Page 29 of Sweet Like Whiskey

Virginia sees through my flimsy attempt to skirt her scrutiny. “Mhm. Try again.”

“He’s hot,” I admit.

She grins, her dimples appearing. “Uh-huh.”

“And a total sweetheart,” I add. “Even though I’m fairly sure he’d deny it to his last breath.”

She waves for me to go on.

“And, fuck, Ginnie, he came galloping up on a horse the other day, and I damn near popped a boner. I didn’t realize I have a thing for cowboys. Especiallygrumpycowboys.”

My friend doesn’t even try to hide her amusement. “So you’re going after him?”

“I am,” I tell her. Why even try to deny it?

Virginia squeals under her breath.

“You really want me past Nicholas, huh?” I saywith a chuckle, popping the last of my croissant in my mouth.

Virginia puffs out a breath. “That’s not it. Or, well, notallof it. Maybe I just want you to have a reason to stay, all right?”

I reach across the table and give her hand a squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon,” I assure my friend. It feels too soon to sayor ever, but I can admit to myself the idea of returning to Maine doesn’t feel right.

Darling? It feels right.

Virginia and I hang out for a couple hours, playing catch-up long after her coffee is gone. Some of the more touristy businesses in town are closed today, but she points out the food options, including a sandwich shop and a restaurant that serves an eclectic mix of cuisine. After that, we amble through the antiques market. I end up finding a small figurine of a cowboy on a jet-black horse. Virginia snorts when I buy it, but she looks secretly pleased.

Virginia drops me back off at the Darling Ranch when our afternoon is up. “You know,” she says almost fondly, looking through the window of her car, “I used to come here when I was a kid. Went trail riding a time or two. Visited the petting farm a lot.”

Virginia grew up here in Darling. She traveled to the east coast for college, which is how we met. But she moved back several years ago. It bummed me out at the time, but seeing her at home like this…it fits. I can understand now why she wanted to come back.

“You should stop by sometime when the petting farm is open,” I tell her. “We can cuddle the baby goats together.”

She huffs a laugh. “It’s a date. Now get outta my car. And don’t forget to tell me every goddamn detail of what happens with you and Jackson.”

“Every detail, Ginnie? Really?”

“Every. Single. One. Until I get my own cowboy, I’ll be living vicariously through you.”

I give her cheek a kiss, making no promises one way or another, and get out of the vehicle.

As Virginia pulls away in a small cloud of dust, I jog up the porch stairs of the ranch house. I’ve just toed off my shoes and am rounding the corner into the hall when the man of the hour appears.

Jackson stops at the other end of the hallway, looking flustered. If I didn’t know better—althoughhowI know better is a mystery—I’d think he was angry.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks, tone tight.

“Enjoying my day off,” I answer, the little cowboy figurine tucked in my hand. I step closer, stopping at the bottom of the stairs, just a foot in front of him.

He eyes me up and down, as if checking for injuries. “So you’re fine?” he practically grits out.

I smile. “More than.”

He grunts, skirting past me.

“Jackson?” I call before he can get far.

He stops and turns, eyeing me warily.

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