Page 92 of Bourbon and Proof

“Why don’t you go find someone you can boss around? There are plenty drooling over you tonight,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, squaring off like he was readying for a fight.

“So you are paying attention.” I stepped closer. I watched as his nostrils flared and he bit down on those back molars. The tendons in his neck flexed as I said, “You think just because I ask you to dance with me, that gives you the right to talk to me like I’m not worth your time?” I looked down at his body—Wranglers and a Foxx Bourbon T-shirt that showed off exactly where he spent his extra time. He glided his thumb along his bottom lip, his bicep straining against the sleeves. The crack of a firework caught us both off guard, and he flinched.

I didn’t think, I just reacted, digging into the small front pocket of my skirt where I stashed some Pop Rocks. I’d seen him flinch at loud noises before and watched him plenty of times, trying to find a quiet space when things got too loud. He never watched fireworks with us and was usually long gone before they ever even started. His hand shot up, stopping me from moving any farther.

“It’s just a little bit of sugar. It’s a nice distraction when I get anxious,” I told him, just as Laney and Grant came hustling back from wherever they snuck off.

“No,” he gritted out.

I stared at him, silently swearing at him for being an asshole when I was trying to help. So I did exactly what I always had when Ace was involved—I put up my defenses and mouthed off.

A loud whistle has me whipping toward the commotion happening at every angle. Food vendors, families setting up to watch the upcoming events, and the last of the horses being loaded into their respective trailers post-parade. There are rails all along the center of the town green for barrel rolling contests. Grant Foxx is a powerhouse, and if you add his cooperage team, then they’re unbeatable. A couple of other distilleries from Louisville come down and a few from out along the craft bourbon trail join in too.

Faye, along with Lark and Lily, wave like loons from across the street when they spot me. Each of them holds kettle corn bags. Lily has an arm stacked with flower crowns that she’s selling for $10, as written on the front and back of her white shirt. Lark holds a giant-sized stuffed Highland cow that looks a lot like her real cow, Dottie, while Faye has a neon plastic yard cup filled with a frozen pink drink.

“I’m going to need some of all of what you guys have.” I laugh as they get closer.

“Hadley, please tell me you were able to talk him out of it,” Faye says as she looks out across the field.

I furrow my brow and follow her line of sight. Sure enough, Linc is stretching his arms out, wearing a “Foxx Bourbon Crew” T-shirt. Grant’s calling a huddle next to him, and with his arms crossed, looking less than thrilled just off to the right, is my husband. “I had zero knowledge of any of this,” I tell her, unable to hold back the chuckle at the look on her face.

“I think Lady Brittany Christina Pink is the prettiest one in the entire parade. Don’t you think so, Faye?” Lily asks.

Faye passes me the yard glass of frosé. “Lily, I think Lady is the prettiest horse I’ve ever seen. I mean, with the exception of Dutchess Fergie, there isn’t a single horse in the entire county with sparkling hooves and bright pink horseshoes.” Faye leans into me, adding, “The paint is awesome, but I didn’t realize you were getting them fitted with colored horseshoes too. I kind of love them.”

“I have great taste, but you already know that.” I give her a wink. “It trickles down to my horses.”

“And your nieces,” Lark says over a mouthful of kettle corn. She decided to borrow one of my baseball All-Star jerseys, and I’ll be honest, she’s a whole vibe now. Cute jean cut-offs, the jersey, high-top Converse, and a bright orangey-pink gloss that I know Lincoln wasn’t thrilled about.

“Obviously,” I say, giving her a high-five that morphs into a pinky promise. It’s become our version of a handshake and, truthfully, I’ll take however much attention and goofy moments as she wants, because I know soon, they'll be fleeting.

Lily starts shouting, “Go, Dad!”

And like the nerd he is, Lincoln flexes like a WWE wrestler and tries knocking chests with Grant, who shoves him off.

Laney comes up from behind us, whistling loudly and yelling, “LET’S GO, FOXX BOURBON!” She’s smiling wide, her red hair piled high. “I know I’m biased, but what the hell are Ace and Linc doing out there? They’re going to slow Grant and his guys down.”

“They’re all showing off,” Romey says, laughing next to us. But it’s her sister, Prue, who tells her to pipe down. “Let’s just enjoy the small blessings today. Like the way those boys look like they might’ve sized down in those shirts and are about to burst out of ’em.”

On the other side of Romey, Marla sips on a glass of iced tea and says, “Ah, Fiasco.” She smacks her lips. “Old Fashioneds and old biddies objectifying men.”

“Oh, fuck off, Marla,” Romey says, shoving a candy in her mouth.

I snort a laugh. “Romey, you had better pass me one of those Modjeskas,” I tell her, just as Del steps to the center of the green, and over the loudspeaker, he announces the start of the bourbon barrel relay.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IT’S A RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK TO SEE WHICH DISTILLERY CAN HANDLE THEIR BARRELS BEST...”

I glance toward the edge of the green, taking in the massive turnout of people, and my eye catches on someone leaning against my car. It’s not uncommon for people to pay attention to a deep purple muscle car—she’s beautiful. But the dark hair and pressed uniform leaning against her makes me do a double take. It isn’t like the fire chief is hard to pick out in a crowd on a day like today. Hell, the fire department and police department marched down Main, tossing candy and collecting donations. But him lingering there seems strange, especially after our last interaction. I don’t want to witness another fight, or start one, for that matter, but that fucker said some shitty things to me. He isn’t allowed to lean on my car.

Marla budges my arm, interrupting my internal back-and-forth about what would happen if I marched over there and demanded he move. She gives me a tight-lipped smile before she says, “You look happy, kid.” It’s a rather nice thing to hear from her. She’s always been rough around the edges, but she looks out for people in her own way. “You always put on a brave face. I know those; I did those most of my life too.” She glances out to the announcer’s podium, where Del’s standing. “But when you find a good one, the kind of partner that shakes up everythingyou ever thought you knew about yourself and allows you to be exactly who you are, you learn that being brave and being happy don’t need to look the same.”

The horn sounds off, and the girls around me start yelling and hollering for Lincoln to hustle and for Grant to pick up the pace. Ace hauls his sweet ass down the rail tracks faster than both of them, steering the barrels exactly where they’re meant to be placed and positioned with the bung side up. And in less than three minutes, the entire cooperage crew from Foxx Bourbon are chanting, hooting, and cheering. Ace breaks from the crowd, and with an easy smile, starts walking right for me.

I can’t help but peacock a little as I watch Romey and Prue nudge each other as they witness how he’s looking at his wife.

Shaking his head, he laughs out, “Please tell me you saw that.”

“Oh, I saw it. Are you trying to impress your girl?” I say, smiling up at him.

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