A Simple Request (Cooper Town Boys #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

Collin

I pull open the old wooden door and smile.

Classic George Jones pours through the speakers, not too loud, but loud enough all patrons can enjoy the good music.

The regulars at the bar turn and wave when I enter, earning me a round of welcomes and hellos from the people I’ll be serving drinks to for the next several hours.

“Hey, Collin,” Guy hollers, throwing me a wave and a grin.

“Evening,” I reply, walking behind the bar and dropping my duffel bag into the cubby hole where we keep personal possessions. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, not too bad. The game’s on,” he informs me, nodding to the TVs lined up on the wall above the bar.

The St. Louis Cardinals are taking on the Chicago Cubs in a much-anticipated rivalry game.

Our red birds are up by one in the series but look to be down already in game two.

“How are we doing?” I ask, even though the score is pretty telling.

“Bats are cold,” Guy states, moving to the tip jar and cleaning it out. “Hey, so I heard something today,” he adds, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “Chuck sold it.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my mouth drops open. “You’re shittin’ me. He really did it?”

Guy gives me a sad smile and a nod. “’Fraid so.”

My heart sinks with the news. Chuck has been talking about selling this place for years, but no one ever thought he’d actually do it. He’s worked here his entire life, buying the bar in his late twenties. Now, he’s pushing seventy, and I thought for sure he’d be here until the day he died.

This place won’t be the same without him.

“I guess he’s signing the papers Friday.”

I turn my attention to the older man standing beside me. “What?”

He gives me a knowing look. “Yeah. He told me earlier when he stopped by. This Friday, we’ll have a new owner.”

“Who?” I ask, my mind spinning.

“I don’t know, but it sounds like he’s from out of town.”

I exhale loudly and catch one of the regulars sliding his empty beer bottle toward the inside of the bar top, a sign for a refill. “Well, maybe this is my time to get out too. I’ve only really stayed because of Chuck and you. I don’t need the money,” I confirm.

“I know, kid. I just thought you should know. As of Friday, looks like some changes coming our way.”

I nod and head toward the customer who’s ready for another drink, grabbing his brand from the cooler on my way by. “Here ya go, Tom,” I state, twisting off the top and placing the beer on the old, faded coaster.

“Thanks, Collin,” he replies, taking a sip from the fresh brew. “Did you hear the news?”

“Guy just told me. I can’t believe it,” I reply, reaching for a cloth to wipe down the bar top.

“Me either. Do you think there’s gonna be any changes?” he asks, his eyes bouncing between me and the Cardinals’ game on the TV.

“I hope not. We’ve gotta pretty good thing going here,” I state.

“Damn right, we do,” he says just as the sound of a bat cracking a baseball fills the bar. Everyone cheers as our batter hits a double, sending a runner home.

After Guy takes off, I check on the rest of the patrons and refill a few drinks. Everyone seems to be engrossed in the game, so I take the opportunity to do a little cleaning behind the bar, all while my mind is spinning.

I can’t believe Chuck is selling. This place has been part of my life since I was twenty-one and could finally—legally—enter.

It’s a small bar with lots of character.

The bar is original but has been refinished a few times, keeping that old charm intact.

I’m not sure the stools have ever been replaced except when they break, leaving them mismatched and well-loved.

Hell, a few of them are leaning and don’t even spin anymore.

The walls are covered with neon beer signs and paraphernalia and maybe a thick layer of cigarette smoke.

No, you can’t smoke in here now, but back in the day you could, and I’m pretty certain Chuck didn’t do any sort of deep cleaning after the updated smoking laws were passed.

This place is old, but it’s one of my homes away from home.

The other place I call home is the Sycamore Fire Station West. Ever since I was a little boy, I knew what I wanted to do with my life.

Fighting fires is a calling, and I answered.

I went through basic training at Lackland Air Force Base, and then specialized technical training at Goodfellow Air Force Base, both in Texas.

I spent my four years fighting fires around the United States and learned an invaluable skill set doing it.

Now, I work as a full-time firefighter in Sycamore, a large city of thirty-two thousand people about an hour north of us.

I love it there, but not enough to move, if that makes sense.

I actually prefer the small-town lifestyle, which is why I returned to Cooper Town after my discharge from the Air Force.

Cooper Town, Ohio.

Home of four-thousand busybodies.

And the stories of me and my brothers and our friends growing up?

Legendary.

There are three Miller boys and one daughter, but don’t let that fool you.

My sister caused just as many sleepless nights, and as much mischief, for my parents to ensure their sainthood status for putting up with us all.

I’m the oldest, by five minutes, before my twin brother, Cade.

We may look identical, but we’re as different as night and day.

I’m the serious, broody twin, as many people have referred to me as, while my brother is the life of the party.

He’s witty, charismatic, and quick with a smile and can charm the panties off anyone.

Up next is our sister, Charli, short for Charlotte.

Growing up with twin older brothers and a younger brother would cause a young girl to shy away from the mischief her rambunctious brothers caused.

But not Charli. That girl was the instigator, and often times, the ringleader of Miller family trouble.

And don’t get me started on her now, as an adult.

Charli is just as much of a troublemaker as she was in our youth.

Finally, there’s Camden bringing up the rear.

He’s the baby of the group, nine years younger than my thirty-two years of age.

I swear that kid got away with anything and everything growing up, because at that point, our parents were just tired.

He’s almost as charismatic as Cade, always having a lady friend to keep him company, much to our mother’s dismay.

So there you have it. The Miller kids, along with their mischievous friends, wreaked havoc on this town.

The things we’d done in our youth teeters the line between legendary and outrageous.

Want to hear about some of the tales? Just ask any of the guys sitting at the bar right now.

Every one of them will have a story about the Cooper Town kids.

I’m quite certain most of this town is surprised any of us turned out to be productive members of society upon adulthood.

Not that I blame them.

I hear a throat clear behind me, causing me to spin around and take in the regulars at the bar. Jarrod waves his empty can, letting me know he’s ready for another. I grab the brew and pop the top before placing it in front of him. “Kind of a slow night,” he says, taking a swig of the beer.

“I prefer it that way, Jarrod,” I state with a chuckle. A slow night usually means no trouble.

He lifts his eyebrows and just grins. “I recall, not that long ago, a certain group of boys who’d come in and always get a little rowdy when they were here.”

I feel my face heat up a bit, knowing he’s talking about me, my brothers, and our friends. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jarrod.”

He barks out a laugh. “Sure you don’t.”

“I’m ready to cash out, Collin.”

I turn my attention to Tom, who’s sitting with Larry. I go to the register and key in the quantity of beers Guy and I had marked on the piece of paper. “Fifteen bucks,” I tell the man, who pulls cash from his wallet.

Handing over a twenty, he says, “Keep the change.”

I nod and cross off his name on the paper, indicating he’s paid his tab, and slip the five bucks into the tip jar.

Now, our system may not be the most up-to-date way of doing things, but Chuck has always had a level of trust for his regular customers.

We tally their drinks throughout their time here, and then they pay up before leaving.

He only lets a select group of patrons do that. Everyone else pays as they order.

“See ya later, guys! I gotta take the missus out to dinner,” he states, earning a round of goodbyes from the others at the bar.

I shake my head, knowing Tom’s wife, Betty, probably isn’t going to be too happy with him for sitting in the bar up to the moment he’s supposed to take her out to dinner, but that’s none of my business.

Grabbing the rag, I start to wipe down the bar where he sat, tossing the empty bottle into the trash can to be recycled.

Another crack of the bat has the bar erupting into cheers.

I glance up at the TV and find the Cardinals within one run now of their rivals.

I take the opportunity to restock the coolers with a few of our most popular brands.

My mind returns to the shocking news of Chuck selling.

I still can’t believe it. I thought for sure he’d own this place forever.

Now he’s selling? And to an outsider? Should be illegal, if you ask me.

The last thing we need is someone coming into our little town and changing up a good thing.

This place isn’t filled to the brim with patrons seven days a week like the other bar across town, but to me, this is better.

It’s familiar and relaxed, and I’d take that over crowded and noisy in a heartbeat.