Page 43 of Curvy Desire's Second Shot

“I’m happy to help,” I said, smiling as I followed her to the kitchen. “What do you need me to do?”

“We’re running low on serving hands,” she said, handing me an apron. “Think you can handle the lunch line?”

“Absolutely,” I said, tying the apron around my waist.

I spentthe next hour serving bowls of steaming soup, handing out sandwiches, and exchanging smiles with every person who came through the line. Some of them offered quiet thank-yous, others shared jokes or stories, their gratitude written in their expressions.

An older man approached the line, his coat worn and patched, his hands trembling slightly as he held out his tray. “Thank you, miss,” he said, his voice soft but sincere.

“It’s my pleasure,” I said, ladling soup into his bowl. “Stay warm out there, okay?”

His smile was small but genuine, and I felt a warmth spread through me as he moved on. This was why I’d come here—to give back, to be part of something bigger than myself. It was a reminder that even in the darkest times, there was still good in the world.

During a lull in the line,a little girl with bright eyes and mismatched socks wandered up to the counter. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven, her hands clutching a stuffed rabbit that had clearly seen better days.

“Hi there,” I said, crouching down to her level. “What’s your name?”

“Lila,” she said, her voice shy but curious.

“Hi, Lila. I’m Naomi,” I said, smiling. “Are you here with your family?”

She nodded, pointing to a woman seated at a nearby table. “That’s my mom.”

“Your mom looks very nice,” I said, glancing at the woman, who waved at me with a tired but kind smile. “And is this your rabbit?”

“This is Mr. Hops,” Lila said, holding the stuffed animal up proudly. “He’s my best friend.”

“Well, Mr. Hops is very lucky to have you,” I said. “And I think he’d like some soup, don’t you?”

Lila giggled, nodding. I filled a small bowl for her and placed it on her tray, along with a sandwich and a cookie. “There you go. Enjoy, Lila.”

“Thank you, Miss Naomi,” she said, her voice bright, before skipping back to her table.

The afternoon flew by,and by the time the last bowls were served and the tables cleared, my feet were aching, but my heart felt full. I stayed behind to help clean up, wiping down counters and stacking chairs alongside the other volunteers.

“You have a way with people,” the woman from earlier said as we finished tidying up. “You’re good at this.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling a little shy under the compliment. “I just... like helping.”

“Not everyone does,” she said, her tone warm but pointed. “But you’re different.”

Different. The word echoed in my mind as I stepped outside, the crisp evening air brushing against my cheeks. Hudson’s truck was waiting at the curb, and he leaned against the hood, his arms crossed as he watched me.

“How’d it go?” he asked as I approached.

“Good,” I said, smiling as I climbed into the passenger seat. “Really good.”

“Looks like it,” he said, his voice softening. “You’re glowing.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “It’s just nice to feel useful, you know?”

“You’re always useful,” he said, his tone serious. “And you’re more than that. You’re... you.”

The simplicity of his words made my chest ache, and I reached over, squeezing his hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For seeing me,” I said quietly. “For letting me be... this.”

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