Candy Hearts, Vol. 3

Chapter 1

ONE

TRAVIS DEAN COOPER

The little slip of fortune cookie paper fluttered where I’d wedged it on my truck’s dashboard. Aside from indigestion, it was all I had left from an airport meal of chicken and broccoli the night before.

Why I’d saved the scrap of paper, I didn’t know.

Blame it on being exhausted from a travel nightmare which included a layover, a canceled flight, and a damn long drive to Haven Grove.

After years of functioning on little to no sleep, terrible flights, and long, uncomfortable rides, one would think I’d be better equipped to handle a bit of travel drama.

Instead, I found myself repeating the fortune like a mantra and yawning wide enough to pop my jaw as I drove into town.

Find love, luck, and pleasure in the simple life.

The simple life.

I’d left that behind when I said goodbye to my grandparents and joined the military all those years ago. Thought I wanted more than a simple, easy, small-town life.

Thought I needed to escape to find myself.

Escape the turmoil sparked by one stupid move.

Thought I needed to see the world to discover who I truly was.

Maybe I did.

The military had given me the opportunity to see places I’d only dreamed of. Provided me with training, food, shelter, and camaraderie. I didn’t regret the decision to leave and live my life.

But I hadn’t needed the years of service to know who I truly was.

Think I’d known all along.

What I had needed was the time and maturity I’d gained in order to accept who I was.

Knowing and accepting were two very different actions.

Find love, luck, and pleasure in the simple life.

Eight years of enlistment later, the simple life called to me like a siren to a ship.

Love, luck, and pleasure in a simple life?

Sign me the fuck up.

And there I was, back in Haven Grove—pretty much the heart of the Midwest if you ask me—ready to take on a new chapter in my life. A long, satisfying chapter if I had anything to say about it.

But first, I needed coffee.

All the travel shit meant I’d landed at some god-awful hour of the morning.

After waiting way too long for my luggage, I’d washed my face, brushed my teeth, put on a new layer of deodorant, and changed my shirt in an airport bathroom.

Once I was at least somewhat back among the living, I took a ride share to the nearest car dealership and put down a pretty chunk of change for a new truck—one I was pretty sure I’d dreamed about at least every third night for most of my teen years.

As I entered the outskirts of town, I was ready for breakfast before I headed out to the campground.

If the simple life would provide me with enough luck that Glazed Buns was still in business and still carried my favorite coffee, the very best breakfast sandwich, and cinnamon rolls to die for, I’d consider my day turned around.

As I neared the bakery, I did a double-take at the line out to the street.

What the hell?

Then I saw the sign indicating the drive-thru.

Damn, Glazed Buns had moved up in the world.

A drive-thru?

Nice.

Inching closer, I paused to crane my neck and look inside the window. The line in there was just as long.

Fine by me. Drive-thru it was.

Just as I turned my attention back to maneuvering my truck into the entrance, some jackass coming from the other way whipped his shiny blue truck in front of me.

Did he drive around the line and park to go inside?

Fuck, no, he didn’t.

This jerkoff cut right in front of me in line.

The truck had paper plates and sparkled in the early morning sunshine. Not a brand-new model, but a damn fine vehicle even if I was loathe to admit it.

The guy driving wore a baseball cap turned backwards, his head bobbing along while the fingers of his left hand tapped the driver’s side window ledge in time to whatever he was listening to.

Didn’t look like he had any idea he’d cut me off, but damn, man. I was right there in line, what the fuck did he think I was doing?

Maybe showing a bit of small-town hospitality and letting him slip in?

Fuck that.

A small, nagging voice at the back of my head—a voice sounding very much like my late Grandma Annie—reminded me I was back in a small town, and it wouldn’t hurt to brush up on my hospitality.

Shoving down a grumble, I inched my truck forward.

Hospitality would be a lot easier once I had some caffeine.

It was all good. I’d get my breakfast, and head out to the campground.

To say I’d been shocked to get the letter from my grandpa would be an understatement. I was a complete shit grandson and hadn’t been back to visit since the summer I showed up all those years ago, found out a certain someone wasn’t going to be there, and ran off to enlist.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d stayed in touch with my grandpa.

I’d been overseas when Grandma passed away.

Different deployment, but overseas again when my grandparents’ close friend and business partner, John Morton, passed away shortly thereafter.

I felt terrible that my grandpa and Wendy Morton were left to run the combined family businesses on their own, but I took comfort they at least had each other to turn to.

The Coopers and Mortons had always been close.

With only a car and the dipshit in the truck in front of me before it was my turn, I fiddled with the radio and thought about what Grandpa Pete had said in his letter.

He was moving to Florida and taking Wendy Morton with him.

They were tired of running the campground and bait shop, and they wanted to spend the rest of their years taking it easy in the sunshine.

If I wanted to take over, it was mine. I just had to get to Haven Grove and sign the papers by the end of January.

Did I want to take over?

The simple answer was yes.

The more complicated answer was also yes—I’d had plans to take over the business since I was a kid—but it included the fact I also wanted to settle down in Haven Grove, make a difference, feel like I was needed—valued?— and maybe, just maybe, get a chance at that love the fortune cookie hinted at.

Was a gay man likely to find love at a small-town campground and bait shop?

I snorted.

You could have had it way back then…

I ignored the words teasing at the back of my mind.

Hopefully the fortune cookie’s mention of luck would hold true, and I wouldn’t be alone as I set up my future in Haven Grove.

“Good morning, welcome to Glazed Buns. What can I get you?” The friendly, young voice crackled from the speaker as I pulled up to the menu board.

The menu had been updated, but I quickly recognized all my favorites.

“Yeah, can I get a large Dark would you like me to make the Dark I always thought the crispy bits of potato they added in made all the difference—but a tiny piece of me longed for the Maple Monster.

It was a Glazed Bun exclusive—two maple waffles as the bun, an egg, a sausage patty, cheese, and bacon.

If the burrito was delicious, the Maple Monster was to-die-for.

Oh well, I was back in town—hopefully for good—so I’d have plenty of time for my favorites.

The late morning January sun glinted off a huge-ass window across the street from Glazed Buns.

Armstrong Health & Fitness had a great logo, and I found myself determined to look into a membership as soon as I got moved in at the campground.

If I was going to be eating at Glazed Buns and the like—my mouth watered as I drove past a sign advertising the Roadhouse…

a bar and restaurant I remembered having some of the best food I’d ever eaten—I’d one hundred percent need to commit to a healthy exercise program.

The military had instilled physical fitness into my routine, and I enjoyed a good workout, so joining the gym was a given.

I couldn’t help the low growl of frustration when I caught a glimpse of Jackass ahead of me. Of course he was going the same way. I followed him onto the roundabout—I’d definitely been gone for too long—and relief washed over me to see the truck move as if to exit.

Picking up my coffee, I took a test sip.

Ah, perfect.

Maybe not as good as my dark roast concoction would have been, but the caffeine hit my tongue with a bold promise.

At the exact moment I took a longer sip, Jackass changed his mind and slid in front of me on the roundabout. Tapping my brakes a bit harder than necessary sent hot coffee sloshing from the cup, dribbling down my chin, and staining my shirt.

“Motherfucker,” I gritted out as oblivious Jackass whipped off the roundabout heading in the same direction once again. “This dude fuckin’ needs to get lost.”

Yanking napkins from the bag, I wiped my chin and tried to dab the worst of the spill from my shirt. When the truck ahead of me hit the open road, he gunned it.

Okay, I thought with a wicked grin. He wanted to race down the wide-open county road? This was a game I could play.

And I played to win.

With my foot to the floorboard, I delighted in testing the limits of my new ride. We weren’t going dangerously fast, but the speed had a cold wind roaring through my lowered windows as I gained on Jackass in his shiny blue truck.

I rode his ass for about a mile, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he knew I was on him or not. When he slowed and turned on his blinker, I cursed. What were the damn odds he was taking the exact same route as me?

Copying his movements, I made the turn.

Hoping he’d drive right on past the turn to the campgrounds, I whipped out from behind him, gunned my engine as I passed him, and did a ridiculous inner fist pump when I put at least a couple car lengths between us.

I was about thirty seconds too late in realizing why he’d slowed down.

The red and blue lights flashing in my rearview mirror were the motherfucking cherry on top of my bad mood. I pulled over to the side of the road, cursing and thumping a fist against my steering wheel.

Jackass drove on by, and I swore the smile on his face as he drove on by wasn’t my imagination.

Mother.

Fucker.

Twenty-five minutes later—and a ticket not only for speeding but also not signaling and a burned-out taillight—I had a screaming headache. The dealership would be hearing from me about the taillight for sure.

As I eased my truck back onto the road, I cursed a blue streak.

My coffee was cold.

The burrito sat like concrete in my gut.

The honey butter croissant still smelled delicious, but I wasn’t in the mood.

I was out two-hundred-fifty dollars for the ticket.

My taillight needed replaced stat.

And if I ever saw Jackass again, I wasn’t ruling out strangulation.