Chapter 26

"How have you never tried a Modjeska?"Romey asks from behind her table that's displayed with caramels and chocolates. And before I can even answer what was apparently a rhetorical question, she says, "They're divine. How long have you been in Fiasco now?"

"About a month now." I smile.

"Okay," she says, her hands fanned out in front of her. "Modjeskas are Kentucky's signature candy. Louisville, specifically, but in my opinion, these are even better than the originals. These have rules, just like bourbon. The basics have to be the same—marshmallow dipped in a soft, buttery caramel.

She points down at the far end of the table. "This one right here is a bourbon-infused dark chocolate." Covering part of her mouth, she leans in, whispering, "It's not Foxx bourbon, couldn't swing that, but it"s still damn good."

My mouth waters as I take a taste of the sample she sliced for me. There's no way I'm leaving here without being completely and utterly stuffed. I've already polished off a cheddar and jalapeno waffle on a stick, some thyme and local honey-infused kettle corn, and I'm managing to keep the sweat at bay with my quickly melting mint julep slushie.

"Romey, this is actual heaven."

She smiles big and wide as she moves to bag up a dozen or so for another few people who have huddled around her table. There are easily a hundred tables set up throughout Fiasco's downtown green, and I've only managed to hit a handful so far.

"It was nice to have a new face at book club," she says while tying a ribbon.

"I'll take a box of these and another one of these pistachio-coated ones too." I smile at the two women who are sipping on their own slushies, looking out across the table of treats.

"Do you think you'll come to the next one?"

I answer her truthfully, "I don't know. I had some choice words with a couple of the girls who said some shitty things about me when they thought I wasn't listening, and I'm not interested in spending energy on things or people that don't make me happy. Not anymore."

"I can guess who that might have been." She gives me my bag as I hand her the cash for my chocolates. "I wouldn't worry about them coming to the next one. I think Griz may have overheard what happened. He was very clear about who is and who isn't coming to the next book club." She winks.

I raise my eyebrows. I wasn't expecting that.

"Plus, I don't think Grant Foxx goes around throwing punches, but he knocked some sense into that man, Waz, outside of Midnight Proof. I heard you were the reason why."

That's why didn't he come back inside?I knew he went out there, pissed off, but I've been racking my mind about why he didn't come back. I haven't heard from Grant or seen much of him over the last day or so.

And while I've been busy with a few last-minute items that Lincoln needed done for an upcoming event at the distillery, I'd expected to at least see him at some point. I look down at my phone and the unanswered texts.

LANEY

You disappeared on me. Thought you might be up for a nightcap?

LANEY

Julep left me another "present" this morning. How much skin can a snake really shed? It's borderline ridiculous.

LANEY

Do I need to send nudes for you to respond?

Now my text messages seem less amusing and more desperate without a response from him peppered in there. I told him a lot over bourbon and candy—more than I had planned to share. My stomach drops. Oh god—while I was naked in his horse trough. What was I thinking? How can I unsend that last message? Maybe I can pretend it was a drunk text. Those don't count.

But Romey smiles at me, and then nods over my shoulder, and I can guess who might be there if I look. "Let those women swallow that gossip. It'll sting going down knowing that they don't have any Foxx boys fighting over them."

My face must be showing exactly how I'm feeling, because Romey pats my hand when she says, "Laney, it wouldn't matter at this point if you didn't even know the man, when the gossip starts in this town, it's treated like local news. And that particular Foxx is not like his brothers. Grant ignores most people, never mind starting and ending fights over someone. I don't think he's so much as looked at a woman, much less dated one, since Fiona."

Fiona. Hadley had mentioned it when she told me about the losses connected to the Foxx brothers. "I wish he hadn't closed himself down the way he did. He's a good man. Quite the sight, too!"

That has me turning around. And she's right—a helluva of sight. Especially walking toward me. Lark is hoisted on Grant's back, while Lily is on Lincoln's shoulders. The way they love those girls is swoony, but even more so is how much everyone in that family cares for each other. It feels good to be in their orbit. To absorb some of that affection, even if it is fleeting.

When Lily spots me, she tries waving her hands, one filled with a stick of cotton candy and the other a stuffed giraffe. Lincoln looks over and sees that it's me who has her attention, smiling and waving. But it's Grant who stands just slightly behind him whom I can't seem to look away from. Grant lets Lark down from his back and suddenly I wish it were me still hoisted there. He held on to me so effortlessly; it was the most intimate I've been touched by someone without it being sexual. It felt good to be held.

"Laney!" Lily says, out of breath and giggling as she comes up to me.

"Hi, girls." I can't help but mimic their excitement. Glancing behind them, both brothers walking up in jeans like the material was specifically made for them. Lincoln, sporting a Foxx Bourbon t-shirt with the logo displayed prominently across the front, while Grant wears one more faded with the sleeves cut off. His thick, strong arms, that feel more than good wrapped around me, are a product of hard labor, and golden from the summer sun. It's entirely possible that I'm drooling. I've never wanted to lick a bicep and smell someone's skin the way I have the urge to right now. Jesus, I'm pathetic. Pair all of that with his blue baseball hat and he's easily the most handsome man I have ever seen. The brim is low enough that it casts a shadow over his face, but it doesn't hide the fact that he won't look at me for longer than a passing second. It feels like a gut punch.

"Hey, cowboy."

When his eyes meet mine, it's not the interest or fire that's usually looking back at me. This is different. This looks more like guilt, maybe even regret. I recognize it, as I've experienced plenty of both.

"Uncle Grant isn't a cowboy," Lily laughs out.

"No, flower, I'm not."

Ouch. That didn't feel playful.

I clear my throat. "I guess today he's not."

Maybe all that truth finally sunk in about what I had done—cheated with an engaged man. He didn't know about the brave thing that brought me here. The ugly thing was enough to push him away.

I'm not going to trash myself about this. If he's the one having a come-to-Jesus moment about me, then I should be relieved that I didn't share more. I'll get over the kiss and the kindness. The sweet gestures and private moments. Eventually. But if there had been more than that? If I woke up next to him. If I had let him romance me right into bed, maybe not. Maybe he's saving me the heartache in the long run. So, I push my shoulders back, tits out, and shift my attention.

"Is that henna?"

Lark turns her hands over and shows me the prettiest designs that wrap from her fingertips all the way up to her wrists. "Isn't it so cool? And it'll last when it peels away too."

"Do you like my butterfly paint?" Lily asks with a mouthful of cotton candy.

"I do. I almost didn't recognize you."

Lincoln shoves his hands into his pockets. It's obvious that he can read the tension. "We were just going to head down to pet some animals. Apparently, they're also doing pet adoption today."

Even though it's Lincoln who asked, my eyes stay trained on Grant. I glance down at his knuckles, remembering what Romey told me just a few minutes ago. "What happened to your hand?"

He clears his throat before he says, "Someone crossed a line."

My cheeks feel warm as I try my hardest to bite back a smile. I liked that the quiet ex-cop went ahead and decked the slimeball that was coming on to me.

Lincoln interrupts, "Laney, want to join us?"

"I think I'm going to walk around here a bit more. I've never been to a fair this big." I look around at the tables down this section and I feel like aside from spending some money, maybe it's a good time to talk. I can't figure out what's going on and I'd rather just get it out there. Rip off the band-aid. "Do you want?—"

But Grant interrupts as he starts walking away. "Girls, c'mon!" His nieces use that as their cue to take off running ahead of him.

Lincoln lingers behind. "They're going to eat their way through the day."

I hold up my drink and bag of popcorn. "Same."

"You going to be here later for the band?"

"Maybe."

"Good." He smiles. "I know there's something going on between you and Grant. You'd have to be blind not to have seen it." Shaking his head, he sighs. "He likes you, Laney."

"He sure does know how to confuse a girl," I say with a side-eye. Lincoln's tight-lipped smile tells me he knows. I let out a breath and admit, "But I like him too."

"Something is eating away at him. When he backs off and gets quiet, he's working through something. It might feel like it's something about you, but I'd bet all my money that it's got more to do with him."

I nod because, really, what am I supposed to say to that? I couldn't begin to guess. I don't know enough. Most of what I've learned about Grant has been through others.

My phone buzzes in my bag. Hadley.

"I'm going to catch up with them." Lincoln points at me as he walks away. "See you on that dance floor later, Laney."

HADLEY

Okay, where are you? I'm almost done with my mint julep slushie.

LANEY

Craft tables.

HADLEY

Meet me at the slushie stand. And then we can hit Loni's tent. I'm hoping she brought some of her new stuff. I could use something cute for tonight.

LANEY

Meet you there.

There was always somewhereto go in New York City. Somewhere familiar or somewhere new. There were after hours and there were early risers. I took for granted the constant state of motion the city was always in. It had been as natural as breathing to see something always happening—fairs, pop-ups, new restaurants, movie or television shows being set and filmed. But in Fiasco, life isn't like that. Except for this weekend. This weekend, my new small town is in a constant state of motion. And it made me savor the crowds and the way everyone was busy or curious. The craft fair turned into tournaments—from corn hole and horseshoes, to an auction where bids went toward farming equipment and bottles of bourbon.

Hadley and I spent far too long in the tent for Loni's Boutique. And then took a much-needed break to cool off in the AC and change into something that felt more like a night out and not a melted mess after too many hours at the fair.

There's still another entire day of this 4th of July weekend, but tonight seems like its party. There are only a few small kids left, all of them falling asleep on their parents' laps as they finish their late dinners. The air has the smell of burning wood from whatever the food tents still serve, and a twinge of spilled beer mixes with the ever-present sweetness that always lingers.

Lights are strung up high from one oak tree to the next. They hang across a makeshift dance floor in front of a stage, where a variety of bands play set lists ranging from cover songs to bluegrass. It's still warm, but with the sun already set, it only feels humid now. Everyone who spent time at the fair today has sunburns to show for it.

"Please tell me these cowboy boots aren't too over the top?"

Hadley looks down at my new black boots and drags her eyes up to the short little A-line floral dress I had my eye on from Loni's. "I think you look like some kind of southern goddess. I knew that dress would be fucking fire on you. Now we just need to find you a handsome cowboy."

I can't keep in the snort I let out because of her choice of words. Lost him before I even had him. And despite the ticker tape of emotions I have about what the heck he's thinking, I still want to see him. I scan the big open space sprinkled with groups of people. Mostly new faces and only a few I recognize—Prue is sitting with Romey and a few other book club women, drinking at the picnic tables in the back. Del and Marcus are drinking beers and watching the dance floor. When they catch my eye, they both hold up their drinks in a hello. Ace stands at the high-top tables, along with a few colleagues from the distillery and a woman I don't recognize. But no Grant.

"Looks like a new one for his rotation," Hadley huffs.

"Admit that you like him."

"No." Instead of elaborating or letting me say anything more about it, she claps her hands. "I feel like dancing my face off. Should we do a shot and then hit the dance floor."

She pulls out a flask from under her skirt.

"You had a flask under there?"

"What? I think I can pull off being the kind of woman who keeps a flask in her thigh strap."

I laugh out, "You are. Hadley, I feel like you could pull off being any kind of woman you want."

"You're good for me," she says with a side-eye and a smile. "You know that, right? I thought I was going to take you under my wing and show you the lay of the land, but you make me feel like a total badass."

"You are." I take a shot from her flask, her initials carved into the small, polished silver.

"Ditto, babes."

I look around the room again. "Is that Griz?" I ask, watching my friend pull apart the accordion as his fingers dance along its keys. The percussion and continuous roll of the banjo keep the tempo of the music quick and light. His deep voice starts to rumble over the microphone as he sings about a train to Memphis.

"Sure is. Just wait," she says with her eyes trained on the stage. "It's kind of a tradition."

Griz cuts out of that song and transitions the band into something slower. "I'm going to need a little bit of help up here for this next one." He scans the crowd and zeros in on where Ace was lingering. "My grandson, Grant Foxx, ladies and gentlemen. Let's go, son, we're going to need the harmonica for this one. Get yer tail up here."

I hadn't seen him there. But now that I do, I watch as he shyly nods, making his way through the crowd that's already started hootin' and hollerin' for him to get on stage. He changed from earlier, shedding his cutoff shirt for one of those black tees that seems to hug his arms just right. With it tucked into his jeans, his belt buckle shines, and the way he turns heads has everything to do with how he carries himself. The confidence on that man should be bottled and sold. Fuck bourbon. He'd make a killing off that swagger and I-don't-give-a-fuck-energy that trails behind him. I try to ignore the way his ass looks in his jeans, but if I had to bet on it, more than half the people within twenty feet of him are looking.

I shouldn't be internally overheating. I've barely danced. The sun went down, but dammit, Grant Foxx went ahead and decided to move front and center. I feel like I'm hit by a train the moment his eyes meet mine. In an entire crowd of people, he manages to find me. Only this time, he doesn't look away. And neither do I.

His mouth and his hands move against his metal harmonica in a way that drags out the notes and leads the rest of the band. He looks like a natural up there. Griz watches him and they play off each other. I swallow the dryness in my throat and take a big sip of the beer left in front of me. Because watching him also drives home the reality once more that I haven't wanted anything like the way I've started to want things here.

When the tempo picks up, Hadley grabs my hand, walking us forward to the dance floor. "We're dancing. And whatever is going on there can be figured out once we get a little more drunk and a lot more sweaty."

A few of the waitstaff from Midnight Proof are already out there. A majority of them are working through some kind of line dancing that I have no clue about, but Hadley shouts over the band, "It's like the electric slide, but throw in some hip dips and attitude. You'll get it."

When I glance around the dance floor, I'm met with smiling faces. Some are more drunk than others, and it's impossible not to loosen up. It takes only a few minutes to catch on to the way everyone is moving. And just like that, I'm sweating, laughing, and forgetting all about the one man who still has his eyes on me.