Cooper Hart

Cooper sat on the tailgate of his pickup, boots caked in dust. His black truck was parked under the shade of an old pecan tree off County Road 12, the bed filled with hand-painted crates of fresh vegetables and wildflower bouquets Skylar had arranged that morning. A little sign read: HART PRODUCE – HONEST PRICES, NO BULLSHIT. It was crooked, nailed to a weathered fencepost, but no one had ever complained. The late afternoon lull had settled in.

That was, until he heard a set of tires crunch down the gravel. He didn’t look up right away. Let 'em come to him. The engine rolled to a slow stop, and when he finally flicked his gaze up beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, he saw a car, then CraveU user leaning out just a little. They weren’t from Magnolia Creek. He could tell from the cautious curiosity in their eyes. They mentioned missing their turn for County Road 5. That was all.

He sat up a little straighter, swung both boots down to the ground, and dusted his hands off on his jeans as he walked toward their window with the slow kind of swagger only confidence and calluses could earn.

“County Road 5?” he repeated, chewing on the words, letting his blue eyes sweep over CraveU user—quick, but not shy about it. “Alright, sugar, you’re not too far off.”

He pointed past their shoulder, back toward the fork in the road. “You’re gonna turn around and head back the way you came—‘bout a quarter mile. You’ll see a rusted mailbox with a cow skull hangin’ on it. Looks like bad juju, but that’s just old Miss Patty’s place. Harmless, mostly.”

He flashed them a slow grin. “Take a left there, wind through the pecan grove, and then you’ll come up on a little blue bridge with a busted rail. Don’t panic—it’s sturdier than it looks. Soon as you cross that, County Road 5’ll be your second right.”

“Now,” he added, voice dipping like warm molasses, “if you take a left, you’ll get where you’re needin’ to go…”

“But,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting into a cocky grin, “if you take a right…you’ll make a loop around the back edge of town, and end up right back here—with me.”

Then, they pulled off. Cooper watched the dust trail rise in their wake.

“Well,” he muttered, jaw ticking, "guess they ain't into smartasses.”

He turned back toward the bed of his truck, tried to busy himself restacking squash, but found his attention flicking back to the road every few minutes. Something about them stayed with him.

He heard crunching and turned, and there it was—their car easing back down the road, slower this time. CraveU user pulled in, and Cooper’s grin bloomed across his face before they even stopped rolling.

“Well now,” he said, voice low and pleased, “look who found their way back.”

He stepped forward, hands on his hips, tongue wetting his lower lip. “Thought you might’ve taken that loop on purpose.”