Page 48 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

CHAPTER 2

FORD

I startled awake as the plane touched down in Palm Springs. The flight had only been an hour long, and I’d slept the whole way.

Outside the plane, the February sun was shining, and the ground crew wore short sleeves. I smiled. This was a welcome change from Philadelphia, where I’d attended a conference over the weekend. Now the vacation portion of my trip could start. I was past ready.

As we taxied to the gate, I pulled my phone out of my laptop bag and powered it on. Only one text message, which was a relief. I’d left the vet clinic in the hands of my practice manager and my most senior veterinarian, and they shouldn’t need to contact me. But one of the other vets who worked for me, Doyle, had my dogs at the house he shared with his boyfriend Kurt, and they were stopping by my place to feed my cats twice a day.

I clicked on the messaging app, and my eyebrows flew up. Oh, shit. Someone had my bag? Wait, I had someone else’s bag? How was that possible? I’d grabbed it from the carousel. It was green with a white tag. None of the other bags on the carousel had matched it, though I hadn’t stuck around to look at all of them. I’d had to hurry over to the counter to check it for this flight, as I’d changed airlines and hadn’t been able to check it all the way through to Palm Springs.

I’d carried on my black suitcase, as it had wheels and was easier to haul through the airport. So I couldn’t confirm whether I had the wrong duffel until I got to Baggage Claim here. Fuck. I was sure it was true. I hadn’t verified it was my name on the luggage tag.

I ran my hand over my face. What was I going to do? It’d be fucking expensive to overnight this guy’s bag to him, but if he had something he urgently needed, I’d have to do it. Maybe it’d be cheaper to pay for him to go clothes shopping. Nah, probably not.

I’d have to pay for him to ship my bag to me as well. I had a direct flight back to Austin, so I wouldn’t be going through Vegas again.

Automatically I followed my seatmates off the plane, barely remembering to thank the flight crew. Most of us headed toward Baggage Claim.

I blinked when I exited Security and found myself outside in the bright sunshine and warm air. What the hell? Had I missed Baggage Claim? But no, there were signs. What kind of airport was this, where you went outside? Though it didn’t rain often in Palm Springs, and never snowed, so why not? This was California and a fucking vacation destination after all.

After I goggled at the statue of Sonny Bono, I forged ahead, grimacing at how warm my wool trousers were. My black suitcase was full of them.

Fuck, I was signed up for a bicycle tour on Wednesday. I’d have to buy some shorts. It’d be better than dying of heatstroke in February.

The green bag was one of the first to appear on the carousel. Yep, it was someone else’s bag. Now that I paid attention, I could see a dozen scuff marks that my bag, being almost new, didn’t have. And the tag was white like mine, but the logo was different. And there was Zachary Holt’s name and address. Huh, he lived in Austin. Maybe I could get him to take my duffel home with him. I didn’t mind buying some shorts and a swimsuit to get me through the rest of the week.

I hauled the bags over to a bench where I could sit down. Other passengers walked out of the Baggage Claim area, talking and laughing. Most of them were in shorts, and I saw quite a few Hawaiian shirts. Shit, I should’ve gone to one of the Margaritaville resorts instead.

No, this was only a minor setback. I’d come to Palm Springs for a reason. I had a plan, and I would execute it, luggage snafu or not, dammit.

I got my phone out and took a couple of deep breaths before I dialed.

“Hello, this is Zachary.” He sounded young, or at least younger than me. In the background I heard the unmistakable sound of slot machines.

“Hi, uh, this is Ford Pinkerton. The guy who took your bag. I am so sorry about the mix-up.”

“Hey, it’s all good. No harm done. I found your bag on Carousel 14, but mine would’ve been on 12.”

I groaned. “Sorry, I was in a huge hurry trying to make my next flight.”

“It’s fine. Where are you staying?”

“Um, yeah. See, I was only in Vegas to change planes. I had to switch airlines, which is why my bag was in Baggage Claim. I just landed in Palm Springs.”

“Fuck, seriously? Hang on, let me go somewhere quiet.” The background sounds changed until they were mostly muted. “Okay, sorry. You said you’re in Palm Springs?”

“Yeah. I came from Philadelphia and there weren’t any direct flights. Look, I’m sure you need your stuff. Tomorrow’s Monday, so I can go to FedEx and overnight your bag to you.” I silently cringed for my bank account.

“What? Are you kidding? That’ll cost a ton.”

“It’ll be fine, but if you don’t mind bringing my bag home with you, we don’t live too far apart, and I can come pick it up.”

“Dude, no. There’s nothing in my bag I can’t get by without. I’m only here til Friday. I’ll pick up a bathing suit in the hotel shop. It’ll be fine.”

I frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Don’t waste your money.” His tone was emphatic.

I shut my eyes and ran my hand through my hair. “I feel awful about this. Look, feel free to open my bag and use anything in there that’ll fit. Nothing’s terribly fashionable, but there is a swimsuit. And the underwear is clean.” I told him my basic sizes.

“Hey, we’re pretty close in size. Thanks, man, I appreciate it. And same for me. Feel free to wear anything that fits.” He cleared his throat. “But gotta warn ya, some of my underwear is a little lacy.”

I paused. “I’m sorry, did you say lacy ?”

“Well, yeah. I was planning to pull some guys while I was in Vegas. Gotta show off the goods, you know?”

“Oh, uh. Me too. I mean, I was planning to, uh, pull some... guys. It’s why I picked Palm Springs.” My whole body went hot just admitting that. Why the hell was I telling a stranger my personal business?

I could hear the grin in his voice. “Excellent. Hey, are you staying in one of those men-only motels they have there? I’ve been meaning to try one out.”

“Uh, no. I’m not, uh—it’s not really my style.” No way was I brave enough for someplace like that.

“Too bad. But still, you have to wear some of my panties. They’ll make you feel like a million bucks.”

“I don’t know, Zachary.” By which I meant, hell no .

“Well, at least try them on and tell me how you feel, okay?”

I grimaced. I wasn’t a lacy underwear kind of guy. “I—maybe.”

“Alright! But fair warning, I’m going to check on you to see if you’ve done it or not. Hey, listen, I’ve gotta jet. Good talking to you, and thanks for letting me wear your stuff.” He hung up.

I gazed down at Zachary’s bag. He’d been much nicer than he’d had to be. Too bad my outfits, chosen by an unfashionable forty-five-year-old, would be way too boring for him.

But I’d try on his clothes. Well, not the underwear. But this trip was supposed to be an adventure, get me out of my comfort zone. Wearing a younger guy’s clothes could be exactly what I needed to put me in the right mindset.