Page 73 of Bourbon and Lies

“Lark tried to do it herself and then kept getting upset that it didn’t look good, so I watched a YouTube video and fixed it for her.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her staring at me.

My mouth ticks up, trying to hold back my smile. I know she’s going to want to make a big deal about it. “What?”

“That was just not what I was expecting you to say.” I turn to look at her, but instead of expanding on what she had “expected,” she says, “You’re not anything like I thought you would be.”

I concentrate on the smaller toes. In all honesty, this isn’t all that hard to do. “And what did you think I was like?”

“An asshole with a chip on his shoulder.”

I bark out a laugh, almost spilling the polish.

She smiles as she watches my reaction. It’s the one thing that’s been consistent in all of this—she has a way of getting a reaction out of me.

“But that’s not you at all.” She sighs. “You’re just an asshole when you want to be, but the rest of the time, you’re the kind of guy girls like me hope shows up on a horse and makes just about everything...better.”

I stop painting after hearing that. This woman is something else.

“I like you,” she says, just slightly louder than a whisper.

Looking back down, I try to focus on finishing her toes with precision. With a smirk, because I have to tease her a little after that, I say, “You’re alright.”

She snorts a laugh. “Let’s see if you feel like I’m just ‘alright’ when I’m riding your cock later.”

“Jesus Christ.” My concentration falters, and I swipe the nail polish brush all along her pinky toe.

“I’m sorry!” She lets out a small snort as she giggles, and her hand flies up to cover her mouth and nose. It’s really fucking cute.

“You can’t say that kind of shit to me while I’m trying to concentrate.”

She leans forward and whispers, “I think you’re pretty amazing, Grant Foxx.”

I don’t know why it hits me the way that it does, but those few words mixed with what she said before feel like some kind of vindication. That I’ve earned the right to show parts of myself to someone again.

It’s been a helluva week since we’ve started whatever this is, but it’s been the highlight, hands down. Just about everyone on my team at the cooperage had something they needed from me. It’s been exhausting and tedious. I’m trying to delegate more of my typical tasks with a full team now. And we’ve started new barrels for a blend that Lincoln wanted to do in a limited run with, which meant new toasting times.A week.Which is why today, with her, is like the reward. It's a lazy day. The kind with no plans that I would always try to avoid. Keeping busy had always helped the days move along and kept quiet moments from turning into spiraling feelings. But right now, I’m loving every second of today’s pace. It’s peaceful.

The air cools down a bit as I listen to Laney talk about random things, like her favorite Little Debbie’s cakes and what she would say if she ever met Michael Douglas. Just about everything on this field is bathed in wildflowers and tinted with the remnants of golden hour. If summer could only be one day, today would be it.

“All I’m saying is, I don’t think I would be able to pretend like he was just some guy coming to the distillery to try out bourbon.”

I make it to another toe without painting her skin. “Why not?”

“Grant, do you even know who Michael Douglas is?”

I can’t help but smile at the tone of her voice. Like it would be crazy if I didn’t.

“Here. Open,” she says.

I open my mouth and she drops in another gummy bear.

“Why are these so good,” I say rhetorically. “And yes, I know who Michael Douglas is.Wall Street.Basic Instinct.”

“Romancing the Stone,” she adds, popping another candy in her mouth.

I lift her other foot into my lap. “My nana would stay up really late and watch movies. It was her thing.” Dipping the brush, I start on the next toe. “She let me watch the romance one with her. And I don’t think I realized it was funny until I was older, but when I was a kid, I thought Michael Douglas was a badass.”

She leans back on her elbows. “He’s swoony. Don’t care how old he is. The man will forever be?—”

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