Page 9 of Falling for Felix
"And is she? Successfully matchmaking, I mean?"
His voice drops low, intimate. "Ask me tomorrow."
The words send a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cool October air. "Felix?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not trying to complicate your life.” I reach for his hand, threading our fingers together. "I just... I like the way I feel when you look at me."
“Good.” He squeezes my fingers—once, firm, like a promise. "Because I can’t help but look at you, beautiful.”
Beautiful. He thinks I’m beautiful…
“I have a confession,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“I've been dreaming about kissing you since we met in the corn maze."
His eyes bore into mine. "Just kissing?"
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with possibility and want and the kind of tension that makes my skin feel too tight.
"Well," I say, my voice coming out breathier than I intended, "I didn't want to overwhelm you with my full list of ideas on the first night."
Felix's eyes darken, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with something that makes my pulse jump. "I'm harder to overwhelm than you think."
"Is that a challenge?"
"It's a fact."
Channeling every ounce of bravery I possess, I stand up, brush hay off my dress, and extend my hand to him. "In that case, would you like to see my RV?”
He looks at my outstretched hand for a long moment, and I can almost see him weighing his options. The safe choice would be to say goodnight, go home to his cabin, maintain the careful distance he's built around himself.
But when he takes my hand and stands, pulling me close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, I know he's not choosingsafe.
"Lead the way," he says.
Chapter 6
Felix
Harper'sRVisparkedin the overflow camping area behind the festival grounds, nestled between a vintage Airstream and a converted school bus painted with sunflowers. String lights wound around the awning cast everything in warm, golden light, and I can hear the distant sound of music drifting from the main festival area.
The inside surprises me.
I'd expected chaos—art supplies everywhere, clothes thrown over furniture, the kind of creative disorder that follows some people like a personal weather system. Instead, it's organized in a way that makes sense. Cozy and lived-in, but thoughtfully arranged.
The space smells fresh and clean, with a hint of citrus. There's a small galley kitchen with copper pots hanging from hooks. There’s also a compact work area covered in mosaic tiles and colored glass, with tools arranged with the precision of someone who knows exactly where everything belongs. Fairy lights are strung along the ceiling, and a dog bed rests in a corner. Pickles immediately collapses onto it with a contented sigh.
Everything feels warm. Intentional.Her.
Her hands flutter as she turns on a few more lights, adjusting things that don't need adjusting.She’s nervous, I realize.
"Sorry for the mess," she says, though there isn't one. "I wasn't exactly planning to bring home a mountain man tonight."
"You do this often?" I ask, closing the door behind me. "Bring home strays?"
