Page 8 of Served

The Deepwood Mountain Inn sits at the far edge of town on the lake, a two-story lodge of stone and timber that’s been renovated recently by the new owner, Talia, and her doting husband Sully of O’Neill’s Plumbing. As I pull into the lot, my palms are already sweating on the steering wheel.

When I walk through the doors, a wave of cedar-scented warmth greets me. The lobby is all gleaming hardwood floors and exposed beams, with a massive stone fireplace dominating one wall. Talia pops up from behind the reception desk and flashes me a smile.

“Conference room’s down the hall to the right, babe. Felix is already there.”

I thank her, my heart suddenly pounding. I count my steps—one, two, three, four, five—and breathe in time with my stride, a technique my grief counselor taught me. By the time I reach the doorway, I’ve almost convinced myself this is just business.

Then I see him, and that idea flies out the window.

Felix is standing at a large round table, setting out plates and silverware. His back is to me, his dark green Henley clinging to every ridge of muscle as he folds a napkin. His jeans sit low on his hips, highlighting the sculpted curve of his ass.

Mother of God.

When he turns and sees me, his smile is like a sunrise—slow and warm, becoming infinitely bright. It causes a fluttering sensation in my chest. I’d forgotten what that felt like.

“So glad you came,” he says, as if he half-expected me to back out.

I step into the room, acutely aware of how electrified the space between us feels. “This all looks amazing, thank you.”

The table is laden with steaming containers—glossy bao buns, crimped dumplings shaped like crescent moons, stir-fried vegetables glistening with garlic sauce. My mouth waters.

“Hope you’re hungry. Talia went full on drill sergeant with the menu. She does with Chinese food what you do with Mexican. I swear, this town is either trying to get me to stay for good or pack an extra hundred pounds on me.” He winks.

My cheeks heat. “I could’ve easily brought dinner. Cooking makes me happy.”

“I can tell you love it.” His gaze locks with mine steadily. “But you’ve fed me five days in a row. This is the least I can do.”

“You’re actually keeping count?” I tease, sitting down as he pulls out a chair for me.

“Hard not to.” Felix takes the seat next to mine, close enough that our knees almost touch.

I take a breath, resolving to keep things professional. “So, what’s our game plan for the tribute display?”

Felix fixes me a plate before putting one together for himself. “You have to try these first. The dumplings are ridiculous.”

I take a bite, closing my eyes when ginger and juicy pork tap dance across my tastebuds. “Wow.”

When I open my eyes again, Felix is watching me, his eyes dark, his throat working as he swallows. Liquid heat swirls low in my belly.

“Good, right?” His voice is husky.

I nod, suddenly unable to speak.

We continue to eat in companionable silence for a few minutes before Felix pulls out a thick folder of papers.

“I was thinking we could do a wall of honor,” he says. “Photos of the fallen, personal items from families if they would like to share them. Paint a picture of who these heroes were beyond their service.” His fingers brush mine as he passes me a mockup sketch of the display, and my skin tingles at the contact. “What do you think?”

I examine his drawing, impressed by the detail. “Wow, this is really good, Felix.”

“I dabble.” He smiles and shrugs. “Engineering background helps.”

“Military engineers draw tribute displays in their spare time?”

He laughs, the sound rumbling straight through me. “This one does. It helps me…I dunno…process things.”

I set down the sketch, studying him. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course.”

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