Chapter 21

I look forward to caffeine,bright and early. And, if I want a good flat white, then I walk a few miles to the bakery. It's been one of my favorite things to do. A simple way to get me out and about, opening myself up to exploring my new home with a coffee in hand.

As I stop to look around my new town, it feels like a movie. A big-city girl plopped into a small town, trying to find her footing. I walked thousands of miles in New York. There was plenty to see. New restaurants, massive billboards, and hustling crowds, but there were also quiet parts. Never as quiet as the field outside of my new little cottage here in Fiasco, but there were parts of New York I loved stumbling across. There's less here. More space and far less to discover, but it's my way of finding something familiar in a brand-new place.

The mint green awning overhanging the little pink building smack dab in the middle of Fiasco's downtown should have been gaudy. With a neon yellow open sign and the shop"s name painted in black block letters across the front, Loni's was charming from the second I opened the front door during my first shopping trip. The front table displays have clothing arranged by color, from red tops to pink shorts that lead to racks of dresses that aren't the conservative styles I had expected of a small southern town. They're trendy, even a bit edgy. I recognized some designer labels from storefronts in SoHo and other nameless styles that I wouldn't mind adding to my currently limited wardrobe.

As I walk past, the same black dress that I had borrowed from Hadley hangs on a headless mannequin. And then next to it is the prettiest floral dress that I had to find a reason to wear and come back for.

"You're the girl everyone in town can't seem to stop talking about," the woman behind the counter said as I tried to find my size in the bathing suit bottoms. I smiled at her, internally groaning at the idea of people talking about me. "Might as well lean into the rumors." She stepped over to help me. "Most gossip around here is based on a form of the truth and embellished because of boredom." I'm sure I looked uneasy at that, but she gave me a comforting smile. "We like our bourbon. We don't spill tea in Fiasco, we pour three fingers with intention."

It was just the right reminder as I cross the street and step into Griz's book club on Sunday morning.

I thought it was a pity invite for awkwardly interrupting the kiss between Grant and me. I can still feel the way his hand tilted my neck and how his thumb brushed so sweetly along my skin as his mouth devoured me wholly. I felt that kiss along every inch of my body. So when I was rambling and asking about Griz's weekend plans as he drove me back from the rickhouse, he told me all about his girls and his book club.

"You must be Laney. I'm Prue. Welcome to our book club!" The unexpected excitement in her voice has a smile curling my lips. "The only thing Griz keeps talking about is how the prettiest girl landed in our small town at his distillery." She taps my hand. "And that she was going to be the one to break the curse."

I know what she's referring to, but I didn't think much of it or that I'd in any way factor into it. "The curse?"

She opens the door wider, taking the baked goods from my hands and smelling it. "Oh yes. There's so much to talk about. Is this a buckle? You baked a buckle?"

I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not, but I'll keep smiling anyway. "Peach. I hope that's okay."

The large and bright sitting room is packed as I walk inside. If it wasn't for the number of women that sat and mingled, I would have taken in more of the details. I only catch a glimpse of the pink paisley wallpaper and bookshelves overflowing with paperbacks.

"Laney is here," she sing-songs. "And she baked a peach buckle. Romey, come take this, and I'll grab a knife to cut it."

I slow my pace, smiling at the room, where their full attention is now on me. As quietly as possible, I say to Griz, who stands and greets me with a big bear hug, "You said book club. I thought you meant, like, five people."

His thick mustache tips up in the right corner, amusement dancing around his face. "Looks like everyone wanted to talk about this week"s book."

"Or the new girl."

He laughs, lips pursing. "Yeah, probably the new girl. Don't worry, I'm right here."

Every single person is a woman other than Griz and ranges in age from early twenties to somewhere near Griz's age. "I'm sorry if I didn't read the book, but I would love to be a part of the next one, whichever you choose."

A woman close to my age, flanked by two Golden Girls, waves and smiles. "This was just a short romance novella. It was quick and dirty?—"

"Just how I like it," another woman, crouched around a drink table on the far side of the room, chimes in. It makes everyone laugh and agree. I don't interject, but if I were more comfortable with this group, I would have joked right alongside them. Maybe someday.

"There's a brunch buffet back here," Prue says as she grabs my hand and loops it around her arm. "Darla brought her fabulous huevos rancheros, Tonya's deviled eggs, there's a French toast thing." She leans in and whispers, "That was Mary's, and it's always a toss-up whether she'll bring something edible." Then she mouths out, "Skip it." Leaning back, she speaks up louder with a playful smirk. "Griz, I see you weaseled your way out of bringing a treat this week."

"Brought myself and a new attendee." He winks. In his low voice, he flirts with her, "That'll have to be sweet enough this time, Prudence."

I don't miss the way she smiles back at him. Making assumptions, Prue is younger than Griz by at least ten years, putting her somewhere in her seventies. Silver strands streak her light brown hair reaching just to her shoulders. There's something warm about her that I can't put my finger on. Maybe it's the flowy green pants and floral pink blouse with a cream-colored cardigan pinned just at the top, but she looks and feels like a kind librarian.

"And Marla is behind the mimosa and Bloody Mary bar."

"Laney." Marla nods. It's pretty clear that Marla isn't my biggest fan, but it's a step in the right direction since she didn't tell me I couldn't have a drink or that I had to leave.

I load up a small plate and find a seat in between two women, who smile as I approach, and ask if I can squeeze in. As soon as I sit, of course, my phone buzzes in my bag. I try to ignore it, but then start to worry if it's something important. Not many people have this number—Hadley, Ace, and Agent Harper. Oh, and now Grant.

"Welcome everybody. I'm so excited everyone wanted to read this week"s novella. I really enjoyed it, but the writing felt rushed..." Prue starts, but I quickly tune it out, overthinking if I should check my phone when it buzzes again.

The brunette with the long curly hair to my right looks at me when it buzzes for the fourth time. "Are you going to get that? It's kind of distracting," she whispers. Is it really that distracting?

I can't help but smile when I see who it's from.

COWBOY

How's your foot?

LANEY

My foot is fine, but I'm in the middle of book club getting the stink eye from a leggy brunette for not paying attention.

COWBOY

Curly hair?

LANEY

Yes.

COWBOY

Nose ring?

LANEY

Yes. One of your exes?

COWBOY

She's tried.

LANEY

Not your type?

COWBOY

Depends. Jealous?

LANEY

Are you flirting with me, cowboy?

COWBOY

Depends.

LANEY

On?

COWBOY

You.

"What about you, Laney?" interrupts the text conversation with Grant.

"I'm so sorry, what was the question?" I look around the room and pocket my phone. Whatever that just was is something I can dissect later, but right now, all eyes are on me. I just went from a sense of ease to a nervous buzz starting to make its way around my body.

Griz interjects from his chair, "You know she didn't read it, Prue." The way he says it feels protective.

"I was just trying to include her. You don"t have to have read it to have an opinion about a book that has a morally gray female main character. But it's fine." She waves at the air in front of her.

The brunette to my right chimes in to respond, "I personally think it makes her a weak character. When we've read morally gray men, they're usually strong mafia men or billionaires. She's none of those things."

Before I even realize I'm responding, the words are already out of my mouth. "That seems awfully patriarchal, doesn't it?" I glance around the room quickly to see if I'm going to die on this mountain alone. I see a few smiling faces, so maybe not."We're okay with men who have questionable morals if they're rich and powerful, but we're not okay if those same types of morals are from a woman who isn't well off?"

"I'm not saying I'm okay with it. I'm saying I find it more attractive in a man. And that makes me want to read it."

I nod, but I can't just let it ride. "Okay, I understand that. Is it that you like the fact that most morally gray men have an innocent female counterpart in these dynamics? Maybe you like the way they balance. But how do you feel about a morally gray female lead, whose male counterpart in a story has a perfect moral compass?"

She tilts her head to the side, her mouth pursed enough that it looks like she's thinking about it. But instead, she shakes her head no. "Nope, still not doing it for me." And all I can think to myself is that I've just described Grant Foxx and myself, or at least what I know about him and his reputation in this town.

Marla pipes in with a mouth filled with lemon poppyseed muffin. "I'd read that story one-handed, Laney."

Enough laughs fill the room, allowing for that topic to die down, and thank goodness for it. I hadn't planned to go head-to-head with anyone about the moral compasses of fictional characters. When my phone buzzes again, I decide to excuse myself from the chitchat. I smile as I close the bathroom door behind me and pull out my phone, expecting it to be Grant. But it's not.

BEA

Has anyone from the U.S. Marshall's office approached you?

LANEY

I've only dealt with you, Bea. No one else.

Less than thirty seconds later, she calls me.

"Hello?" I say quietly. I can hear a few people outside the bathroom door talking now, and I don't want anyone to overhear this.

Bea's raspy voice cuts right to the chase. "You need to keep it that way."

My senses kick in, and I can tell by her tone and that simple sentence that something's happened, and it's not something good. "What's going on, Bea?" She starts to answer, but I cut her off, "Don't call me and say that shit to me just to keep me in the dark."

She lets out a huff. "I knew I was right to keep this out of the proper channels. He used to be in witness protection."

I lean my back against the door, trying to work out who. "The person who tried to murder that woman? The monster I rescued her from was being protected by the U.S. government? Are you fucking joking?" It almost sounds too ridiculous to consider.

"He did a lot more than try to murder someone, Laney. There are a number of missing persons that have been tied to him according to my contacts, after all of that evidence in the storage unit. But yes, he was WITSEC. Most of the people we relocate in the program have a criminal record. Usually, it's misdemeanors, rarely anything violent. This isn't something I've had happen before. Especially not at this scale."

My heart beats so fast, I can feel my pulse moving along my neck, hear it in my ears, and I've picked away at the cuticle on my thumb so viciously that it's starting to bleed. "Every time I think I can breathe and settle into this new life, I get a call from you." I lick at the wound I just created. "Am I safe here?"

"You're in the smartest situation I could hope for," she says without it sounding like she's done. "I'm not saying anything is going to happen here, but if there are any U.S. Marshalls, FBI, authorities of any kind sniffing around down there, you call me."

"Dammit," I breathe out. I wish my dad was here.

"Somebody messed up and I don't know what it means in the long run. Everyone is keeping a tight lip on the whole thing, which makes my ass twitch. Hence, this call." I hear her light one of her cloves, and then seconds later, push out a breath. "I'm telling you all of this because you're not some victim, Laney. You stopped a murderer and saved someone who needed saving, and it earned you a life you never asked for. So I'm making it my business to be sure you're safe. And the best way I can do that is to keep you aware of the situation. Now tell me you can handle it."

She sounds like my dad. "I can handle it." My eyes water, knowing my dad would be proud of this. Not everything I've done, but being brave would make him proud.

"Good." Another puff. "If anything feels off, you find Grant or Ace and call me."

"Grant knows?" I rush out. "He knows about what I'm doing here?"

She lets out a laugh. "I knew one of them would sink their teeth into you."

"That's not?—"

"Laney, I couldn't give a rat"s ass what you do with the Foxx boys. They're good men. They only know whatever you told them. So unless I need to come into town because of trouble, it'll stay that way. Like I said, the less people who know the truth, the better. Safer that way. For everyone. Especially now."

Closing my eyes, I focus on the way I'm almost out of breath. My adrenaline pumps in a chaotic rhythm. I exhale shakily as she says her clipped goodbye.

It takes me a second to remember where I am. In a bathroom, in the middle of a book club. I need to pull it together and slow my breathing down before I leave this room. There's so much pink as I look around Prue's gaudy bathroom. The soft pink tiled walls to the deeper mauve pink toilet and tub basin. Even the tissue box has a bubblegum pink knitted cover with white lace trim, and the hand towels match. There's a vase of baby's breath on the shelf above the toilet with a pink antique perfume bottle. I don't realize I'm smiling until I look up at myself in the mirror. Finally calmer than just a moment ago, I run the cold water and dip my wrists. I'm drying my hands when I hear my name outside the bathroom.

I stop moving and lean slightly closer to the door.

"I don't know. She must have left. I'm just going to say it. She's not some sweetheart she's pretending to be. Like, what was that patriarchal crap?"

Another voice says, "Do you think it's true? About her and Ace?"

The first voice says, "Definitely. He likes to slum it all the time. She's kind of fat too, right? I mean, she's not the usual for him."

My stomach lurches at being talked about and judged. I didn't do a damn thing to these women. I remember again why I painted my nails the pale shade of pink that I didn't particularly like and wore brands that were too expensive for my wallet. Why I worked too much, even though it didn't make me happy. I thought feeling seen meant I needed attention from people who signed my checks and rewarded me with more responsibility. It was why I couldn't recognize the things I wanted or truly liked. I didn't allow myself the space to figure it out. I had felt like an outsider, unwelcomed. And I let myself believe it. Maybe if I had family or a close friend, I wouldn't have given a shit. But I did. At least back then.

But then I hear them mention Grant's name, and I know I'm not going to be able to just stay here and listen. "I heard she was with Grant too."

Another person says, "No way. I would have believed it with Ace, but Grant?"

The first voice, who I'm guessing is my curly-haired brunette friend, says, "There's no way they would keep around someone like that. Grant has barely looked at anyone since Fiona. He was such a hot mess for a while, but he's looking good again. I did catch him smiling at me last week."

Doubtful.

"I'm not about to ask for forever from a Foxx, obviously, but I wouldn't mind a ride."

That's enough. I allowed these feelings time and time again in my old life. The bride who didn't think I was qualified to help her with her seating charts or the Maid of Honor who wanted to remind me that I was only the hired help. Even the groom who thought it was okay to treat me like I was nothing more than an expendable distraction. Racking up the negatives and unworthy feelings isn't something I have any interest in collecting anymore.

When I open the door, all three women stop with their drinks mid-sip and eyes wide. "Are you girls talking about me?" I don't have a plan here, but now that I'm looking at them, I wonder how uncomfortable I can make this. So, I smile. "You didn't have to be these women. The cliché villains. Women who feel the need to badmouth someone they don't know in order to make sense of their boring and basic lives." I look down the hallway, and I can see a few people eavesdropping in on this, but I keep going. "I would have liked some new friends here, but thank you for allowing me to bypass the wrong ones."

As I look at each of the three women, not a single one seems willing to respond with an apology. Might as well make this memorable.

"Fiasco is my home now too. And if you want to spread rumors about me, then let me make sure you've got them right. My name is Laney Young, and I'm from Colorado. The Foxx family are my friends. Except for Grant—you were right about that. He's..." I sigh because, really, he's sigh worthy. "Let's just say, the mouth on that man is quite delicious."

The three jaws dropping just enough let me know I've made an impression.

I turn on my heel, trying my hardest to keep my emotions in check. I can let my eyes water when I'm out the door.

I hear one of them whisper, "Did that just happen?"

"Oh! I forgot." I turn back around. "You can go ahead and fuck off for that fat comment." Tilting my head to the side, I point at her when I say, "Do better."

I swallow down the way I'd like to fall apart, and instead, I thank Prue for the hospitality and wave at Griz with a big, fake smile as I rush out the door. I'll wait until I'm back in my cottage before I overthink the news from Bea and rehash the day's shitstorm.

I had never been invited to a book club before today, and as much as I would have liked to fit in, I like it better that I don't.