Chapter 2 #2
I’d been slowly meeting some of the local folks and settling back into small town life nicely. Well, as nicely as can be expected after spending over half my life among millions of people in a city with shopping malls larger than the postage-stamp-sized town I now called home.
After a few more stretches, I took off at a slow jog.
I wasn’t out to beat any personal records on this run, just enjoying the warm sunshine, the hint of a bite on the breeze, and the beauty around me.
Haven Grove was a gorgeous little town, and it was putting on a spectacular display as it held tightly to summer with all its might and tried to stave off the fall for a few more days.
Behind me and down the street a ways was an auto shop, an empty store front that used to house a video store, and The Sweet & Creamy Dairy Palace which I’d been told had the best ice cream in the state.
I avoided dairy most of the time, but for a really good bowl of ice cream, I’d been known to break that rule.
I had no doubt I’d be stopping in the cute little ice cream parlor one of these days. We’d see how long I could hold out.
My place—I was living in the apartment above the gym for the time being—was on the main street that ran through town.
It was at a great little corner location across from the only gas station in town on one side and Glazed Buns on the other.
The irony of a health and fitness business being so close to a bakery and coffee shop wasn’t lost on me.
I had no problem with snacks and sweets in moderation.
Hopefully people who indulged at Glazed Buns would be motivated to work off the calories at my place, and maybe the folks who worked out at Armstrong Health & Fitness would treat themselves at Glazed Buns.
Pretty sure sweets first and a workout later was better for a person’s health than rewarding a workout with a treat, but if the bakery and I could work together to bring people in, I was all for it.
As I left the main drag, I took in the school on my left and the church on my right.
The preacher had already introduced himself to me.
I wasn’t impressed with the red-faced, heavily jowled man who spoke of “his flock of sinners,” but I figured I’d withhold my judgement for the time being.
I wasn’t a church goer, much to my parents’ dismay, but I didn’t hold it against anyone who opted to participate.
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in a higher power of some sort, I’d just seen too many people hate and discriminate in the name of their god, and that wasn’t something I wanted any part of.
The school looked like pretty much any small-town school in the Midwest. If it was like the school I’d gone to, it likely housed grades Kindergarten through eighth, and the kids were bussed up the road for high school.
The road curved and descended a slight hill, and the Juicy Peach—the local general store—came into view.
I knew most folks in town did their best to shop local as much as possible, buying what they could at the Juicy Peach and only heading up the road to the larger discount store for big stock ups and items they couldn’t get in town.
Partly this was because everyone wanted to work together to support local businesses, and partly it was because a lot of folks in town had no desire to head up the road to the big box stores.
The Juicy Peach was absolutely adorable.
It looked like it came straight from an old-time movie.
I’d taken a quick stroll through one day on a break from renovations, just to see what types of products they carried, and I’d loved the wooden floors and rustic charm of the peach and rooster décor.
I was all for supporting local, and I pledged right then and there I’d shop the Juicy Peach as often as feasibly possible.
As I passed the general store, I took in the marvelous expanse of trees in the orchard behind it.
The Riggs family owned the Roadhouse, the general store, and the orchard.
My understanding was all of it had been in the family for multiple generations.
I’d heard a bit of rumblings about some family drama—not surprising since small towns always had big drama—but it appeared the Riggs family was doing well for itself based on the reverence and respect attached to their name as well as the prominence of their businesses.
The peach orchard was at least an acre, a bit longer than it was wide, and it spread out between the base of the two Haven Grove hills. The Juicy Peach bordered the orchard on one side, and the two Riggs family homes sat at the top of the hill on the other side.
Upon moving to town, I’d discovered what had quickly become my favorite running path through town.
Depending on if I took the long way around the orchard or veered off to make the distance a bit shorter, I could get a good one- or two-miles in.
The shorter distance allowed for a slightly steeper hill on the last leg of the run and brought me out on the side of one of the Riggs houses closest to the road that would take me back to town.
The longer distance provided a slightly less steep hill, but it brought me out on the far side of the other Riggs house and required a longer homestretch run to get back to town.
I enjoyed both circuits, and I knew without a doubt I’d be making the most of the outdoor runs for as long as the weather held off.
Hell, even in the winter, if we weren’t covered in snow—something I was kinda looking forward to and kinda dreading—I had a feeling I’d bundle up and run outside just for the benefits of the fresh air.
One thing I’d definitely missed while living in L.A. was the beauty of nature. Sure, I could find it out there, and it was nice to be close to gorgeous beaches, but there was just something about quaint little mostly undisturbed towns glistening in their natural glory.
The thought floated through my head as my feet pounded the ground, and I took in the diminishing green of the peach trees.
After several runs around both sides of the orchard, I’d surmised the majority of the peaches had been harvested.
Now, the waning heat of the summer warmed the late season grass and trampled peaches to mix on the air in a heavy, sweet scent.
The leaves, not yet losing their green completely, fluttered in the breeze.
A hint of crisp coolness in the air battled the afternoon sun alternating between chilling my skin and making me break out in a sweat.
I had no doubt the orchard would be breathtaking when the leaves changed.
Hell, for that matter, the whole town of Haven Grove would be. There was nothing like fall in the Midwest and a low-key excitement for all things autumn purred in my belly.
My legs burned as I headed up the hill on the backside of the orchard.
I’d emerge next to a Riggs house before finishing my run back at my place.
I wasn’t positive, but I had a feeling running behind the house put me right on the border of Riggs property and public property.
Hell, maybe the tree line behind the house separating the yard from the rolling hill that led down to the orchard actually belonged to the Riggs family.
I truly had no idea, but I was already emerging from the sparse trees, and the thought of running back down the hill only to have to run up another one was not something my burning lungs and screaming muscles wanted to do.
Opting to act first and ask for forgiveness later—later as in if I got caught—I continued on the path.
The song floating on the air caught my attention first, but I quickly recognized the man sitting in a camping chair in the yard as the patriarch of the Riggs family. While I hadn’t yet met the guy in person, his name was well-known around Haven Grove.
Casey Joe Riggs sat in his yard, beer in hand, crooning along with Eminem and Jelly Roll about needing somebody to save him from himself.
Shit.
Maybe the rumors I’d heard around town were true.
But I didn’t like to pass judgement on a person before getting to know them, so I pushed aside everything I’d heard about Casey Joe.
I’d met Lance at the Roadhouse. I wasn’t exactly sure how he fit in with the Riggs family, but he joined them for a birthday party after talking to me, so he was at least a friend.
Just like my first evening at the Roadhouse, my eyes caught on Casey Joe, and I couldn’t look away.
He had that look of a big guy who used to be in his prime—and still could be with a little work—but he’d let himself go.
Either by choice or because of a health condition.
But it was clear Casey Joe could easily bulk back up and turn what was already a very attractive dad-bod into something smoking hot.
He had what I’d describe as dark blond hair, just dark enough for the grays I could see patching his scruff to show through on his head as well.
But he wore it well. He was broad. It was hard to estimate his height since he was sitting, but I’d seen him stand up the other night, and he was at least as tall as my six-feet two-inch frame.
And just like the other night, Casey Joe’s eyes snagged on mine and stuck. Damn, he had pretty eyes. Almost a cornflower blue, but the enhanced color could have been because of the redness rimming his eyes.
Just as I thought I’d give a friendly wave and be on my way, Casey Joe stood, squinted his eyes, took a long sip of beer, and shouted, “Who the fuck are you, and why the fuck you on my property?”
Shit.