Page 83 of Bourbon and Lies

“Laney,” Griz shouts. “Looks like your beginner’s luck might be rewarding me instead, while you suck face with my grandson.”

When I look back at her smiling, I pull her chin closer and lock onto those blue eyes as I tell her, “I’m better than alright, honey.”

Chapter 36

Laney

The double tapon my front door has Julep barking.

“Come in,” I yell out, my hands covered in sticky dough from today’s urge to make homemade cinnamon rolls. Baking has become my clear space. I don’t muddle it up with overanxious thoughts. It helps me feel close to my dad in some ways, and in others, it lets me just enjoy a task that’s only meant for me.

“Hey, Laney.” It isn’t the Foxx I was expecting to show up at my front door—technically, his front door. I can barely hear him over some morning Ella Fitzgerald.

I jut my chin and lean down to reach the volume on my little speaker perched next to me. “Ace, what are you doing here?”

“I was going to say the same thing about you,” he says, leaning against the counter. His hands are slung into his suit pants pockets and an easy smile rests on his face.

I stop stirring the brown sugar and cinnamon. “Shit. Have I outworn my welcome? I know you said you didn’t want rent, butI’ve been putting aside a couple hundred dollars a week in case you ask for it.”

He shakes his head no. “I don’t need rent. I just meant that I didn’t think you would be in here. I had just assumed you were spending time at Grant’s place.”

“Oh.” What was I supposed to say to that? Yes, actually. I’ve been spending a great deal of time in your brother’s bed. Not to mention, the timeliness of your curiosity is interestingly accurate based on the conversation I had with Grant this morning.

I peered out of the corner of my eye as I put mascara on my lashes. Grant surveyed the bathroom counter covered in most of my things. “I’ll clean this all up once I’m done.”

“Is that the only make-up you have?” He globbed toothpaste onto his toothbrush and started brushing as he watched me curl my eyelashes.

“Please don’t be the guy who says, ‘you don’t need it.’”

He just smiled over his toothbrush, and then spit, before bringing his attention back to me. “Laney, I value my life. I would never tell you what you do or don’t need.” He winks.

It was impossible not to smile, especially with that navy towel tucked at the hip and slung so low.

“Eyes up here, baby.” Clearing his throat, he rubbed the back of his neck before looking at me in the mirror again. “I’m asking because maybe you should grab more. To have here.”

That made me pause what I was doing.

With a tight-lipped smile, he looked nervous. Grant, for all the things I’m learning about him, seeming nervous in any situation isn’t one I’ve experienced yet. “I’m trying to get more of you.”

That threw me off. And not in a way where I didn’t want to hear it. It was more like, I had never heard those words before. There had never been a time in my life when someone otherthan my dad wanted more of me. It had always gone the other way. And some of that surprise, and albeit slight panic, must have been showing on my face.

He wiped whatever toothpaste was left behind and shifted closer, leaning down and kissing my shoulder. “Let me have more of you.”

The truth was, I wanted it too. Maybe all of it was soon. Maybe it would turn into the worst decision of my life—getting closer to a man who had gone from calling me a liar to claiming me as his.

“There’s room for you here. In the top drawer, space in my closet, and the table on your side of the bed is practically vacant anyway.” Dragging his teeth along my shoulder, he said, “Think about it,” and then strode out of the bathroom, giving my ass a little smack.

It’s all I’d been thinking about. Hence the bag of skittles I already powered through after I had made a big batch of granola.

“Prue asked about having a wedding at the distillery. One of her granddaughters is looking for a small venue and she was wondering if that was something we could do. I told her that I would need to talk to my events person before I committed to anything.”

I finish sprinkling the brown sugar bourbon mixture onto the rolled-out dough and move toward the little refrigerator for some butter. I really like that he came to talk to me before committing to it. The gesture makes me realize how much I respect Ace and the way he does business. The way he treats people. Especially the people who work for him. “I think if it’s in the dead of winter or the heart of summer and they want it outside, it’ll be tricky with the weather. But maybe if it’s in the fall, that’ll allow us to only worry about a tented space and not about temperature control.”

“And what if we had a dedicated space for events like that?”

That has me stopping the cinnamon bun multitasking once again. “I would say the distillery is too busy during typical tour hours for a private event. But if you had a special place for things like that, then it would be something we could offer regularly.”

“Is that something you would consider sticking around for? Long term?”

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