Chapter 18

The oven timerhas been buzzing for more than a minute when my shower turns from warm to freezing while I'm still rinsing the red-tinted conditioner out of my hair. Keeping the red, strawberry tint to my hair is more demanding than I expected, but I like it. It's worth the upkeep. In my rush to reach the timer, I forget to grab the fluffy pink towel hanging on the rack next to my closet.

Barking at my front door is the least of my problems, but it adds to the noise, which then adds to the anxiety to make all of it stop. I've felt so much better with how quiet things have been lately. I used to thrive on the buzz of the city, but now I crave the stillness of this Kentucky summer.

I glance at the clock right before I wrap my hair in my towel. It's only 6:22 a.m. I've had Etta James's Greatest Hits on repeat since I woke up to give me the attitude boost from the shitty night"s sleep induced by massive amounts of overthinking.

A few days ago, I ventured to the Fiasco farmer's market and picked some of the prettiest looking basil and sweetest smelling peaches. Between the peaches and the loaf of sourdough from Crescent de Lune that I couldn't say no to earlier in the week, I had the perfect distraction when I rolled out of bed. It was easy to get lost for a little while doing it, and baking reminded me of my dad.

My skin is still damp, but I throw on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top from my floor because, again, just that one damn towel. I flip off the timer, toss on oven mitts, and pull out the baked French toast. Julep sits at my front door, and her butt wiggling and tail wagging is a heck of a greeting. I extend the top of my hand, letting her smell me first. "Hey, pretty girl."

In front of her is an interesting-looking piece of gray cloth. "What is thi—Oh! Fucking gross," I hiss and shimmy back as I reach it to pick it up. It's not a cloth. "Did you bring me a present?" Yup, that's a shed snakeskin. Awesome. Now I can overthink about how there are snakes out here. I look at her big brown eyes, and she really is the sweetest dog I've ever met. "You thirsty, Julep?" She gives a little high-pitched whine and a bark, as if she can understand me. "C'mon." As I open the door wider, she follows me in. I fill up a bowl of water that she sniffs but doesn't drink and then makes herself at home smelling around the cottage.

"Where's your big, flirty daddy?" I ask in a playful voice, and then laugh as soon as I say it. Even losing sleep over it, I can't help smiling, thinking about the way he stood there, his hands in his back pockets, squared off and shouting back that friendship wouldn't be enough. He knew what I was asking when I offered a nightcap, but he didn't go for it.

Grant Foxx is nothing like the type of men I'm used to being around. One, in particular—more polished, seemingly sweet, and taken. Also, a liar. A cheater. I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Exactly like me now.

Whisking together a shot of bourbon with some powdered sugar and a dash of vanilla, I thin it out with some water, then drizzle it over the warm and gooey bread. Damn, this is going to be good. Julep sits on the floor next to me and whines. "I know, it smells yummy." Grabbing a leftover slice of peach, I give it to her. "I think this will earn me a favor and serve as a thank you, what do you think?"

She barks back.

"Exactly."

I slip on my flip-flops and make a smooching noise for her to follow me. The humid air feels almost as damp as the dew-slicked grass, as my feet get wet traipsing from my place to his. It's going to be hot today if it's already this warm. Maybe I shouldn't even bother with finishing out a shower; I'll be sweating and in need of another by the end of the day anyway.

What if I told him? All of it. The truth of what brought me here and everything leading up to it? I'd be trusting him to keep a secret. He'd have to lie on my behalf. He wouldn't like that. And then what if it all just ends up being a good time and nothing more? Then someone will know who I am. That's a gamble I'm not ready to take.

I make a fist and give his front door a good tap. I wonder if he's even home right now. On my second round of knocking, I hear movement behind the door, and Julep lets out a short bark. She stays next to me on the porch like this isn't her home, even though she has a doggie door she could have entered through.

"Jules, you're knocking now?" Grant says with a laugh, opening the door. His hair is wet and messy. But that's not what I'm focused on. It's the tattoos that spread from his biceps and up along each shoulder cap. Outlines and shading of shapes that if I could freeze time, I'd trace with my finger and try to find their meaning. This isn't good. I'm trying to swallow the lump in my throat. It doesn't help that he's also standing right in front of me, half leaning against the doorframe with nothing more than a navy-blue towel knotted along his hip.

He holds the door wider, the muscle in his sculpted arm jumps and draws my attention down to his broad chest. It's the dusting of dark hair along his chest that operates like a roadmap for his body, allowing me to confirm where it ends and his abs begin. He's so much bigger than I am. Taller. Broader. With a trim waist and a very well-kept physique, Grant Foxx is intimidating.

"You here for something, Laney?"

I give him a tight-lipped smile. What are words? What am I doing here right now?

"I made a bourbon peach-stuffed French toast." I tilt my head to the side. "For you. For stepping up at Hooch's last night. I appreciate you doing that for me." I hand him the warm pan, and the surprised look on his face is endearing. So I push my luck and hope for the best. "And my hot water turned off, so I need to use your shower and finish rinsing the conditioner out of my hair."

"That horse trough has fresh water from the morning," he says so quickly that I think he's being serious.

I give him a wink. "Maybe next time."

With a chuckle, opening the door wider, he gestures forme to come inside. "It's just a valve adjustment outside for the well. I'll do it for you once I'm dressed. But go ahead, you can use my shower for now."

It's brighter than I would have expected when I walk into his place. The brooding, quiet man has nice taste. Its ranch-style layout has everything on one sprawling level. Windows that face the east make up almost the entire wall of the large main room. It's the perfect view of the property at sunrise, with the sky tinted the prettiest hues as the sun finally crests above the horizon line, burning off the night and leaving a smokey haze in its wake.

"This is beautiful," I say as I look around the room. To my front is a fireplace. No television or entertainment system in sight, just a large leather couch and coffee table covered with papers and books. The leather recliner next to it has a thick blanket thrown half on the ground, like he had been relaxing there and then went to bed.

"I like it," he says in a rasped voice behind me. Like morning came too soon for him. "It was the original house on the property. Griz and my nana's house." Turning around, I watch as he pulls plates from open shelves.

Why was it cute to hear him say "my nana?"

"It looks much different now, but when Ace wanted to build his own spot, I asked Griz if he wouldn't mind selling it to me when he was ready. That was just over five years ago." He smiles. He's handsome when he smiles, that's for sure. "It"s been an ongoing project, but it's kept me busy. Built out the garage into a workspace. It was a massive amount of updating."

"You did all of this yourself?"

"Most of it. Had some help with the electrical and plumbing, but the rest was me."

It's not something I've thought of as a turn-on before, but that's attractive to me, someone who can fix up their own home.

As we both look at each other for a moment, I remember why I'm here. "Shower?"

"Just down there, the first door on the left is the guest bathroom. Towels are in the closet behind the door."

"I'll be fast. It's just a rinse."

His eyes pull up from my legs as he clears his throat. "Take your time."

The bathroom is just as well-curated as the rest of the house. Simple white walls and matte black fixtures. A clean white tile shower and a half-glass wall instead of a door. It's a no-frills space, but that feels very on-brand for him. Grant doesn't strike me as a guy who likes too much extra of anything. It only takes me a few minutes to rinse out my hair and towel dry off.

When I come out from the bathroom, Grant is sitting at his small kitchen counter on one of the two stools. He managed to throw on shorts that look like swim trunks and a t-shirt that reads Fiasco PD along the back.

"When did you retire from the police department?" I ask as Julep sees me and stands, trotting over to my side. I give her a scratch along the top of her head as I meet him at the counter. "We both retired around five years ago now."

I smile at that, and then look down at Julep's panting face. "You're such a smart girl, aren't you?"

He gets up, rounding the counter. "She likes you."

"The feeling is mutual. I always wanted to get a dog, but I didn't have the kind of lifestyle that allowed it. I didn't want them to just be alone all day or night while I worked."

I look at his empty coffee pot on the counter. "Any chance that thing works?"

"I'm sure it does, but I usually grab a cup at the main house. Gives me an excuse to see Griz for a few minutes in the morning before I head into the distillery."

"It's nice that you're so close with your family."

His eyes flick up to meet mine for a second, and then back down to cutting a piece of the baked French toast. There's already a decent-sized square missing. "What about you? You close with yours?"

I swallow and think about how to answer that. There's no lie needed here. "I don't really have one. My dad passed away right after I graduated. He hadn't kept a great relationship with his family, so it was always just the two of us."

"Must have been hard. I'm sorry to hear about your dad." Bringing both plates over, he reaches back to grab another fork for me.

I give him a small nod and a placated smile. I never knew how to respond when people said they were sorry about my dad. I didn't want to say it was okay, because really, there wasn't anything okay about someone dying. He wasn't sick and hadn't suffered. He was honored for the way he died, in the line of duty. A negotiation that had resulted in a stray bullet that hit him just above his bulletproof vest. I could never tell anyone that it was okay that I had lost my only family. My favorite person in the world. So I just accepted their condolences and tried to remember that he died trying to save someone. If there was any way to go, that would have been his pick. And until recently, I never understood it.

I look up from my plate, trying not to get sucked into my memories. A magnet on the side of his refrigerator snags my attention–a Princess Crown Pez dispenser.

He follows my line of sight. "Lily had really bad nightmares right after her mom passed. Lincoln told her that Pez have superpowers. We kept them just about everywhere after that. She really believed it." His eyes meet mine. "We could all use some of that superpower sometimes. So that one is still where she left it. In case of emergencies."

How am I not supposed to melt after hearing that? "My dad took me to the Pez factory when I was a kid. I had thought it would be this massive place like Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, but it was more museum-like than a candy factory. Bit of a letdown, now that I think about it. It was a good day, though, and I got a Star Wars dispenser. Saved it in our memory box."

"You should show it to Lily. Maybe she'll believe me now that they don't just automatically refill themselves."

I clear my throat, my chest tightening. "Don't have it anymore." I hate that I had to leave it behind, along with other items that helped me remember my dad when I touched them. Releasing a breath, I take a bite of the bourbon-soaked peach, coated in a cinnamon sugar syrup, and hum at the flavors. "This came out better than I thought it would."

Turning to Grant, I find him staring back at me. I've never been brave about eye contact. Except when it comes to him. A simple studying of the shade of hazel green his eyes are. The way the thicker scruff around his mouth leaves enough of an outline around his lips that has me wondering if I'd feel the bristle of it if I kissed them. Maybe it's the proximity of where he's sitting and staring back, or the fact that I haven't felt confident enough around anyone before him to keep from looking away.

He swallows, and I follow the movement of his Adam's apple. When I look back up again, he's staring at his forkful of drippy bread and peach just before he shovels it into his mouth. I try to ignore the bourbon glaze that's dripped onto his lower lip or the way his tongue peeks out to snag it. "So you don't have any family, but how about friends?"

Friends. Actual friends without gray lines that will inevitably get me in trouble, or worse, confuse me all over again.

I clear my throat, and his eyes rove down toward my mouth. "The people I thought were my friends, were acquaintances at best."

"Colorado doesn't sound much like home, then. No family or friends."

"No, it doesn't." Fiasco is already more like home if friends are a way to gauge what a home should feel like. I may work with Ace and Lincoln, but Hadley is becoming a fast friend. And despite what he said last night, Grant might not want to be friends, but we are...something.

He turns his attention back to his plate and takes another forkful. With a mouthful, he says, "This is damn good, Laney."

The compliment makes me sit taller. Baking felt good. Sharing it is even better.

"That's the beauty of something new. You get to start fresh. Make new friends," he says with a wink.

"Speaking from experience or a Snapple cap?

He laughs at that. "I did always have a thing for that peach iced tea."

But that's all he gives me. I know there's more to it. He's a thirty-something retired police officer who has an entirely different career now. He started over.

The next few minutes we sit there polishing our plates clean, not acknowledging the buzz that exists between us just under the surface.

"I fixed up the valve for the hot water. Just text me in case it happens again." He shifts toward me. "I'll never say no to you making me breakfast." He smirks. "But it's not necessary."

"You should be learning by now that I do what I want." I nod toward his empty plate that he walks around to the sink, and shrug. "Plus, I've started baking again." As soon as I say it, I wish I hadn't. My thoughts go back to the last thing I baked with my dad, right before I lost him. He always loved breakfast foods. Damn, I miss him. I'm not sure if it's my tone or the look on my face, but now Grant's eyeing me curiously.

Julep's tags jingle, saving me from having to elaborate. She lifts her head, looking at the front door, listening for something.

"Thank you for the shower. And fixing the water for me," I say. But before I can stand to leave, the front door bursts open with a flurry of laughs and arguing.

"I want to knock on her door!" Lark screeches in Lily's face.

Lily hip-checks her into the front table.

Lincoln's right behind them with his arms full of bags and towels. His Ray-Bans push his dark hair out of his face, and the turquoise swim trunks complement his summer tan. Those aren't the only details that hint at them all planning on a trip to the water. The goggles dangling around Lily's neck and the towel draped over Lark's shoulders have me missing the ocean. And since we're landlocked here, I lean closer to Grant. "Is there a pool here that no one told me about?"

But he doesn't hear me with Julep still barking and the girls bickering. It's gotten so loud in here that Grant touches my fingers where I haven't realized I have a death-grip on my fork. When I loosen them, he takes it out of my hand for me. Our quiet exchange reminds me of how he was with me in the stables. You're okay. Just breathe.

"Jules, that's enough," Grant says. Followed by, "Halt."

"Girls, you don't need to fight about it. Laney is obviously already here," he says with a smirk and a glance at his brother, who's crossed his arms and is glaring back.

"Laney—" Lark starts.

"I want to ask her," Lily cuts off. "Will you come on a scavenger hunt with us?"

Lark finishes, "And swimming."

I give a quick glance at both Lincoln and Grant before I say anything else, but they're just waiting for my answer.

"There's a tire swing. And Uncle Grant and Dad are the motors for our bumper boats," Lily rattles off at lightning speed. "And we do a scavenger hunt. Uncle Grant, you have the cards ready?"

"All set, Lil."

Lincoln pipes in, "So whaddya say, Laney? Want to spend the day with your fan club?"

"Laney, can we make flower crowns again? There are soooo many flowers we can pick on the way. And we brought extra towels and snacks."

"C'mon, Laney. It's the weekend," Lincoln encourages with a smile.

I glance at Grant, trying to gauge if this is a good idea, but as I do, my eyes get caught up on his lips again. They shouldn't be pretty. Lips on a man aren't pretty, right?

"Come," he says. The tone of his voice practically commands me to do exactly that.

My eyes flick back to his at that simple word. He knows exactly what he's doing to me. "I'd love to."