Page 2

Chapter 2

Jackson Garner

Taking a deep breath of the warm, sticky late summer air heavy with fresh-cut grass, honeysuckle, and the nearby sweet scent of peaches, I let the peacefulness of this place wash over me. The calmness in my soul was new. I hadn’t yet gotten used to the fact no one was yelling at me, and my anxiety had dropped by several degrees.

I got a couple curious glances and a few friendly smiles as I stretched my legs in the parking lot outside the Roadhouse. I’d taken to getting up super early, filling my water bottle, washing up a bit, and then strolling around town. I’d been here long enough people recognized me, but it was clear they didn’t know who I was. Some whispered, but most still offered me a friendly nod and wave. I’d always heard small towns were friendly, and Haven Grove was proving that adage true.

I glanced at the restaurant I’d come to consider my home base. The Roadhouse was a bi-level building. From the front, the single level stretched out to the right. That’s where the bar, dining room, open area for pool and darts, kitchen, and restrooms for patrons were located. The far end of the single level looked to be an extra space of some sort, but it appeared to be empty.

The two-story part of the building came up off the back area. On the ground level, there was a workroom, storage room, office, and private restroom. The outside back area housed an old booth, a storage cabinet, and wooden stairs leading up to what I assumed was the owner’s apartment. The apartment’s shape was boxy from the outside, but it appeared large enough to provide a nice living area on the inside.

The Roadhouse was neat and clean, but it looked every single bit like what you’d expect a small-town bar and restaurant to look like. It wasn’t a five-star eatery; there was absolutely nothing fancy about it. But the food was delicious, and the owner was one of the kindest people I’d ever met. Plus, he made an amazing Lemon Drop Martini, and his other cocktails were pretty good as well.

This town was nothing like the huge city I’d come from. Nothing about that place was friendly—namely the people I was forced to call my family. For years, I’d dreamed of leaving, striking out on my own, realizing my own dreams, but fear held me back.

No more, though.

It was close enough to lunch time I thought I could wander into the Roadhouse and kill some time—which seemed like all I’d been doing lately, but no one had scolded me for it. And I enjoyed the people watching and friendly atmosphere .

Being on my own, being allowed to make my own decisions, being treated as a trusted adult…all of that was going to take some getting used to. But I already knew I liked it. The giddy butterflies flitting around my gut told me leaving had been the right decision, and I was on the right track. It was just going to take some time to overcome two decades of conditioning that had my head and heart doubting nearly everything.

I placed my backpack under the bar stool. I’d reached a point where I had to make a decision one way or another. Haven Grove was a place I wanted to stay, but I had no idea how to go about making that a reality.

When I’d arrived in the little town, I’d opted to hang out for a bit to get my bearings. I liked the name of the town. I liked the idea of a haven, a place to rest and reset. Thought I’d maybe chill for a while before moving on if the initial good vibes wore off.

But then I met Henry Riggs.

Henry offered me kindness and generosity—a complete stranger, yet he took care of me better and more genuinely than anyone in nearly twenty years. Henry kept me safe and protected—although, he didn’t know that part yet. And he helped me realize I actually liked peaches—the real kind, not the canned ones we got at school.

Not to mention he was drop-dead gorgeous.

But I obviously wasn’t thinking about staying in Haven Grove because of a handsome bartender. I’d spent too many years just going through the motions of life based on what others wanted instead of living for me.

No. If I stayed, it would be because of more than just Henry .

But that didn’t stop me from thinking about making this little town my home.

At twenty-five, I hadn’t felt at home anywhere since I was six. And even those memories had faded to the point I barely trusted them anymore. From time to time, I’d catch a whiff of perfume—something like roses—and it would wake something inside me trying to recall if that was what she smelled like. Or I’d hear a woman’s laughter, and I’d wonder if that was how she sounded.

Each passing year chipped away more and more of my tiny treasure trove of memories. Even the two photographs I carried in my wallet, corners ragged and colors fading, were only artifacts—proof of a good life I once lived, but so far removed from who I was now it was hard to imagine I was ever that small. Or that we were ever that happy.

She would have wanted me to be happy. I didn’t need vivid memories to confirm the one thing my heart knew deep down. My mother didn’t want to leave me. She fought tooth and nail to stay with me, and she wouldn’t have ever wished for me to go to the home I ended up in. But even with the fading scent of her perfume, longing to hear her laughter one more time, and the disconnect when I gazed at those long-ago photos, I knew without a doubt that she would have been supportive. My biggest fan.

Like a poem on a loop, I heard her tired, weak, fading voice every single day.

Be safe. Be healthy. Be happy, sweet boy. Never let anyone dull your zest for life. Live life to the fullest, and love until your heart is bursting.

Despite the smeared ink on her last words to me, the paper worn thin by my fingers and tucked tightly behind my two most treasured pictures, I’d lost her words over the years. No, lost wasn’t the right word. Her words had been drowned out in a toxic environment. In the quiet moments, few and far between, heavy-laden with anxiety, worry, and fear, I’d pick up her refrain. I’d hold on tight. I’d promise myself one day .

And one day finally happened.

So, there I was in a Podunk-but-welcoming town the size of a postage stamp.

Unsure of what the hell I was going to do.

Homeless and jobless.

But enjoying a sense of peace the likes of which I couldn’t remember in…well, ever.

Haven Grove was picture-perfect, exactly what you’d think a small-town centering around a peach orchard would look like. Old farmhouses, clapboard buildings built long ago mixed with newer ones, vehicles meant more for work than flash and swagger, average people just living their best lives, rolling hills, a scenic orchard spread out over several acres, and even a couple actual dirt roads leading here and there.

So very different from what I was used to, but I loved how quiet it was. Not like the town wasn’t full of life, but there weren’t the usual big city noises overtaking the background. Birds, crickets, frogs, and cicadas sang their melodies with the same gusto as those auditioning for the next big stage production here in Haven Grove. After years of big city cacophony and domestic dissonance, I’d taken to the small town quiet like a duck to water.

More than anything, I loved how quiet my soul could be here. Relaxed. At ease. Not on constant guard. From the moment I stepped off that bus it was like I could actually take a deep breath and know things were going to get better.

I needed to look around town and see if anyone was hiring. I’d seen the Juicy Peach orchard and general store, the Sweet I couldn’t even begin to imagine it in the autumn. Something about the place had me feeling more settled and at peace than I’d been in nearly two decades. And I’d seen a lot of people coming and going at the Roadhouse. Everyone seemed friendly enough.

Henry was the only person I’d say I actually knew, but I’d seen people I assumed were his family. I was pretty sure the guy with lighter hair than Henry’s was his brother—I’d heard one of the servers call him Hudson. He was taller, slightly less broad in the chest, and kinda reminded me of a golden retriever puppy who hadn’t grown into his feet yet. The brothers laughed and talked whenever Hudson came into the bar. They seemed close.

An older guy was often with Hudson. If I’d overheard correctly, his name was Lance, which made him the guy who owned the Sweet & Creamy Dairy Palace. Lance and Hudson looked a bit more like father and son based on their ages, but the way they touched and smiled had me thinking they definitely weren’t related.

Then there was a guy who looked to be about Lance’s age. He had to be Henry’s father. I’d heard a couple of the townsfolk call him Casey Joe or Casey, and one guy called him CJ. Lance called him Case a couple times. Casey Joe looked like the perfect mix of Henry and Hudson. He was built broader like Henry, but his features matched more with Hudson.

One thing I noticed sitting at the bar and moving about town was that Lance and Hudson were flirty—there was definitely something between them—but they never touched or flirted when Casey Joe was around. Interesting.

I’d always been good at watching people. In school, I struggled terribly with reading and writing. My uncle wouldn’t allow the school to test me for anything that maybe would have gotten me some extra support. “The Hills don’t do charity. This family doesn’t need any extra help in school or life. We take care of ourselves.”

He threw in some other words that weren’t worth repeating.

In one of my earliest life lessons, I learned that we take care of ourselves didn’t mean they took care of me . Just that they refused to get me any help.

But I watched in school and figured out quickly which kids were getting extra support. I made sure to sit near them—I’d pull my chair next to their small group. Soon enough, the teachers who came in to help included me in their groups. I got the extra support I needed with my uncle being none the wiser.

Thankfully, my struggles with reading and writing eased a bit as I got that help, and high school wasn’t as terrible. But I took advantage of every single offer of tutoring and extra help available.

Same with college. While I didn’t get to go to the school I really wanted to attend, I recognized that the business degree my uncle required me to get would come in handy in my future endeavors. The tutors and study tables at college were where I spent almost every moment of my free time.

Now that I was on my own, I had every intention of turning my hobby into a career. I just had to find the right place to put down roots and get my start.

I knew Haven Grove felt right. There was a draw to this place, a pull toward these people. I’d never been taken care of, and maybe this was the place I could find that. But more than anything, this tiny town and the people in it, felt like the perfect place for me to spread my wings. After so many shitty years, maybe I could finally learn to be true to myself rather than barely living life.