Chapter 12

"The tastings wereout of order. We wanted to start with the 1936 blend and then work our way forward," the PR person from Women in Whiskey said as we finished cleaning up. I tried to keep my attention on her and Lincoln, but I couldn't help but glance at Grant. There was no way he could overhear this conversation from where he was walking with his team, but I felt embarrassed.

I realized I messed up the moment I heard the chairwoman describe the color. The bourbon being swirled wasn't an almond color like she described, but a deep caramel. Just like the one after that wasn't the "white dog" raw, unaged whiskey that went into the barrels. White dog probably should have been clear and not the darkest bourbon that was poured. It was a simple mistake for someone new, but to me, it felt like a failure. I had flawlessly handled everything for my events. The biggest requests executed perfectly, down to the tiniest details without a hiccup. Screwing up a luncheon for fifty respected women in the bourbon industry was a blow to my ego. But it stung more, knowing that Grant was aware of what was going on. He wasn't my boss—not directly, at least—but I still wanted to show him I was more than capable of doing this. It was the first time this week that he even looked at me. After dinner last week, he didn't care what I was doing here anymore. He ignored my presence. I also didn't want Ace hearing about this and think he'd made a massive mistake by offering me this job.

When the conversation wrapped, Lincoln grabbed a bottle and two glasses from behind the bar.

"Are you going to fire me?"

Lincoln smiled, calm as can be. "Not yet."

"You should have her pour some rounds with the tour guides at closing time each day." Griz winked at me from the end of the tasting bar. I hadn't even realized he was there.

Lincoln tilted his head, thinking through it. "I owe you a little more time to learn all of this. I shouldn't have just assumed you knew what they expected. There are some folks that come here and want to lazily enjoy some bourbon and our vibe. But there are plenty of others that take this very seriously. Those ladies are the serious bunch." He leaned in closer. "Truthfully, the head chairwoman is not my biggest fan. She wanted a second date a year ago, and I didn't. It was a whole thing." With a wince, he batted at the air in front of him.

That was enough to push me to know more. I wasn't someone who accepted mess-ups like that and shrugged it off. So, every evening since, right before the last tour of the day, I wrap up my emails and I tag along. I listen to the history of the brand. The nuances of choosing the right mash bill, why Foxx is different, and then I usually help with pours behind the bar. Sometimes, I'll make a Foxx old fashioned or two, but usually, it's a flight of their bourbon that ranges in a series of years they were made.

"Put it in storage," the tour manager yells out to the barback behind me. It shouldn't have pulled my attention, since I'm busy helping clean up. But it does, and I become fixated on the word storage.

That's all it takes to go barreling down the rabbit hole of a memory, leaving me crawling out the other side feeling anxious and unsettled. It instantly makes me think of the storage facility back in New York. I've realized that loud, unexpected sounds make me nervous and urge me to walk faster, maybe even to run. But a simple word, and I felt uneasy? Over and over again. I hated this.

How am I going to live in this bubble? Just when I start to forget about what happened, I'm sucked right back in. I start thinking about the what ifs. What if I hadn't pulled the fire alarm? What if I hadn't heard her scream?

I asked Bea, "Am I in any danger?" and she didn't give me a straight answer.

"This case isn't wrapped up. I'm telling you all of this because you're smart, Laney. Be selfish with who you allow to know the real you. The truth makes you vulnerable, and it's in your best interest to keep it to yourself. Lies will keep you safe."

Now that my day's over, I can't go back to my cottage and stew. I need to work out the nerves somehow, so I start walking. I used to walk everywhere. Streets and avenues. City blocks that bled into new neighborhoods were nothing compared to traipsing through horse paddocks and the flat fields of Kentucky. But it worked just the same.

By the time I notice how far I've gone, I'm feeling better. I like it here. The way it feels to wander without a destination. To feel the stagnant humidity blanketing my skin, smell the sweet and tangy air when the wind remembers it has a purpose. It's all enough to be present and not pay attention to what's behind me.

It's also probably why I haven't noticed the dark sky looming overhead, or registered the low rumble in the distance that wasn't a loud muffler or big truck driving by. The whirl of a subway beneath rickety grates, blaring fire engines, and horns honking from impatient cab drivers, my ears had been trained to mute it all. Everything is so quiet here. Especially the way the atmosphere changes. It's instant. Suddenly, rain pelts down so fast it looks like it's rushing down sideways.

When I reach the stables, they're cool and dry. If they didn't smell like hay and echo with the sounds of their occupants, I'd think they were another vacant dwelling on the Foxx property.

The lights are on and every stall is occupied with horses, all curious about me as I make my way down the center. Hay spills into the main drag, and I find a large fridge next to a worn leather couch at the end. It's the only spot that depicts humans and not just horses who've spent time in this space. I pluck a handful of peppermint candies from the overflowing bowl perched on top. Mint isn't my top choice as far as candies go, but I take them anyway. With a sigh, I start walking slowly back down the center aisle and read the names of each horse above their doors.

A massive crack of lightning makes me jump, and a yelp escapes me as the thunder follows. It sounds more like a beast waking than the mingling of warm and cold air. I know logically, it's just a noise, but my heart beats wildly. I can't catch my breath, and I'm feeling lightheaded. What the hell is wrong with me? Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to take a deep breath, but it can't get past my throat. I brace my hands on my knees. I refuse to pass out. I've never felt panic before. I faced a monster who stared right back and didn't stumble. I wasn't going to let thunder and lightning knock me around.

"Close your mouth and breathe through your nose," a deep voice says softly to my right. Grant. I don't want to think about anyone seeing me like this, but I don't have much of a choice other than to listen to him. I give it a try, but the air still won't move past my throat. It has my eyes blurring with tears.

"I need you to relax, and then purse your lips like you're going to whistle, Laney. Breathe out." He smiles. "Tawney can smell those peppermints in your fist. So let's take a deep breath, and then you can be her favorite person today." Reaching out, he pushes a piece of hair back behind my ear. "Do it again, in through your nose. And out through your lips." His fingers trail down my hair to my shoulder and then farther down to my arm. It's a distraction that I don't think he intended, but in the wake of his fingertips, he leaves goosebumps. And I start to relax.

When a snort over my shoulder blows hair across my face, I laugh lightly. It eases my heart rate. The next breath pulls in deeper, and the next comes easier. My eyes clear. I watch Grant as he watches me, inches from each other. No judgment or scowl anywhere, just kindness. Maybe even a sense of familiarity, I'm not sure, but it makes me feel less alone than I have in a while. I don't know what to say. I don't understand this moment of peace between us, and I want it to stay this way.

My limbs are shaky, a sheen of sweat coating my skin, but the worst part is over with, I think. He's gotten me through it.

"It was early in the morning when I would struggle most. It had me stuck in my house, in my bed, for longer than I'd care to admit." He keeps talking and sharing as he gets up from being crouched in front of me to rub a hard-bristled brush along Tawney's body. I like hearing him talk to me like this, but I already miss the comfort of his touch. "She won't bite," he says with a smirk. "Just nibble, if you don't give her one of those." He tilts his chin toward my closed fist.

I open a red-and-white candy and hold it out to her. It disappears in seconds. I laugh when she snorts and nudges my hand for more. Instead, I glide my hand along her head. Her big black eyes look into mine, and it's like we exchange something. Another laugh escapes me, this one filled with hope. Like if I don't laugh, those tears from moments ago will fall. This entire situation has my emotions all over the place.

When I look away from the massive horse in front of me, Grant's hazel eyes study me, searching for a reason for my strange reaction. Maybe even why he shared any of himself with me. Maybe both. I know he wants to know more about me in return, but I heard Bea—keep the truth close. The silence lingering has me wondering if I'm not cooperating. He shared something with me, and I can't reciprocate.

His jaw tenses, and I can see the muscle tic. I can't tell what he's thinking or if he remembers he's been ignoring me this past week.

"She's impressive," I say, trying to lighten whatever just happened. But he doesn't let me escape that easily.

He searches my face, his eyes landing on my lips, before he says in a low gravel, "She is. Impressive. Strong. So fucking beautiful."