Chapter 6: When Trouble Comes for Hon

I was planning to rest, but my classmates’ enthusiasm dragged me back to my cart.

They practically dragged me out of bed, promising to help with setup. I’m weak.

When a hobby stops being fun, it loses its charm.

I wondered if I was burning out, but the thought of disappointing my regulars kept me going.

A few tough-looking guys showed up, their presence intimidating. One shouted, took off his shoes, and propped his feet on the table. “Three orders for your bro.”

He looked like he hadn’t showered in a week. The other customers backed away, noses wrinkling. Yikes.

The other customers all left in disgust. Honestly, you could smell his feet from three tables away.

I gagged, trying to keep my composure. The smell was next-level.

I nervously approached. “Sir, could you please put your shoes back on? We don’t allow bare feet here.”

I tried to sound polite, but my voice was shaky. I glanced at Jesse, hoping he’d step in.

He slammed the table and stood up, furious. “What did you say? Say it again!”

He loomed over me, fists clenched. I swallowed hard.

Oh, mom, I was terrified—his fists were like sandbags.

My legs went weak. I gripped the edge of the cart for support.

He frowned. “The little tyrant from this school?”

He looked me up and down, clearly skeptical.

“Yeah, that’s him.” Thank God he recognized the name.

I let out a shaky breath, praying he’d back off.

He got even angrier, grabbing a chair to hit me. “Perfect, I’ll take it out on you for him.”

He raised the chair, but before he could swing—

Huh, didn’t hurt.

Jesse blocked the chair for me, grabbed it, and slammed it down. His eyes were cold and sharp, full of anger.

He stepped between us, his presence enough to make the guy hesitate. The room went dead silent.

With Jesse there, the three toughs weren’t so cocky anymore. They wanted to fight but didn’t dare.

They exchanged nervous glances, inching toward the exit.

Jesse’s glare was enough to keep them in check. “Call the cops.”

He didn’t raise his voice, but everyone listened.

Hug him? “Oh, right.” I hugged Jesse.

I wrapped my arms around him, half for comfort, half for protection.

“Not me—call 911. Stay back.”

He gently pushed me behind him, never taking his eyes off the toughs.

The guys tried to run, but Jesse blocked the door.

He moved fast, arms outstretched. They froze.

One glared at him. “Kid, don’t push your luck. I’m not scared of you.”

He puffed out his chest, but his voice wavered.

Jesse narrowed his eyes. “Last time, you three got lucky and escaped. This time, you’re staying put.”

He sounded deadly serious. The crowd murmured, phones out, ready to film.

The commotion drew a crowd. The three were eventually taken in for questioning. Jesse and I went to give statements.

The police were quick, and soon the troublemakers were gone. I clung to Jesse’s arm, still shaking. Crisis over.

Afterward, I checked on Jesse. “Did you get hurt?”

I reached out, poking his chest gently. He winced, just a little.

I felt a pang of guilt. He was always looking out for me.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. Just a little sore.”

He shrugged it off, but I could tell he was hurting.

Sore? I gave his chest a quick feel—it seemed fine.

I poked a little harder, just to be sure. He rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe I was pushing it.

Ugh, Maddie, what are you doing? He got hurt for you, and you’re taking advantage?

I pulled my hand back, face burning.

Maybe it really does hurt. “Let’s go to the hospital.”

I insisted, dragging him by the sleeve. No arguments.

Jesse couldn’t refuse and we went. I checked him in at the ER.

He grumbled, but didn’t fight me. The nurse gave us a weird look, but I didn’t care.

When it was our turn: “Doctor, please check his chest.”

I explained everything, maybe a little too dramatically. The doctor smiled, clearly used to worried girlfriends.

Jesse chuckled, ruffling my hair. “Hon, wait outside.”

He gave me a little head pat, like I was a kid. Ugh. I pouted, but did as I was told.

Ugh, why the head pat? So embarrassing.

I sulked in the waiting room, scrolling through Instagram to distract myself.

I noticed Jesse was really into calling me hon today. For some reason, when he says it, it gives me tingles—like something’s scratching at my heart.

I caught myself smiling, cheeks pink. Uh oh. Maybe this was more than just a cart thing.

“Let’s go, hon.”

He took my hand as we left, and I didn’t let go.

On the way back, I kept sneaking glances at him. How can someone look this good?

He caught me staring, smirked, and I looked away, flustered.

He turned his head slightly. Our eyes met. Boom—face instantly red.

I tried to hide behind my hair, but he just laughed.

Jesse smiled. “Hon’s getting shy.”

He teased me, his voice low and warm. I wanted to melt into the sidewalk.

Help—stop calling me hon!

I covered my face, but he just kept grinning.

Who started him on this, anyway?

I realized I’d created a monster. But maybe I liked it.

“So, what’s your beef with those three?”

I asked, genuinely curious. Jesse never talked about himself much.

“They were shaking down elementary kids for lunch money. I caught them, roughed them up, tried to turn them in, but they got away.”

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. My heart squeezed a little.

“Didn’t think you were so righteous.”

I nudged him, half-joking, half-serious.

Jesse still smiled. “I’m a good guy.”

He winked, but there was a softness there I hadn’t seen before.

“Yeah, sure—you’re a real Boy Scout.”

I rolled my eyes, but inside, I was swooning.

The Jesse I knew was nothing like the cold, arrogant, wild guy from the rumors.

He was a teddy bear in a leather jacket. Who knew?

“Hon, are you going back to the cart?”

He squeezed my hand, waiting for my answer.

“Yeah, still have ingredients left. Can’t let them go to waste.”

I was determined to finish what I started.

“I’ll help.”

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Okay.”

We walked in step, side by side. It felt right.

Something had definitely changed between us.

There was a new energy—soft, sweet, electric.

The walk from the hospital back to school was long—I couldn’t make it.

My feet ached, and I started to lag behind. Not my best moment.

“Jesse, I want to get a ride.”

I opened my ride-share app, but no luck. The wait times were brutal.

I tried for five minutes, but no drivers picked up.

Jesse watched, amused, as I huffed in frustration.

“Hon, I’ll carry you.”

Before I could protest, he scooped me up bridal-style. I squeaked.

He grinned down at me, clearly enjoying himself.

“Ah!” I shrieked.

People stared, but I didn’t care. For once, I let myself be the damsel.

“This isn’t good—put me down.”

I tried to sound stern, but my voice was more giggle than command.

“No worries, I run two miles every day. This is just over a mile.”

He started walking, steady and strong. I relaxed, resting my head on his shoulder.

“You exercise every day? Do you have abs?”

I couldn’t resist. Curiosity got the best of me.

“Yeah. Want to see? I’ll show you when we get back.”

He winked, and my heart did a somersault. Trouble.

“Deal! No backing out.”

I held out my pinky, and he linked it with his. Sealed.

For the first time, I realized calling someone hon can get you into trouble—makes things way too heated. Better cut back from now on.

I made a mental note to save “hon” for special occasions. Lesson learned.

Back at the bakery, I got to work making mac and cheese, with Jesse helping with packaging. Having an assistant felt great—bosses need staff, after all.

He wore an apron, sleeves rolled up, looking way too good for kitchen duty. The girls in line swooned.

But today, business was slow, like it was day three all over again. Word travels fast.