Page 2 of Served

I hesitate, but the line’s getting restless now: Mathias from the salon is tapping his painted nails against his metallic black phone case, and Hawk and Penny are muttering something about Eden’s mood swings when she’s hangry.

He nods to the line. “Seems like a lot of people are counting on you. I’d love to try to help.”

“Okay,” I finally nod. “You wanna come around the back?”

He walks with the slightest hint of a limp. When he steps up into the truck, I see why—a prosthetic leg in sleek carbon fiber moves effortlessly on his left side, visible when the leg of his jeans shifts up. He catches me looking and simply quirks up an eyebrow—no defensiveness, no embarrassment.

“Afghanistan,” he says matter-of-factly. “Lost my leg just below the knee.”

My breath hitches. Jason died in Afghanistan. I push the thought away.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He shrugs. “Don’t be. I’m still here, and I’ve got all the parts that matter.” His eyes meet mine with a mischievous glint and…holy cow, now my panties are wet.

What the?—?

He moves through the tight space with surprising grace, crouching down to examine the electrical panel. “Got a screwdriver?”

I hand him one from our toolkit, my fingers shaking. It’s been a long time since a man’s touch didn’t make me flinch, since a stranger’s laugh didn’t feel like a grenade in my chest. But now, I’m trembling for a whole other reason.

He hums quietly as he works, the sound vibrating low in his throat. I stare at the phoenix tattoo peeking out from his collar, wings spread across his shoulders. Instantly, I want to see all of it.

“Felix,” he says suddenly, glancing over his shoulder.

“What?”

“My name. Felix.”

Leticia, I almost say—the name Jason used when he’d touch my cheek and whisper, “Mi vida.” But that name died with him. “Letty.”

“Letty,” he says, and the word sounds like a caress. “That’s pretty.”

“Aha! Here’s your problem,” Felix continues, pulling out a corroded wire. “Very simple fix. Got any electrical tape?”

I find the tape and hand it to him, sparks shooting up my arm when our fingers brush. His eyes flick to mine. Did he feel it too?

In moments, he flips a switch.

I jump as the grill reignites. Felix stands, wiping his hands on his jeans, and the truck almost shrinks around him. His T-shirt strains over his chest, and I force myself to look at the deep fryer…the clock…anything but the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I mumble, reaching for the tortillas. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing.” He leans against the fridge. “You handle crazy busy lunch rushes alone often?”

“Only when I make my sister take some much-needed time off to spend with her husband and baby.”

“Very generous of you.” He watches me shovel carne asada onto the grill. “Well, you’ve sure got some skills.”

The compliment burns hotter than the stove. “Just practice.”

“How long you had the truck?”

“Two years.” Since Ellie dragged me out of bed and announced, “You’re moving to Deepwood and we’re doing this. Together.”

He nods, as if he’s heard the unsaid words. The line builds again, and I get back to work. He stays, silently handing me utensils, refilling salsas, and pouring soft drinks.

By 1:30 PM, the crowd has thinned. Felix orders two carnitas tacos and goes out to sit at one of the empty picnic tables beside the truck.

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