Page 61 of Bourbon and Lies

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 issitting 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 isgoing 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.

Chapter 27

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