3. Letty
CHAPTER 3
LETTY
“I t’s just dinner, Ellie. Not a date. We’re working on the Memorial Day project together.” I lean into the mirror as I swipe mascara over my lashes.
“Then why are you putting on makeup?” My sister’s musical laugh floats through the speaker on my phone.
I set the wand down, scowling at my reflection. “How did you?—”
“I heard the little tube clicking open. You never wear makeup to anything work-related.”
“This isn’t work,” I say. “It’s community service.”
“Uh-huh. And…let me guess…this ‘community service’ has shoulders like a damn linebacker and gorgeous green eyes that could melt your panties right off.”
“ Ellie !” I sputter, even as a traitorous pulse throbs between my thighs.
“Who the hell are you talking about?” I hear Kyle say from somewhere in the background.
“Just this guy that keeps coming back to the Mariposa because he has the hots for Letty.”
I groan, sinking onto the edge of my bed.
Why do I tell her anything?
Ellie and Kyle are talking back and forth until I hear the tell-tale signs of kissing.
“Ellie, I’m still here,” I mutter.
There’s a loud smack and Ellie yelps. Pretty sure Kyle just spanked her butt. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. But really, Letty. Tell me I’m wrong.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re not wrong. The man is totally swoon-worthy. But he’s also…different.”
“Different how?” Ellie presses, the smile evident in her voice.
I examine myself in the mirror, the woman staring back at me both familiar and strange. My hair is down, and I’ve traded my usual work attire for a soft, mint-colored top that Jason always said brought out the golden flecks in my eyes.
Jason . I sigh.
“He’s just...so full of energy. Vibrant.” The words catch in my throat. “The way he moves through the world, it’s like losing his leg was just a margin note in his story, not the whole book. He’s funny without trying. Thoughtful.”
“So, the complete opposite of every sad-sack blind date I’ve tried to set you up with?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” I chuckle. “But also… He’s younger than me.”
“Yeah? By how much?” Ellie asks.
“I’m…not sure. Probably in his late twenties?”
She snorts. “Like your brother-in-law ?”
“Well, we both know you’re a cradle robber,” I tease. Ellie doesn’t say a word. She and Kyle are ten years apart, and perfect for each other.
“When’s the last time you thought about something other than grief or tacos, hermana ? I mean, really thought about it? Because ever since you met this Marine, you’ve been different. Lighter.”
I apply a touch of tinted lip gloss. “Hmm. He does make me feel like myself again. The me from…before…”
“Well, there you go! Who cares how old he is?”
I take a shaky breath.
“Hey.” She softens. “It’s okay to want this. To want him . Jason wouldn’t want you to bury yourself alive over him.”
My gaze lands on his photo on the nightstand—smile forever frozen at thirty-one, dog tags glinting in the sun. For four years, that image has been my anchor to the past. My unyielding no to anything resembling a future.
Now, I’m not so sure.
I can hear baby Serena giggling in the background.
“How’s my favorite niece?” I ask.
“She’s perfect, of course. Kyle’s about to give her a bath.” I can hear shuffling on the other end. “Oh, and since I’m your sister and I love you, I’ll ignore that you completely changed the subject.”
I laugh, checking the time. “I’ve got to go.”
“Letty, vive un poco .”
Live a little.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I promise, hanging up.
“What do you think, Jay?” I whisper to the empty room.
Silence pulses back at me. All this time, and I still expect him to answer.
I grab my purse and keys, a knot forming in my stomach. The guilt ebbs and flows—sometimes it’s a tidal wave, sometimes just a ripple. Tonight, it feels like something in between as I lock the door behind me.
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.”
“How do you stay so positive all the time?”
Felix sets his fork down, thinking. “After I lost my leg, I figured I had two choices: let it define my whole existence, or make it just part of my journey.” He shrugs. “I chose door number two.”
“Just like that?”
“ Hell no.” He grins. “I was a mess for a while. Angry. Depressed. Back in Nebraska, I was driving my dad nuts. But eventually I realized I was still here when many of my brothers weren’t. I felt I had a responsibility to live well—for them, you know?”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Jason used to say something similar on his bad days, when the nightmares came. “So… Live well. That’s the mission.”
Felix’s eyes soften. “Exactly.”
Our gazes lock, and I feel something terrifying and wonderful all at once in my chest.
“We should probably get to work,” I say, breaking the moment before I do something I shouldn’t.
Like kiss him.
What am I saying? Honestly, Letty.
For the next hour, we sort through photos, tweak various layouts, and make calls to some of the families of fallen service members. Felix is organized and efficient, and his sense of humor keeps things from getting too heavy. Every time he makes me laugh, it feels like I’m reclaiming a piece of myself I thought died with Jason.
At one point he leans over my shoulder to look at a list I’m compiling, his breath warm on my neck, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from turning and pressing my face into the curve of his throat. His cologne is subtle—white musk and bergamot—and I find myself leaning slightly back into the solid heat of his chest.
“You have beautiful handwriting,” he murmurs.
“Catholic school,” I reply, my voice embarrassingly breathless.
“That would explain the bossy streak,” he teases, and I elbow him playfully.
“I’m not bossy!”
His laugh vibrates through me. “Yes, ma’am. Anything you say, ma’am.”
A loud crack of thunder shakes the building, making me jump. The lights flicker once, twice, then plunge us into complete darkness.