Page 25 of Bourbon and Secrets

My head rears back. “What?”

“You heard me, Foxx. Are. You. Fucking. My. Sister?”

She can’t be serious.“You can’t be serious?”

I know what kind of reputation I’ve accumulated over the past handful of years. And it’s never once bothered me. Until right now. I can’t tell if she’s asking because she’s feeling protective of Maggie, or if she’s been here long enough to listen to the gossip that swarms around me, or if she just wants to piss me off.

I stare at her for a moment, admiring that beauty mark on her cheek that my girls noticed too. A small gasp of air escapes her lips when the tips of my fingers brush along the edge of her hand. “You’re really serious?” But she must be, because she doesn’t blink as she waits for a response.

When I don’t give her what she’s looking for, she clears her throat. Licking her bottom lip, she says, “Answer the question, Foxx.”

“Would it matter if I were?” I ask tauntingly.

Her eyes drop to my mouth before she corrects herself, realizing what she just did. The simple move makes me want more.

“Y-yes,” she stutters out as her eyes meet mine.

Fuck. That isn’t the answer I anticipated. It stirs something low in my gut, arousal definitely, but something else full of heat and curiosity. I can’t tell anymore if this is still her way of gaining the upper hand. It feels vulnerable. As I step back, she leans forward, her hands gripping my shirt. I don’t think she planned to do it as her eyes snap to where her fists are balling the material.

“Don’t,” I grit out, my voice low.

My tone snaps her out of whatever this is. And I instantly hate myself for it as her hands loosen their grip. She turns around, pausing for a moment before she heads straight for the stairs.

Without looking back, she calls out, “If you want me gone, then I need to talk to your brother. And since Maggie just stole my truck, you’re going to give me a ride.”

And for some reason, I wait for her. Ten minutes later, she’s glaring at me as I open the door to my Jeep for her. Instead of a thank you as I close it behind her, she continues to type away on her phone, only pausing to flip me off.

As we pull into the private road to Foxx Bourbon, she says, “I haven’t been here in a long time.” She takes everything in as we approach the distillery. The property has always been large, but we’ve grown to multiple buildings, from the distillery and offices, to the rickhouses and exterior patios and entertaining spaces.

“A lot of changes since you’ve been...” I search for the right word. “Away.” From the sound of the crunching gravel underneath my tires along the main drive, to the pride I feel every time I see one of our bottles on a shelf or being enjoyed, one thing remains the same. I love everything about what we do here.

She looks out her side window, past the rickhouses and toward the flat quiet landscape of our hometown. “What would you do if you didn’t do this?”

The question surprises me, but I have no problem answering her truthfully. “I never imagined doing anything else. That’s the one thing that my brothers never understood. How I couldn’t want more than what I’d always known.” I glance at her. Her attention stays fixated on each part of the property that we pass. “At one point, they both did something else for a little while. Eventually, they came back. But I’m the exception. I’ve always known what I wanted. Always knew that I’d spend every day here until my last. Even when things are...” I let the thought linger for a moment. I don’t want to think about all the days I come here at war with how I’m feeling versus how I should act. “Coming here always makes me feel good.”

When she finally shifts her gaze to me, I struggle to meet her attention. I didn’t mean to share that much. And while none of it’s a secret, it still feels that way. Something private and vulnerable that I haven’t ever shared with anyone. I don’t know why it seems natural to share it with her.

“I’ve had that feeling too,” she says quietly. And just when I think she might say something else, she opens the door and hustles out.

I catch up with her to cut off her stride.

She stops and turns toward me with a sigh. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

This attraction I feel is irrelevant. We had an agreement. I let it slide when her mother passed and she came home for the memorial—a part of me felt like a monster for making her leave in the first place, but she pushed, and we made a deal. I expect people to keep their promises.

“I want you gone, Faye. Like I said, in case you forgot, you blackmailed me. I don’t know what went on in your life, the sameway you don’t know what went on in mine. But I don’t want your brand of crazy anywhere near the people I care about.”

I watch as she tries to harden herself to what I’m saying. Her eyes search mine, but before she says anything, her attention is caught when she looks over my shoulder. I turn and spot Griz perched in his golf cart, talking with her sister.

The affection between my grandfather and Maggie doesn’t go unnoticed—it was an instant camaraderie between the two of them. And it’s stayed that way even after Maggie and Faye’s mom passed.

“Is that Faye Calloway back in Fiasco?” Griz calls out from his golf cart, interrupting his conversation.

She smiles at the old man as she walks towards him. “Griz, how have you been?” She says it with much more warmth than she’s given me.

He wraps her up in a hug, and then lifts her arm to give her a twirl in true Griz fashion. When she’s done with her forced twirl, he says, “You look just like Shelby.”

I watch what that compliment does to her. Her shoulders relax, and she smiles easily; it’s like she needed to hear something kind from someone familiar. And I don’t know why that makes me feel shitty.

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