The church basement is old but well-kept. Coming down here feels like being transported straight to the 1960s. It's big and it smells musty, just like it did when I was a little kid. Just like old churches do. Back in the day, it felt like a fucking football field, and even now that my head extends closer to the ceiling, it still feels huge. The room buzzes with activity and it feels like damn near the entire town is here.

Everyone's lined up haphazardly in the buffet line, slowly making their way down two long tables piled high with food. Fried chicken, fried okra, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, yams, and more pie than I've ever seen in my life.

Tess forgot to mention to me that there was a potluck until about 45 minutes before the meeting. She challenged me to improvise, so I did, although everyone would probably be better off had I not.

I swung by the Maple Ridge Deli to see what I could get on short notice, and Ms. Jones only had one dish in quantity: pineapple lime jello salad. I got a whole big-ass aluminum tray of the shit. Green gelatin covered with cottage cheese, pineapple pieces, and walnut crumbles. I took a taste after I picked it up, and I damn near had to wash my mouth out with a hose in the back alley.

Tess side-eyes me as I pile grub onto my plate. It's six or eight inches of food all stacked up into a precarious tower. And absolutely not a speck of lime jello salad.

I return the glance, but only because of the low-cut blouse she's wearing. I can't seem to pry my eyes away from that beautiful fucking cleavage. I try not to be completely fucking obvious, but subtlety was never my strong suit.

I grin at her, chuckling at the way she rolls her eyes. Her plate contains some leafy greens, a slab of plain white grilled chicken, and not much else. And she only took one of the hot wings that she made herself.

"Put some damn food on your plate," I say, "or you're gonna blow away in the wind."

She laughs half-heartedly as we side-step down the buffet table, brushing shoulders with the rest of the town. "There's no danger of that. I could stand to lose some weight."

I stop and look her in the eye. "You're fucking perfect just the way you are."

She elbows me in the side, glancing back and forth awkwardly. "Watch your mouth in the church," she says, turning bright pink.

"Oops, shit," I say, before realizing my mistake and cupping a hand over my mouth. A little old lady in line next to us looks up at me and shakes her head. Her eyes linger on the tattoo poking out from under my t-shirt sleeve, and she clucks like a damn chicken. To an old-fashioned high-culture lady like her, a tattooed, filthy-talking sailor like me is pretty much the same as scum.

Another old lady walks past us as I'm shoveling some carved turkey on top of my food mountain. She squeals with the delight of a schoolgirl when she recognizes me, and I realize she's my old math teacher from high school.

"Mrs. Abraham," I say, setting my plate down and trying to smile like a polite man instead of a grizzled, hungry, and horny Navy SEAL. I put on the charm. "You look even younger than I remember."

The old cooter reaches up and pinches my cheek. "That's because I don't have to deal with little bastards like you anymore."

I can't help grinning, and even Tess cracks a smile.

"I see you and Ms. Cassidy ended up together. The writing was on the wall. Everyone knew it would happen."

I grin awkwardly, and Tess blushes, speaking up before I can. "We're not together," she says. "Hunter here just got back into town last night—"

It's the first time I've talked to her since I left," I say—

"Absolutely not together," says Tess.

"Despite that," I say, "I'm seriously considering letting her have a piece of this ass." Tess gives me a tight-lipped smile, and I know she's pissed.

Ms. Abraham's eyes roam over my broad, muscular chest. The old woman is just downright shameless. She looks at Tess. "You'd be crazy to say no."

"That's what I've been telling her," I say, shooting Tess a wink. She turns her nose up at me and loads up a spoonful of shrimp salad.

Ms. Abraham clucks her tongue and shakes her head. "And you'd be damn stupid to pass her up." She moves down the buffet line.

"Keep dreaming, buddy," Tess says while placing a dinner roll on her plate.

We spend the next hour mingling with the townspeople. There are maybe a hundred round tables set up with chairs all around them, and we move from table to table like bona fide socialites as I catch up with all the folks I knew back in my childhood.

Nearly everyone asks if Tess and I are together. Or rather, they just assume. The story about us leaving the Red Lion together spread like wildfire, and the whole damn town can't stop gossiping about it. But every time it happens, I secretly love watching Tess's face flush as she explains I'm just in town for a little while. I almost feel like an asshole, but I can't help enjoying the way she blushes. I got no problem if the whole town thinks we're fucking. As long as Tess has that image in her mind, I'm fine with it.

Finally, we settle in at Eddie's table. He's sitting with Oscar, another one of our crew from high school. Oscar runs the pawn shop now, right next to Eddie's Chinese restaurant and old man Marnes's gas station. Oscar's here solo, but Eddie has his wife and newborn baby with him.

Shit, if there's one thing I don't understand in this world, it's babies. I got no idea how to hold them, how to talk to them, or what they eat. Nothing. And having one of my own is sure as hell the last thing I ever want to do. Being completely honest—children, animals, women—none of them really make any damn sense at all.

But when Tess asks to hold the baby, I have to admit, something really fucking turns me on. It's like my body is telling me: that woman would make a damn good mom.

Before I can properly reflect on just how fucked up that is, the PA system at the head of the room squeals. Several men wearing dark business suits step up onto the stage riser. One of them holds a microphone.

Tess, who's sitting next to me, leans in and whispers in my ear. "It's almost time, wish me luck." I feel her hand accidentally brush against my thigh, and my cock turns to marble inside my pants.

I loosen my belt buckle, sitting back in my chair so my body can start digesting the mountain of food I've consumed. And to give my cock some extra space.

Then the man holding the microphone speaks. When I hear his voice, it hits me. Mayor Wilkinson. He's older now… scratch that. He's just downright ancient. And he's balding something fierce. But he's sure as shit the exact same mayor that Maple Ridge has had my entire life.

He taps the microphone, then brings it to his lips. "Good evening, everybody," he says. "I hope you've all enjoyed tonight's potluck organized by the town council."

Eddie grumbles next to me. "Organized, my ass. We all cooked the food. He never misses an opportunity to claim credit. Typical politician." Eddie's wife shushes him, and swear I see a vein twitch in his neck. Married life.

"Last time we met, six months ago," says Wilkinson, "We voted on preservation measures for the ridge and the historic hot springs. Since then, the town has earmarked over $50,000 for cleanup efforts and wildlife rehabilitation in the region."

A smattering of clapping echoes through the church basement.

"Fifty grand to save some squirrels and birds when our infrastructure is falling apart," mutters Oscar. "All corrupt spending on his buddies' businesses, anyway." Oscar picks up a fork, slices off a piece of cake, and shoves it in his mouth as if to stop himself from saying anything further.

"Today, the topic is small business initiatives. As you all know, the Maple Ridge economy has been in decline ever since the highway to Springville opened four years ago. Frankly, we've fallen hard and fast."

"Yeah, thanks to you," grumbles Oscar, mashing his cake into oblivion with his fork. I raise an eyebrow. Sounds like the mayor hasn't been doing a real great job of running Maple Ridge.

"So tonight, I'd like to welcome a few friends of the town. Mr. Jonas, Mr. Christensen, and Mr. Wall. These are good friends of mine, angel investors visiting from California. They typically invest in new technology and startups, but today they're here to see how they can help us. We'll have three different business pitches tonight, and our investors will choose one of them to fund. Hopefully with their help, we can inject a little life back into our economy."

"Got his cronies right there," says Oscar. "Guarantee you he's skimming off the top of this."

"First, we'll hear from Ted Frazier, a proposal for a new hardware store. Then, Brandon Clark has a pitch for a second gas station. Last, Tess Campbell will try to sell us on a diner."

"Cassidy," she murmurs. I realize Campbell must have been the name she took when she married. She's distancing herself from it now.

Good. I hate the idea of her with any other man's name.

For the next 45 minutes, we listen to Ted and Brandon drone on about their shitty business ideas. Blah, blah, fucking blah. I'm no fucking business mogul, but even I know that their half-baked ideas won't do shit to revitalize Maple Ridge. A hardware store—to support what? All of the construction that's not happening? And a second gas station—because the one we already have barely needs a second pump? Ted and Brandon are a couple of fucking rednecks whose ideas are just more of the same old shit. The same thoughtless ideas that got this town into the state it's in.

Then, when it's Tess's turn to present, she grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze before walking up onto the stage and taking the mic. "Here I go," she says, but all I can feel is her hand on mine. I like the way it feels, I can't lie. But I'd rather feel it wrapped around my cock.

Up at the front of the room, the stage lights reflect off of Tess's auburn hair, which is wrapped in a high ponytail atop her head. I do my best to listen to what she has to say, but I can't shake the urge to run my hands through that hair.

What can I say, the woman looks good on a stage.

"My fellow neighbors," says Tess, "All my life, I've seen food bring people together. Not to toot my own horn, but many of you have had the opportunity to taste my cooking, and if I may brag for a minute, I think you'd consider yourself fortunate to have done so." She points at a larger bald man sitting near the stage, and says "I see all those wings on your plate," and the guy laughs.

It's true, those hot wings she brought were the biggest hit of the entire potluck.

"And," she continues, "Maple Ridge has always been about friends and family. We're a tight-knit town. So I think the best contribution I can make is a new place to eat. A diner that would be a place for delicious food and for social gatherings. A new diner would be just the thing to bring people together. And not only that, it would get more tourists stopping by when they drive past Maple Ridge on the highway. More tourists means more money in our economy."

She goes on, detailing her plans for a diner that sounds like it'd be a great fucking addition to the town.

Oscar nods with approval and Eddie shoots me a "not bad" look. Tess just killed it on stage. She just gave the most logical and most compelling pitch here tonight.

She concludes her presentation with an overview of the costs involved and the expected timeframe to get the business up and running, something that Ted and Brandon completely left out. When she finally hands off the microphone and rejoins us at our table, I'm damn impressed. "No idea you had that in you," I say. "Not fucking bad, woman."

She grins, and for a second, she's the old Tess I remember from high school. All smiles and aspirations, and no sadness or baggage. "I didn't get my degree in business for nothing," she whispers.

"Didn't realize you had one," I say, and it hits me that there's a lot I don't know about how Tess has changed in the last eight years.

"Thanks to the participants," says Wilkinson. "We'll adjourn for an hour, and announce the winner afterwards. In the meantime, please help yourselves to dessert."

* * *

An hour later, when Wilkinson and his investor friends come back on stage, we're all pretty fucking sure that Tess has this locked down. Even Oscar, the pessimist among us, agrees.

Wilkinson takes the mic again. "I hope everyone enjoyed dessert. First of all, I'd like to thank everyone for coming out tonight. And special thanks to all three of our presenters tonight."

Tess grabs my hand and squeezes it, and again, it's like a lightning rod that connects straight to my cock. "You got this," I tell her. As much as I want to fuck that tight body of hers, I'm actually real happy for her right now.

"It was a difficult decision, and a quick process," says Wilkinson, "but we believe we've made the best decision possible. Congratulations to Ted Frazier—Maple Ridge is going to have a new hardware store!"

I blink. Unenthusiastic applause crawls around the room. Oscar angrily stabs his fork through his Styrofoam plate, and it sticks up like a tombstone monument to the diner that's not to be.

"Damn," says Eddie, as chatter breaks out around the room. "That's a tough break."

I put a hand on Tess's shoulder, and give her a squeeze. She's a little glassy-eyed but she holds it together, and I'm proud of her for that.

* * *

After the awards ceremony, Tess graciously shakes hands with Ted and congratulates him on his new opportunity. I do the same, but I know that his hardware store won't be long for this world. Nor will it make a dent in the town's economy. What a fucking waste. Nobody in their right mind could have chosen to invest in that idea, especially after Tess's presentation. Eddie and Oscar are onto something when they say the mayor is corrupt. Something doesn't add up. But what can you fucking do.

Eddie takes off with his wife and kid, who's up way past her bedtime and getting cranky. "You're a saint, man," I tell him. "Somebody's got to continue the human population."

Tess and I stay late, helping with the clean-up. Tess always took things like this hard, but she's staying positive. "At least I tried, right?" she asks, scraping leftover casserole out of a glass dish and into the trash. "Now I don't have to wonder anymore."

"Listen," I say, shoving stacks of dirty paper plates into the garbage, "It's not like this was your only chance to open your business. Fuck those idiots. Find someone else."

"I agree," says a voice behind me, and I turn around to see Mr. Clint Roberts from the Maple Ridge Credit Union.

I wipe my hands off on my jeans and extend a hand to him. He looks uneasy. "I'm good," he says, peering at the trash I'm in the middle of cleaning up. Then I remember the hand sanitizer incident in his office.

"So how about that?" I ask, putting my hand back down. "A new hardware store. Exactly what this sleepy little town needs, right?"

"Yeah," he says, "I don't see it lasting long. Her idea would do a lot more to get some spending happening in this town."

"Thanks," says Tess, looking up from tying shut a huge 55-gallon trash bag. "I thought so too."

"I wanted to tell you," says Mr. Roberts, "I was impressed by your presentation and tenacity, Tess." He turns to me. "I was also impressed by your honesty the other day. It's not often someone voluntarily pays off an eight-year-old delinquent debt." Tess peers at me questioningly, out of the loop.

"You know, it's tough to give out good business loans these days, especially in Maple Ridge. Most of the credit union's lending goes toward new developments in Springville these days. That's where all the action is. But you two should come by this week. I might have a program that can help you out."

Tess perks up for the first time since getting the bad news. "Really?"

"Really," says Mr. Roberts, smiling. "No promises, but I'll see what I can do."

"We appreciate that," I say, and automatically extend my arm again for a handshake, not thinking.

Mr. Roberts almost takes it, but then brushes his hand through his hair in an awkward last-minute deflection. He takes a bottle of hand sanitizer out of his pocket and squirts some on his hands, then rubs them together. I cock an eyebrow. We didn't even shake hands this time. What the fuck?

"You two have a good night, and hope to see you this week."

After he leaves, Tess leans in. "What was that about?"

I shake my head. "No idea. Dude's a total germaphobe."

Tess gives me a look. I just shrug.

* * *

Tess and I walk back toward her apartment after finishing clean-up at the potluck. It's dark out, like that night eight years ago. The crisp night air bites at my ears, but compared to the frigid desert nights in the Middle East, it's nothing.

"Tess," I say, "You did good back there. Proud of you." I wouldn't normally get soft like this, but I don't feel like busting her balls right now.

Shit. Ever since I first laid eyes on her, I haven't stopped thinking about tasting that sweet pussy of hers. But am I starting to let her get under my skin? Like, for real?

Nah. I can keep shit straight in my own mind. A little of that tight pussy would be just that, some of the best pussy I've had. That's not the same shit as feelings.

"Thanks," she says, and the back of her hand brushes against mine in the dark. I don't know if she did it on purpose. Neither one of us acknowledge it.

"I was thinking," I say, "What happens ten years down the road, or fifteen?"

"What do you mean, between us?"

My face scrunches up, and I'm not sure what the hell she means. It's a good thing it's dark out so she can't see me roll my eyes at her. "No, dummy," I say, "I mean, what happens to Maple Ridge."

"It keeps getting smaller and smaller."

"Yeah," I say. "You see how many old folks there were tonight?"

"A lot."

"Yeah. And young folks?"

"Hardly any."

"Yeah." We keep walking in silence, our heels the only sounds except for the crickets. "So that's what I mean. The population is shrinking. Your idea for a diner sounds good at first. But I'm thinking it's too old-school."

"Maybe," says Tess thoughtfully. "Maybe I'm barking up the wrong tree. Maybe I should get out of here, and go to Springville like everybody else. Just open a crepe shop at the Springville Tech campus, or something."

"Or, make something that attracts new people to Maple Ridge. Younger folks."

"That's a tall order, Hunter. It's not like I can single-handedly save this town."

We take a few steps in silence. I shrug. "You can try."

"So, like, something catchy that young people like."

"Yeah."

"What do young people even like these days?" she asks.

"One of my Navy buddies told me about this shit he saw online. Rainbow bagels."

"What's a rainbow bagel?"

"A tie-dye bagel made with food coloring."

"Sounds disgusting."

"From what I hear, the hype of the rainbow bagel is unbelievable. It's trending, whatever the hell that means."

"You're saying if I open a rainbow bagel shop, it'll attract a bunch of young kids to Maple Ridge and single-handedly save the economy."

I shrug. "I got no idea. You're the one with the business degree. But way I see it, something like that could have a better shot than an old-school diner that'll serve a bunch of geriatrics until they fucking croak and put you out of business."

We stop to look both ways before crossing the street, and suddenly Tess leans forward on her tip-toes and plants a quick kiss on my cheek.

Moonlight peeks through the trees, and her skin looks so damn soft and fine in the night light. I just want to crush my lips against hers, but there's no way in hell I'd let myself do it. I'd let her put those lips around my cock, though.

"Let's not get too emotional here," I say, wiping my cheek off with the back of my hand.

Tess grins. "You're sweet to suggest that. Rainbow bagels. That's a bold idea. A bold idea that just might work."