan was next to him, tossing chili powder into a bubbling pot, determined to prove that “a real man’s dish comes in a bowl.”

Todd Rivers, the bartender from Lucky’s, was making what he called “drunken barbecue ribs.” Given that the man spent most of his time pouring whiskey and beer, I wasn’t surprised he’d found a way to add alcohol to his recipe.

Then there was Harriet Cooper.

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