Page 110 of Bourbon and Proof

Then she stops next to me. “Husband.” Leaning down, she wraps her hand around my throat, much like I enjoy doing to her, and kisses me as if we’re the only two in the room, taking what she wants. Honestly, I couldn’t give a shit. If the other people in here weren’t my family, I’d throw her down on this table and have my way with her. When she pulls back, her lips flushed and wet, I’m ready to tell everyone to get the fuck out.

“See you in a little while?” she whispers

I smile up at her. “Yeah, see you in a little while, sugar.”

“Whew!" Shaking her head dramatically, like she’s hot and bothered by our kiss, her dark hair waves behind her as she wiggles her arms. Swaying her ass away, she shoves through the glass doors, starting off down the hall, shouting from just outside, “Missin’ you already, baby!”

“You two were giving Faye and me shit about overdone displays of affection, but you both are out of control. You realize that?” Lincoln says with a smirk as he stands.

I can’t help but cover my mouth and try my best to hide my laugh.

But it’s my baby brother who surprises me when he says, “Nah. Keep it up, Ace. We like to see it.”

Laney clasps her hand with his as they move toward the door. “You might not remember this, but it was the first time I'd ever met Hadley. I’m sure people had been seeing it for a while, but the minute you saw her getting out of her car, you smiled, just a pinch. Your whole body language changed. I’ve been hoping it would happen for the two of you ever since.” She smiles at me and says, “I’m so glad it did.”

The bottle topmakes a popping sound, and I whip my head around to find her pouring a finger into each glass.

“Ace, you’re the one who told me great bottles were meant to drink, not sit.” She passes me a glass, clinks hers with mine, and sips. “We’re doing something incredible, and that deserves a minute and a few fingers of bourbon.”

She smiles as I take a sip of the only bottle left from my father’s last reserve. The entirety of his barrels had been lost in a fire. They weren’t anything special, just a higher proof single barrel. It’s the last of him that I have, and I’ve been afraid to let it go.

“Whoa.” She coughs, covering her mouth. “That hugged all the way down. Please tell me it was either expensive or nostalgic.” With watery eyes, she rubs at the center of her chest, right where you feel that Kentucky burn.

“140 proof, give or take at this point,” I say, resigning to having a sip. It’s been poured, and I don’t need to get worked up about what’s already done. “Cheapest bottle we used to sell. But there aren’t any more in circulation. It was the last batch of my father’s specialty reserve.”

She blinks and stays still for a moment, maybe not realizingexactlythe level of “special” this bottle really carries. But she’s right—bottles were made to be enjoyed, not just stored. She has a way of reminding me that life is meant to be enjoyed too, savored and shared. She glances down at the table and then slides her small black notebook across the desk. “Go ahead. You shared with me, so I’d like to share something special with you.”

“You don’t have to?—”

But she cuts me off with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “I’m very aware of that. But I want to. It’s all good things.”

I glide my thumb along the worn leather. I’ve wondered for a long time what she puts in here and now she’s offering it to me like it’s the last secret to be out in the open. When I flip the pages, she’s written in small letters a variety of details about my brothers and Griz, observations about the horses she’s ridden, as well as her own, descriptions of the weather or delicious foods or random things that make her happy. Then there are pages solely about me and how I make her feel, something that has my chest warming. One that stands out is filled with words swirling around my name at the center—asshole, kind, strong, wickedly smart, stupidly sexy,and so many more, she had to squeeze her writing onto the page.There are some months that she simplifies into short sentences, and other spots that hold lists of things that I know are her favorites—Luxardo cherries, horses with glitter hooves, song lyrics that I know she’s used as advice for Lark and Lily, words of affirmation, and a whole page dedicated purely to insults, including—swashbuckling cunt bag, twatwaffle, asshat, titty-tally-whacker, and dick-cicle.My smile widens at that, and I realize I’ve been smiling more with every new section, getting this special glimpse inside her mind.

As I flip through more of the book, there are descriptions of mash bills and whiskeys, and the process of bourbon as a whole, as if she took notes when Lincoln explained it to her.

I glance up at her, surprised to find it.

She’s watching me and how I’m taking it all in. Without looking up, I say, “On your left, top drawer.” There are lists of what looks like every barrel we’ve ever made. It’s more proof that she’s always belonged here—and she made sure of it.

This is her, an entire collection on Hadley Jean Foxx scribbled on pages.

Out of my periphery, I can see her move to the right first, then the left. She drags the drawer open, but she stays quiet. When I look up, she’s flipping through a stuffed drawer of just about every flavor of Pop Rocks. “These all for me?”

I move closer and pluck a pack out and tear it open. “Someone told me once that these sweet things make you feel less anxious. Figured it couldn’t hurt to stock up.” I pour some into my mouth and they instantly start crackling some gross blue raspberry flavor. She opens her mouth, and I tip some in as she giggles. Pulling her against me, I push the hair from her shoulders, tossing the packet aside, and framing her face with my hands. I rub my thumb along her bottom lip as the sound of crackling rocks rings out and makes me smile. “I don’t have a book. But I promise to make enough memories—good ones—that’ll help you fill even more pages.”

She smiles, kissing the pad of my thumb.

“Une preuve d’amour,” I say, and she hums sweetly in my hold.

Her eyes glisten with emotion, relishing the words Presh said to us on our wedding day. The same ones marked along our skin. They were our truth long before we ever said the words or recited the vows. She is that for me and maybe always has beenproof of love.

Epilogue

Griz

I never picturedthe end of my life. There was never a moment that I didn’t spend enjoying the present. I had no interest in thinking about when it might end, only that I hoped it was a long and healthy one. I liked seeing the forest for the trees and all that nonsense, but I always knew that life needed to be lived. There’s a difference between settling and being settled. Pockets of feeling like things were locked in place and how they should be, while others felt like cruelty was a path we, as Foxxes, were forced to follow. And then there were moments over the past decade when I would be reading a book in my book club or simply having a spiked coffee on the front porch, and it felt like something wasn’t right.

I smile at my beautiful wife. Now, it feels right. I should’ve married Shelby long before today, but life had other plans for us. That woman went through hell and back again—saying goodbye to both of her daughters at various points, leaving the only place she ever considered home, just to be safe from men who had no business breathin’.

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