Page 16 of Bourbon and Proof

“One of the girls asked for a French 75, and then Lincoln said he could go for one too. So I figured how hard could it be?”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “You know how to make a French 75? I thought you were more of a vodka Red Bull or pre-made Cosmopolitan in a can type.”

I instantly regretted making fun of her as she sent me a glare. I knew she didn’t have many friends. Lincoln was her closest, Olivia too, but beyond that, there weren’t many.

“So, you just need lemon juice, simple syrup, and champagne?” I told her, trying to erase my asshole comment.

She looked around the counter to see if any of that was accessible. “Um, yeah. Exactly.”

She concentrated so hard, biting her lip, and I couldn’t help but notice how pouty and pretty they were. Or the freckle just to the left of her nose and more scattered along her shoulder where her oversized T-shirt hung off. The way she didn’t hesitate to take my direction, even though I knew she wanted to tell me to fuck off. It made my neck and face heat as I canvassed her curved waist and rounded hips.

She pulled out an elderflower liqueur, and then some Grand Marnier, which had no business in a French 75, but she added them anyway.

I cleared my throat, knocking away the too-detailed observation of a girl I shouldn’t be looking at this way, and one who was far too young for me. “That’s going to taste awful.”

Topping the mess inside the glass with ice, she covered it and started shaking it up. “Sorry,” she said, speaking louder. “Can’t hear you over the shaker.”

When the shaker was frosted, and she stopped, I said, “Since you’re technically a guest here and my brother sent you inside to do this, I’ll let it slide, but we don’t offer people anything other than bourbon under this roof. Especially to people working at our distillery. We’ll stock it and people can help themselves, but we’ll never offer it.”

She laughed out, “Really leaning into the bourbon boys thing, huh?”

I rubbed my thumb along my bottom lip and watched as she poured out two glasses and topped them with mint. “Leaning into exactly who I am and what defines me hardly feels like a bad thing, Hadley.”

Clearing her throat, she licked her bottom lip.“Taste it,” she said, pushing the glass across the counter.

I took a sip of it, the tinted purple drink looking more like a floor cleaner than anything I wanted to taste, but I did it anyway.

“Fuck, that’s awful.”

With her big blue eyes, she watched me put the glass back down, and something shifted in her expression that had nothing to do with her poor rendition of a classic cocktail. I knew she was going to take this as an opportunity to ask what happened after I left her that night nearly a month ago. I could see it plain as day in her stare. There wasn’t an easy way to tell someone what I found, finished, and cleaned up.

“I have questions,” she said, uncharacteristically quiet.

I didn’t have any trouble looking people in the eye while I lied to them. It was an asset I’d learned a long time ago.“I don’t have answers for you.” I looked across the mess she made on the counter as laughter echoed from the backyard. “You’re an awful bartender, Hadley. Stick to being whatever it is you’re planning to do with your life,” I said flippantly, then strolled out of the kitchen. But the look in her eyes followed me all night.

A small tray of coupe glasses appearing to her right draws my attention back to the present as she finishes the story—without the details we still hold as a secret. More gracefully than I would have expected, she hops down from the bar. Her fitted tuxedo jacket was shed seconds after the ceremony, leaving her creamy skin and curves, from her shoulders to her waist, impossible not to follow like a damn treasure map. Her suit wasn’t like mine, the haltered cutout of a white tuxedo shirt and black satin bow tie precisely tailored to be tight around the neck, running down the sides of her breasts to the material that’s gathered and clasped at the small of her back. It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’veever seen her in, and that’s saying something, considering how many times I’ve looked.

When I glance back at her face, she’s staring right at me with a smirk that clearly reads:I caught you looking. She pours out the light purple tinted cocktail into five glasses. “I made my toast to the bride and groom already tonight, but it’s only natural to toast to the family that loves its people.” She holds up her glass. “To the bourbon boys who became damn fine Foxx men.” That gets me a wink. “Cheers, and thank you for fiercely loving, teaching, and accepting...even a Finch among you.”

I swallow and stand a little taller. The way she likes to poke usually pisses me off, but right now, that swell of emotion feels less like annoyance and more like pride. This woman has been pouring drinks for a while now, but I haven’t let her mix anything for me other than a rock among hefty splashes of bourbon. Griz smiles and takes the first glass. Grant plucks his next, then Lincoln.

With her blue eyes glassy, she smiles wide with admiration. When I take mine and sip, I’m immediately hit with the tart lemon that balances the earthy flavor of the gin. On my second sip, I appreciate the rest of the well-done traditional ingredients of simple syrup and a champagne topper. It’s easily the best version of this drink I’ve ever had. I keep my smile stifled. Lincoln is doing enough of that, beaming at her for a well-delivered speech and a non-bourbon cocktail to boot. I still should have been the best man.

A few snickers from behind me pull my attention. It’s Griz’s book club ladies—gossips who never turn down a chance to spread rumors over a glass of something strong. “It’s like she doesn’t even care...” Another whisper rings out of choppy words. “Finch...Not ashamed of it...”

Lincoln has mentioned some of the shit she’s been dealing with lately regarding her father. I already knew about it, but I let my brother think he was telling me new information.

I turn and glare at the two older women. Romey, who likes to run her mouth whenever possible, and her sister, who owns the hair salon in town. They’re loud enough that Hadley heard them. I don’t miss how those few words steal the moment away from her. As soon as I catch their attention, both lean into the other, eyeing what I’m wordlessly conveying:shut your fucking mouths, ladies.

The evening taxes on as if it isn’t well past midnight. Laney and Faye have sandwiched Hadley in the middle of the dance floor, while Griz just keeps whistling every few songs from different spots in the room as he chats the night away with the guests.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. With everyone here tonight, I can guess it’s something that’ll need my attention.

THE JEWELER

Heard an interesting story today about a bird.

What the hell is he getting at?

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