Page 1

Chapter 1

Henry Riggs

An unknown liquid dripped from my hands as I thought about the mess out back in the trash area. The stench of hot, wet garbage clung to my nose as I scraped what appeared to be a soggy pretzel from my boot before walking back into the Roadhouse.

“You still good with me stealing Hudson away a little early tonight?” Lance asked from his perch on the bar stool, my eyes adjusting to the dim light inside the bar.

“What?” I glanced at my hands and curled my lip. “Oh, yeah, sorry.”

“What’s that?” Lance asked. The man had known me since I was born, and he knew my big, gruff-ish exterior was just a facade. I didn’t get close to people easily, but in all actuality, I was a big softie.

“Someone or something has been going through the trash. Made a huge mess and I’ve got garbage juice all over me.”

Lance wrinkled his nose. “Gross. Animal? ”

“That’s what I thought at first, but animals usually eat pretty much anything they find. This seemed to be picked through.” I washed my hands, the heavy-duty hand soap slicking away the putrid liquid. Not sure the smell would ever be washed from my nose. “Never mind, sorry, what were you saying?”

“Still willing to help me get Hudson away early today?”

Lance was my dad’s lifelong best friend, but ever since he’d returned to Haven Grove a while back there’d been something simmering between Lance and my younger brother, Hudson.

I wasn’t sure it was a great idea, but I also wasn’t convinced it was a bad idea.

I wasn’t a fan of my brother’s “hookup and never develop feelings” approach to dating—especially because it stemmed from our traumatic past, domestically speaking—but the thought of Hudson and Lance together when there was a lot of history there had me waffling. On one hand, I knew no one would treat Hudson better than Lance. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure anyone could be ready for the blow up when my dad found out his best friend was fucking his son.

But in all honesty, Hudson’s dating life wasn’t really my business. I trusted Lance. Hudson was a big ol’ golden retriever even if he insisted on never letting his heart get involved in things. The two of them could figure out their own shit.

As long as my brother was safe and taken care of, I wasn’t going to get too much involved.

“You remember he doesn’t date, right? I don’t know how you think you’re going to get him to agree to a date.” I also didn’t really date—as in a little when I was younger, and not at all these days—but I opted to keep myself pretty much closed off from anyone other than family, while Hudson slept around. Bisexuality in a small town didn’t really afford a person a lot of dating options, even if Haven Grove was a pretty accepting place if I’d wanted to date. Yeah, I could find someone on one of the apps— not ClickC*ck, which is what Hudson used for hookups, but maybe one of the other ones known more for finding relationships—but the thought of meeting strangers and doing the whole get to know you thing just sent shivers down my spine. If I was ever going to find someone, I wanted it to happen naturally. Just two people drawn together and learning about each other.

Not that I expected that to happen in our little town, but that’s the way I’d like it to play out if it ever did.

“He’s not going to know it’s a date,” Lance said with a shrug. “It’s an undercover date.”

“You’re going to trick him into a date?”

“That’s the plan.”

I eyed Lance with a smirk. “I don’t see how it’s going to work, but yeah, I’ll tell him to head out early and you can do what you need to do.”

Hudson walked into the main bar from the back a couple minutes later. “What’s up with the trash?” he asked. “Looks like some panicked kid went through each bag searching for a retainer or something.”

Nostalgia washed over me, and I remembered Hudson at about thirteen frantically searching for his retainer with Lance. Luckily, they’d uncovered the missing mouthpiece before Dad found out. Honestly, Lance had been our savior as kids more than once. Dad may have been physically present, but he was often absent emotionally back then, and having Lance around had been exactly what Hudson and I needed. He took Dad’s place sometimes, acted as a buffer other times; he kept our little family together, and I knew the Riggs family was better off because of him.

Just wasn’t sure how everything was going to play out now that Lance was back in town and had plans to trick Hudson into a date.

Again, though, not my business.

“Yeah,” I huffed. “I don’t know. Kinda worried we’ve got a hungry person dumpster diving, but they’ve been getting in the bags by the door before I even get them to the dumpster.” I frowned, thinking about the situation. “Hate the idea someone is that hungry.”

I had some picnic plates with domed screens. I could put some food out for the person. We always had extra from the bar’s kitchen even after I saved some for leftovers. Something pulled in my heart at the thought of a person being desperate enough to dig through trash.

Hudson’s eyes softened. My brother knew me too well. “Well, at least it’s warm right now. Would hate for you to have to give them five blankets instead of the pillow and two blankets I can already see you planning on.”

Clearing my throat, I set to work wiping down the bar. There was no reason to argue my brother’s comment. If it came down to it…if the mystery person didn’t move on in a day or so…I’d leave a blanket and pillow for him. The old booth we’d moved outside a few years ago would serve as a decent little place to curl up and rest .

I’d wait to see how things played out.

Hudson, Lance, and I talked for a few more minutes before they headed out, and I got busy with the lunch rush.

As things died down, a flash of golden blond hair caught my attention at the end of the bar. I hadn’t noticed the guy earlier, but he was finishing off a piece of chocolate cake and a large glass of milk.

Tossing the bar towel over my shoulder, I headed his way. “Sorry about that,” I started, but stopped midsentence when he turned the most gorgeous blue eyes my way. Ten seconds earlier, I would have told you blue eyes were blue eyes. Maybe there was a difference between dark blue and light blue, but nothing more. Looking into this guy’s eyes, I suddenly realized I’d missed out on all the ways to describe blue.

Icy aquamarine flecked with deep sapphire.

I nearly swallowed my tongue, but I cleared my throat and tried again. “Sorry about that, I didn’t see you down here. Didn’t mean to ignore you.”

The man smiled.

Holy.

Shit.

If I thought I’d nearly choked on my own tongue over his eyes, the smile would be what knocked me on my ass.

“No worries.” His smooth voice and casual words brought me back from the daydream I was having about his smile.

Those lips were probably illegal. At least in a couple states.

“I was at a booth, but a group came in. I moved to the bar to finish my cake, so they didn’t have to wait.” He fidgeted with the collar of his t-shirt before brushing a hand down the open denim button-up he wore.

Gorgeous and kindhearted.

“Thanks for that. Can I get you anything else?” I asked.

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

My brain attempted to tell my feet to walk away, but my chest squeezed tight while my mouth tried its best to find something to say.

I was a bar owner. Of course, I enjoyed chatting with customers.

But this was different, and I didn’t know why.

He glanced up at me with a question on those perfectly sculpted brows.

“Well, I’ll let you eat your cake in peace,” I mumbled before heading to the back hallway next to the kitchen. What the hell was going on? I didn’t get all flustered over an attractive customer. He hadn’t even been flirting.

Let the man eat his cake, Riggs, for fuck’s sake.

I blew out a breath.

“You okay?” Kayla asked as she came around the corner. “Why are your cheeks all red?”

“The guy at the end of the bar.” I tipped my head.

“Yeah?”

“What did he order?” Least I could do was comp his meal.

“Just the cake and milk.”

“Tell me when he’s ready to pay, I want to cover it since he moved for that group, and because I didn’t realize he was at the bar.”

“Can’t. He asked if cash was okay when he ordered and paid with a ten when I brought his cake and milk.” Kayla shrugged.

“Damn. Okay, thanks.” I glanced toward where the guy sat. I’d never seen him in town before. Would it be too forward to offer him a meal on the house next time he came in? Just to thank him for his kindness. Maybe he was just passing through, and wouldn’t ever be back in. What about a free drink? The peach sours and lemon drop martinis were popular right now.

Yeah. A free drink. Keep him at the bar, get him talking.

I turned toward the bar, and my heart sank.

Cake crumbs and an empty glass.

The guy was gone.

A few days later, Hudson pored over some paperwork for our family’s peach orchard and the family general store, the Juicy Peach, but he looked loopy and unfocused.

“Man, you don’t look so hot,” I said.

“Just a headache,” Hudson muttered.

“Your cheeks look like you’ve got a fever,” I said, reaching out a hand to touch my brother’s forehead like I’d done a million times as he was growing up. “You’re burning up. Go home and sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“Damn it, Hudson, go home before you get me or my customers sick.”

Hudson glanced up with a frown .

“Seriously, go home. I’ve got enough going on here with the trash bandit?—”

“That’s still a thing?” he asked.

“Yeah, but I’m just leaving food on plates now. Whoever it is has started using the blankets and pillow I left out. They’re eating at the booth out back,” I said, “and they must be curling up there to sleep. They keep everything neat and tidy.”

“Just stay out there and catch them,” Hudson muttered.

“I mean, I’m not trying to catch anyone. Not like they’re in trouble. Wouldn’t mind helping them, but I don’t want to spook them and have them run away. If they’re eating food and sleeping, I at least know they’re somewhat safe. Haven Grove isn’t dangerous. Maybe I’ll meet them at some point.”

A weird little something tugged in my gut whenever I thought of my mysterious stranger. I was a caregiver at heart, and protecting my brother had been something I took very seriously after our mom fucked off, so it wasn’t surprising I already had a soft spot for this person. I found myself thinking about them, worrying, wanting to happen outside to see who was sleeping on the old booth out back in the wee hours of the morning.

But they seemed skittish, and I was a big guy who could come off as gruff if a person didn’t know me, so I’d wait.

They weren’t disrupting anything.

Hell, I’d had employees leave bigger messes out back than this guy did.

Guy? Gal? I guess I didn’t know .

Either way, my helper’s heart was happy as long as they were safe and somewhat comfortable for the time being. If the situation needed something else, the right direction would likely show itself.

“Could call the marshal,” Hudson said, his teeth chattering.

“Why? I don’t want them in trouble. As long as they aren’t hurting anything or doing anything illegal, I don’t mind it.” I pointed a finger at my brother. “Get out of here. You’re sick.”

“S’posed to meet with Lance,” Hudson slurred. “Gotta look at numbers.”

“I’ll tell him you’re sick. Dad and I will take care of the orchard and the store for a few days. Go. Home. Don’t come back here until the fever has broken. If it gets worse, get to the doctor.”

My brother gathered his things, stumbled from his stool, and gave a halfhearted wave as he headed out the door.

The Riggs family was known for a few things.

The small-town drama my mom stirred up when she wrote a goodbye note and left my dad with two little boys thirty-plus years ago.

The scandal shortly after when Dad went to confide in his brother and found Mom in bed with Uncle Billy.

The feud that raged between Casey Joe and Billy Riggs for years until my uncle drank himself to death.

And peaches.

We owned the biggest, most successful peach orchard in the entire Midwest.

Uncle Billy almost ran it into the ground before he died, but Hudson was working his ass off to save the orchard and the Juicy Peach general store.

Those peaches inspired many a drink at the Riggs Family Roadhouse where I manned the bar and ran the place. Dad used to be more involved, but he’d been going downhill lately. Not because he was that old—he and Mom got pregnant with me pretty young—but he’d never been the same since our mom left, and even more so since Billy died.

Casey Joe Riggs needed a change in his life.

I wasn’t sure exactly what that was going to be, but he couldn’t go on the way he was. Dad was a good guy who had been dealt a shit hand. He had a lot of love to give if the right person ever came along and convinced him to give it another chance.

Anyway, Dad and I could handle the orchard, the store, and the Roadhouse while Hudson slept away whatever illness had him down. My brother was a newer full-time addition to the business, taking over for Billy and trying to overcome our uncle’s fuck ups, so it wasn’t like Dad and I weren’t used to doing a lot of it on our own anyway. Billy hadn’t been a lot of help in the years before his death; too busy drowning in his drink and almost letting the orchard go to shit.

That night, as I packed up leftovers for myself and made a plate for my mystery person, I checked the radar. Storms were predicted over the next few days to weeks thanks to an unstable atmosphere, but the forecast for that night was just a gentle, soaking rain.

Good for the orchard.

Bad for a person roughing it .

Placing the plate under the little screened picnic dome, I glanced around the area outback. The booth was partially covered, but a pouring rain would soak anyone trying to curl up on the bench.

I yanked open the utility cabinet, the scent of citronella, polyethylene, old paint, and varnish assaulting my senses. I rummaged through for something I hoped was still there. Ah, yeah, there it was. The tarp. We’d used it a couple years ago when a limb fell and busted through the roof of the Roadhouse during a storm.

The tarp was folded neatly and wrapped up with four elastic cords complete with hooks. Surely a person as resourceful as my mystery man would be able to figure out a way to rig up a little shelter.

Just in case, I headed inside and grabbed a notebook from my office.

Supposed to rain tonight, thought you might want some protection from the weather. Use it however you want. Is the food okay?

Henry

It was already getting dark; I’d gotten myself lost in thought as I’d cleaned up the bar. If I didn’t go upstairs soon, the stranger might just skip dinner and head on out of town .

And for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, I didn’t want that to happen.

Didn’t want that to happen at all.

I put the notebook on the edge of the table where it would most likely stay dry, checked that the plate of food was covered and protected from bugs, and tossed the tarp onto the bench seat.

“Stay safe,” I whispered into the midwestern summer night, my words barely audible over the intense buzz of cicadas as dusk fought to hold on for a few more moments.

I didn’t understand the pull I had toward this mystery person, but my gut told me they needed protecting.

I didn’t date. Didn’t let myself get involved in relationships. Didn’t have any desire to end up in a situation where someone leaving could rip my heart out again.

But protecting those I cared about was what I did. It was my thing, and I was good at it.

The only thing that kept me from checking on the stranger overnight was the fact my bedroom window in the apartment above the Roadhouse looked out over the front of the building, not the back.

But come morning, I found the tarp spread out and a note.

Thank you. The food is good. Letting the tarp dry .

The handwriting was closer to chicken scratches, and he hadn’t left a name.

That was okay, he didn’t owe me his name.

He knew mine, and maybe he’d start to trust me.

I kept an eye on the weather over the next week. The expected storms had fizzled out, but the forecast had another round predicted to pop up. The tarp wouldn’t do anything in a storm.

My mystery guy and I wrote notes every day. Mostly just hello, thank you, superficial stuff. It was clear handwriting was a struggle for him, and he almost never wrote more than a few words. Finally, I gave him my number and suggested texting might be easier.

That night, I kicked myself.

You fool. This guy is sleeping on a bench, and you think he has a cell phone?

But my phone buzzed about an hour later.

Unknown Number: Thanks. Texting is a lot easier.

After staring at my phone with my brow wrinkled for much too long, I finally realized who it was and saved his number to my phone.

Me: There’s supposed to be a storm tonight. Not telling you what to do, but that tarp isn’t going to keep you dry when the wind starts up. You’re welcome to come to my place. I can give you the couch .

The typing bubbles appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared.

And then nothing.

Shit.

If he’d seen me around, he maybe thought I looked intimidating. Over six feet tall, broad shoulders, beard, and a heavy, sometimes scowly brow would do that sometimes.

Or maybe he just wasn’t super trusting. Would I sleep on a stranger’s couch in a town I didn’t know? Probably not.

Me: Or I can leave the backdoor to the bar open. You can stretch out in one of the booths inside. There’s a shower in the back bathroom. Nothing fancy, but there’s soap and a towel. And you’d be dry inside.

What the hell was I doing?

Mystery Guy: Doesn’t seem smart to let a stranger into your business.

Me: You going to rob me?

Mystery Guy: Not me. But others might.

Me: I’m offering it to you, not others. Door will be unlocked.

Mystery Guy: Beggars can’t be choosers. Don’t feel right about it but can’t turn down a shower .

My heart tugged in my chest. Poor guy. How long had he been living out of a bag, sleeping outside, hiding out, and just needing a warm shower along with a comfortable place to sleep?

My mind was still on my mystery guy when the blond with a killer smile walked into the Roadhouse the next day. He looked a bit rumpled, but his hair shone in the bar lights, and he could have been a model in a toothpaste commercial.

“Welcome back,” I greeted when he took a seat at the bar and pushed his backpack under the stool. “What can I get ya?”

“Water to start, please.” He wore faded jeans, tennis shoes that definitely weren’t new, another t-shirt, and the denim button-up left open again.

“You got it.” As I filled a water glass, I noticed the kid thumbing through some bills in his wallet. When I placed his glass on the bar, I went with my usual instead of worrying about his finances. “Special today is the Roadhouse burger, onion rings, and peach cobbler for dessert.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Don’t really like peaches.” He fiddled with the t-shirt collar again, pulling it up to rub it along his bottom lip.

I chuckled. “He says to part owner of the Riggs Family Orchard, one of the largest peach orchards in the area.”

Blondie winced. “Sorry.”

“How can you not like peaches?”

He shrugged. “Just never took a liking to them.”

I crossed my arms. “You ever have fresh, ripe peaches? ”

Another shrug. “Just whatever school had in the fruit cocktail.”

I slapped my hand to my forehead, and the guy snorted.

“What?” he asked, grinning as he took a drink.

“Canned peaches? You’ve only ever had canned peaches, and you let that determine if you like them?”

He stared at me, big blue eyes blinking over his water glass.

“Okay, challenge accepted. I’m going to treat you to fresh peaches.”

“Oh, um, I was just going to get something small,” the guy started.

I waved him away. “The Great Peach Challenge is on the house, and so is your lunch.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Is a free lunch supposed to sway me toward your peachy ways?”

“The free lunch is because you were helpful when we were packed the other day,” I said, rubbing my hands together. “Okay, do you want to order your own lunch, and I’ll provide the peach-themed desserts? Or do you entrust me with the entire meal?”

The guy narrowed his eyes, but the sapphire flecks sparkled with humor. “Well, if it’s on the house, I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

I slapped my hands on the bar. “That’s the spirit.” A tickle of something played at the back of my head, but I ignored it, too excited about the challenge ahead of me. “Now, are you allergic to anything?”

He shook his head.

“Do you drink alcohol? ”

“Not daily, but on occasion.”

“Perfect. I’m gonna set you up with an appetizer and drink first, then I’ve got the perfect idea for your main course, and dessert will be a sampler.” My chest bubbled with excitement. I loved to cook, loved to see people truly enjoy a meal. Throughout the week, we served the usual bar fare. On the weekends, I upped my game with some higher-scale dinner options. And today, my skills were going to be put to the test.

I decided to make a little flight of drinks for him to try. “My name’s Henry, by the way.” Peach Sour, a peach cider, Sex on the Beach, Fuzzy Navel, and just for the fun of it since I’d been playing around with something citrusy, a Lemon Drop Martini. Just small samples of each, I didn’t want the guy going on his way tipsy.

He hesitated, watching me create his drinks. “Um, I’m Jackson. Usually Jack. Never Jackie.”

Hmmm, there was a story there.

Maybe I’d hear it someday.

I refilled his water and placed the drink sampler in front of him. “Good to meet ya, Jack. All the peach drinks are made with our very own peach simple syrup—no fake peach flavor here. You’ve got a Peach Sour, peach cider, Sex on the Beach, and a Fuzzy Navel.” I pointed to each drink as I named them, loving the way he cocked a brow at Sex on the Beach. “This one is a Lemon Drop Martini I’ve been playing around with. Keep drinking your water, and I’ll be back with an appetizer.”

Jack gave a little shake of his head and a smile before picking up the cider.

I rushed through the swinging doors to the back, the warm, fragrant air blasting me in the face. Hot oil, fresh onions, searing meat mixed with the scents of heavy-duty dish soap and bleach water.

Fueled by the gleam in Jack’s eyes over whatever game this was we were playing, I quickly plated up four boneless wings with a side of our sweet and spicy peach barbeque sauce. I wanted to toss the wings in the sauce, but in case he wasn’t a fan, I opted to let him dip.

Ignoring my cook’s confused look, I headed back toward the bar.

“If you don’t care for them, I don’t expect you to eat them,” I said as I placed the plate in front of him. “You like any of those drinks?”

“The lemon drop thing was awesome. The rest were good.”

I smirked. “Just determined not to like peach, huh?”

Jack grinned. “I just really liked the lemon.”

“Okay, you enjoy the wings. I’m going to work on your meal. You okay with a flaky white fish? I can do chicken too, but I thought you might want something different after the wings.”

“I like fish,” he said with a shrug before dipping a wing in the sauce.

Trying to hide my smile at the way his eyes lit up with his first bite, I glanced around to make sure my servers had all the tables covered and headed back to the kitchen.

“Any reason you’re back here messing up my kitchen when you’re supposed to be manning the bar?” Sam asked, his beefy arms crossed over his chest, two different smears of today’s lunch on his crisp white apron.

“You know I like to cook just as much as I like to mix drinks and chat with customers.” I grabbed two filets of the white fish, sprinkled them with a fragrant seasoning, and tossed them on the grill. “Just wanted to try out this fish taco recipe before we put it on the menu.” Sam and I were beyond competent at the grill, and we took turns as needed, but it was usually me coming up with the ideas, and Sam executing the cooking.

“Got anything to do with the cute guy you’ve been drooling over at the end of the bar?” Sam’s eyes twinkled before he returned to his work.

“What? No.” Hoping my face was as neutral as I meant for it to be, I mixed up a peach and mango salsa.

“Kayla said you were bummed when he left before you got to comp his meal the other day,” Sam continued.

“My employees need to mind their own damn business,” I grumbled, adding cilantro, onion, and lime to the peach salsa while the fish sizzled on the grill. The mix of scents wafted on the steamy air and added just the right punchy zest to the meal.

Sam chuckled. “I had an order for steamed veggies earlier, you want some of those?”

I glanced at the colorful mix of red peppers, carrots, zucchini, yellow squash, and cauliflower. “Yeah, that looks amazing.” I chunked the fish, loaded three tortillas with thinly shredded cabbage and the flaky pieces of grilled fish, and spooned the peach and mango salsa into a ramekin. With a large scoop of the steamed and seasoned veggies finishing the picture-perfect plate, I tossed a couple limes atop the fish tacos.

“Looks good,” Sam said .

“Jack says he doesn’t like peaches.” I wiped the edge of the plate.

“Jack, huh?” Sam winked.

I huffed. “Everyone has a name.”

“And this person with a name doesn’t like peaches?”

“Correct.”

“And he’s in Haven Grove?” Sam asked with a smirk.

“He’s only ever had canned peaches.”

Sam winced.

“Right?”

“So, you’re going to prove him wrong?”

I smiled. “The Great Peach Challenge. Peach drinks, peach BBQ wings, peach salsa, and the most important part, peach desserts.”

“You gonna ask him out?” Sam elbowed me.

Snorting, I picked up the plate. “I don’t even know the guy. And I don’t do the whole dating thing.”

Sam shrugged. “If he keeps coming in, you’ll know him before long.”

“Even if I was interested, he’s at least ten years younger than me.”

Sam eyed me like he knew something I didn’t. “Hudson and Lance don’t seem to mind the gap.” He waggled his brow at the mention of one of the worst kept secrets in Haven Grove. “And age is just a number.”

I rolled my eyes and flipped him off.

When I reached the bar, Jack’s appetizer plate was empty, the flight of drinks drained, and he slurped the last of his water before wiping a napkin over his mouth.

“Lunch is served.” I placed the tacos in front of him. “Let me get you more water. You want another drink? ”

“Water is good,” Jack said, his eyes greedily taking in the tacos. “These look amazing.”

“Grilled fish tacos with peach and mango salsa, fresh steamed veggies. You don’t have to use the salsa, but it’s the perfect addition to the fish.” I grabbed his water glass and refilled it. “Enjoy. I’ll let you be while you eat. Don’t fill up too much, you’ve still got dessert.”

I made a round through the Roadhouse, chatting with locals, clearing a couple tables, and taking a few drink orders. Keeping an eye on Jack without hovering, I waited until he looked to be nearing the end of his meal and headed to the kitchen to start his desserts.

Citrus grilled peaches, peach pound cake, and peach crisp with ice cream from The Sweet & Creamy Dairy Palace in town. Just a tiny bit of each, but hopefully enough to give him a better impression of peaches.

“Dude, there’s no way I can finish all of this.” Jack had two tacos left on his plate when I emerged from the kitchen with dessert. “Do you do doggie bags?”

“Sure thing. I’ll pack you up good.” I placed the tiny bowls of dessert in front of him. “Citrus grilled peaches, peach pound cake, and peach crisp with ice cream from right here in town.”

Jack dug right in starting with the citrus grilled peaches. He chewed, swallowed, and took another bite.

I waited while the din of voices and silverware rang in my ears and sweet peachy goodness teased my nose.

And waited.

Finally, he grinned. “Fine, these are fucking delicious.”

Letting out a whoosh of air, I sagged. “Hell, yeah they are.” I gestured toward the tiny bowls. “Try the rest. I’ll get a box for your tacos.”

When I returned with a to-go box, Jack had eaten most of the grilled peaches, half the pound cake, and was scooping up the last bit of peach crisp and ice cream.

“Oh my god,” Jack said. “I never knew.”

I cocked a brow.

“Never knew how good real peaches were. All this time, I swore I didn’t like them. And this ice cream is fuckin’ amazing.”

“I’ll be sure to let Lance know. His family owns The Sweet & Creamy Dairy Palace. They’ve been making ice cream longer than I’ve been alive.”

“I probably can’t pay for everything, but at least let me pay something.” Jack reached for his wallet.

“Nope. I said it was on the house. Plus, converting you to the peachy side is payment enough.”

Jack grinned. “The peachy side, huh?”

“Yep. You can’t live in Haven Grove and not love peaches.” I wanted to ask what brought him to town. Wanted to know where he was staying.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing you converted me.”

So, he lived here? The Haven Grove rumor mill would work its magic and provide information about Jack soon enough. But I didn’t want gossip and rumors. I wanted to learn about Jack from Jack.

And what was that about? Since when did I want to learn more about a person? I had my brother, my dad, and Lance in my life. Beyond that, I’d never really felt the need for more people getting close to me. Arm’s length was good enough for me .

Hudson was a pro at hooking up and sending people on their way.

Me? My heart got too involved too easily, so I just shut most people out.

But really, it was no big deal. I got to know bar patrons all the time. Maybe not on a deep level, but I was friendly enough with most people in town.

Getting to know Jack was no different.

And it wasn’t like I had a thing for him. He was way too young for me even if I was looking for something romantic.

Which I wasn’t.

I kept most people on the outside of my close circle.

And I planned to keep it that way.

There was just something about Jack that made me want to delve a bit deeper than the usual superficial bar chatter.

It didn’t mean anything.