Chapter 8

I was toointerested in the Foxx Bourbon Distillery to hang back. Sleep would happen eventually. The universe somehow managed to drop me at the epicenter of one of the world"s largest distributors and most respected bourbon brands. It isn't my first choice as a drink, but I've poured plenty of variations of whiskey in my lifetime. When someone asked for bourbon, if they knew a thing or two, they'd always request Foxx. Sometimes if they were cheap, they'd opt for another brand, but anyone who asked for rocks or neat always went with a Foxx label.

Instead of hopping into her muscle car, we walked along a stone walkway for about half a mile and ended up in front of the Foxx Bourbon Distillery. The entryway reminded me of the wineries in New York along the Finger Lakes. I did a wedding there last summer that was a "small elopement" ceremony of just under six-hundred close family and friends. That couple almost didn't make it when they argued for months about which vineyard would be the best for their vows. The West Coast was known for its vineyards and the way they were presented, but New Yorkers could only show off to as many people as possible if it was drivable. The Finger Lakes had won them over.

I feel warm here, beyond just the humidity. There's no pretension or sense of unwelcomed exclusivity. The beautifully curated landscaping ranged from perfectly rounded green shrubbery to wispy cherry blossom trees. Greenery with pops of color is what framed the massive oak double doors. It was quite simply…lovely.

At the top of the entryway was the Foxx Bourbon logo, the black metal bent and molded into the letter F with the profile of a fox head woven around it. It was grandiose and so different from the other side of the property, where the main house and cottage sat. This was for tourists.

The sound of cars driving over gravel and chatter from groups of people sitting along the patio along the perimeter greeted us. As soon as we walked closer, the air smelled sweeter and tangier.

"It smells so good here."

She closes her eyes and breathes in. "It's a combination of corn, malted barley, and rye that ferments when it"s combined with yeast. Aside from making bourbon, it makes the air smell like you're being bathed in sugar." Holding out her tongue, she swipes at the air as her voice rasps, "Delish."

Just as she starts to say something more, a deep voice comes from behind us, startling me. I clutch my chest and close my eyes briefly. It's the first time a man's voice has made me feel jumpy. One of the consequences I hadn't realized I would need to deal with from coming face to face with a monster and living to remember it.

"The mash bill. It's always stronger the closer you get to the distillery."

He has a smile that pulls at shallow dimples and crinkles the corners of bright blue eyes. His brown hair is a little longer, and while he doesn't look like an exact replica, I know this has got to be the other Foxx brother. The same confidence and gait. All his features are distracting on their own, but add in the square jawline, and the Foxx men were all living up to their name.

"Laney, this is my bestest friend on the planet, Lincoln Foxx," Hadley says, smiling and wrapping her arm around him as she stands on her tiptoes.

Holding out his hand, he says, "My grandfather, Griz, told me all about the pretty new stranger staying in the studio. Thought that might be you."

Hadley opens her mouth wide. "Linc, are you flirting?" She points to me. "That was flirting, right?"

I can't help but smile and nod yes.

Lincoln drops the smile and gives her a sarcastic blank face when he tells her, "I hate you. And I'm welcoming your friend. Don't be a dick, Hadley Jean."

I shake his hand back, smiling at both of them. "It's nice to meet you. Your whole family has been really welcoming. Thank you."

They look at each other before Lincoln says, "Then you haven't met all of us yet."

The cowboy.

But before I can correct the assumption, Lincoln starts walking with us. "Can I tag onto your tour, Hads?"

Hadley gives him a knowing smile. And the way that his neck tints pink just above the neckline of his t-shirt, I think Lincoln isn't one to tag onto tours of his own distillery.

We follow him past the main entrance, where groups of people wait for their tours to start. "Laney, have you ever been to a distillery?"

Lincoln's face lights up as his smile lines crease and dimples tilt when I tell him, "This is my first. I've done a lot of vineyard tours and breweries, but never a distillery."

He claps his hands together and rubs his palms like he's about to unleash the ultimate entertainment. He's so much lighter than both of his brothers. "There's a helluva lot of fun in bourbon, but at the core of all of it is simple chemistry." He begins explaining the science behind it—where fermentation and ratios are what set bourbons apart at their core. He touts about the things that the Foxx brand does differently than all the rest. "Our ratio of corn to rye and barely is higher, which makes us sweeter. No matter what, in order to qualify as a true bourbon, one of the rules is that the mash bill needs to be 51% corn or higher."

He"s charming. A natural presenter and captivating storyteller. There's no mistaking he loves what he does and is good at his job.

"So, Laney with no last name, how long are you planning to be in Fiasco?" he asks, just as we enter into a more industrial-looking space. "My brother was pretty vague, whether you were moving here or just visiting. Just that you'd be here for a while and to give you space until you started working."

"Nice job on that space, Linc," Hadley says, leaning into his side.

I knew the questions would come. I just wish I had thought through how I would answer. Without letting too much silence linger around the question, I settle on, "I'll be here for a while," shrugging. "I'm entering my ‘don't overthink it' era," I add with a bright smile. "So we'll see."

Hadley chimes in, "I like that. I overthink everything. Usually, after I've already done it."

"So, ask-for-forgiveness kind of girl?"

Lincoln laughs and answers for her, "Rarely."

I slow down next to a massive silver tub. "Ace is doing a friend a favor by giving me a job and a place to stay for a while. I met him last night." Looking into the tub, I see it filled almost to the brim with a bubbling, thick yellow substance. When I hover my hand over the top, I can feel the heat radiating from it. "Getting involved with anyone is very low on my to-do list right now."

Hadley loops her arm with mine as we walk. "You, my friend, might want to consider a new to-do list. But fair warning, there's already gossip that Ace had a ‘young thang' at his house this morning."

"News travels quickly here?" I had hoped this was more of a mind-your-own-business small town and not the stereotype in movies and books.

"Oh, Laney, it's the most fun part. I usually make up a couple of rumors about myself just to keep the old biddies out of my business." She winks at me as we leave the main building.

The clang of metal against concrete has me jumping. The echo grabbed most people"s attention, but for me, it pushes my pulse rate into double-time.

"It's a bit louder in here. Between the wood that's carved and slotted into staves and coming off the line to the barrels being toasted." Lincoln points around the massive workspace. Along the edges, several tour groups keep their attention on the center of the space as wooden barrels are being made in various stages of their process.

"This is one of the few distilleries that has an in-house cooperage. My grandfather decided it made more sense to do what we wanted instead of negotiating and paying for a product we couldn't control. It's one of our largest assets when it comes to making bourbon. The barrels are where everything changes. It gives us complete control on the level of char we have in our barrels and sets the plan for what we're making."

He talks as we walk, and I take in all the machinery and barrels that are rolled outside and off to wherever they're headed next. I'm fascinated by each piece of it. From the way he explains how the pieces of wood are held together by metal hoops and pressure, to the amount of time they're currently toasting their barrels for this batch. "Right there." He points to a conveyor belt that carries a newly constructed barrel. Someone pushes a button, and it immediately bathes the oak in a controlled fire. With a countdown clock on the wall of fifty seconds, the fire-roasted barrel is covered to tamp out the flames, and then when the cover is lifted, air ducts suck out the smoke as if it never happened.

But I miss what he says next, or whatever he wants me to see, because I'm watching as the cowboy, sans his blue baseball hat, yanks the barrel down and then rolls it from the conveyor belt, into the center of the room.

When he looks up, he pauses just long enough that our eyes meet. Long seconds tick by before his gaze moves to Lincoln standing next to me, who I forgot was talking.

". . . that's the truth of it, Laney."

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

He laughs, and then glances out to where I was focused. "Nothing. Come on, let"s go tag a barrel." As we follow, he looks over his shoulder. "Perk of taking a tour with one of us."

Hadley leans into me as we walk behind Lincoln, adding, "That one, with the forearms and big shoulders, would be Grant Foxx." She must sense exactly what I'm feeling, because she sniffs a laugh. "Yeah, I know. All of them, right? It's ridiculous."

I widen my eyes, and whisper-shout back to her over the noise from the massive space. "All of them. What's in the water here?"

"Limestone," that voice from this morning answers. How did he even hear that? "These two are shit tour guides if they haven't already told you about the water here." His mouth ticks up to the right. "That's what you were asking—what's in the water here?"

Cocky bastard. He knows exactly why I asked that.

He looks down at my legs. "I see you found some pants."

He didn't.

Hadley and Lincoln look back and forth at us, clueless as to what he's talking about. "Linc, what am I witnessing here?"

"Honestly, I have no idea."

Hadley points between us. "So you've already met?" And since she is apparently someone who doesn't let people answer before she throws out more questions, she turns to me and says, "I thought you said you just came last night?"

And the minute she says it, that particular choice of words, I can tell exactly what Grant's thinking. His stoic expression cracks for just a moment as the tiniest smirk quirks the mustache that stands out thicker from the scruff along his beard. And I'm realizing really fucking quickly that Grant Fox is not just attractive. No, this guy is ruggedly handsome. Tall and built. Thick, dark brown hair long enough to thread through fingers and grip along the top. Hazel eyes shining with colors that make them pretty as they dance around my face. "That true, honey? Did you just come last night?"

"Sure did," I quip right back without missing a beat. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Honey? What did I miss?" Lincoln asks his brother.

The glare I'm trying to muster turns into a staring contest that, if I'm not careful, I might lose.

He keeps his eyes trained on me while he answers his brother. "She was wandering around the back of the main house in one of Ace's t-shirts. No pants. Thought she was still drunk or lost."

My hands ball up into fists and a full-body flash of heat flushes my face, staining my cheeks and up my neck too. "I was neither of those, fuck you very much."

He crosses his arms over his broad chest. "Didn't think I'd see you again. He usually doesn't like repeats."

Hadley barks out a laugh and slings her arm around my shoulders. "Well, it looks like you might be seeing even more of her since she just moved into the cottage across from your place."

The speed at which his eyebrows raise and lips part is priceless.

I smile with satisfaction.

Lincoln leans closer and quietly asks, "That true? You and Ace?"

There isn't anything discreet about him asking since Hadley and Grant are waiting on the answer and the fact that a few workers behind Grant have started paying attention to this exchange. Grant gives his brother a glare and Hadley can"t seem to tame her smug smile.

This is going to be the beginning of my story in this town. The gossip will flow from this interaction alone, so I want to be crystal clear: what I'm doing here is none of their business.

"The last time I checked, Hadley," I say loudly while meeting Grant's eyes, "what a woman does with her body, whether it's with or without a partner, is nobody else"s business but her own, right?"

"I knew I was going to love you," she laughs out. "And yeah, Laney. Sounds about right to me." She holds out her arm as a signal for me to loop mine in hers.

When we start to walk away, I pause and look at Grant from head to toe. I've been underestimated, overpromised, and left to pick up the pieces of a life that I don't recognize. He might be beautiful, but I'm not going to be intimidated. Been there, done that, wouldn't recommend. "Don't assume you know anything about me, cowboy. Because I'll tell you right now, you're going to end up being wrong."

"Not a cowboy, remember?" he shouts back at me, watching as I go.

"Might want to consider wearing a different shirt, then." His chambray shirt looks damn good. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, faded and worn. As a man in Manhattan, he would have been chasing or starting a trend.

I shift my eyes to Hadley. "Want to do that tasting now?"

"Laney," Grant calls out.

When I turn back toward him, he looks like he's going to apologize, but instead, he stands there, the stoic look masking his handsome face, staying silent.

"My name sounds good coming out of your mouth like that."

I raise my eyebrows to challenge him to say something—go ahead, try to have the last word, cowboy. As I look over my shoulder at him one more time, I realize I've just figured out two very important things: I've definitely managed to piss off Grant Foxx just by existing in his small town. And I think I like it.