Page 72 of Bourbon and Proof

Thousands of peoplecome to Kentucky early in the week leading into the Derby. Bourbon tours are nonstop, day and night, and guests who want to experience the sexiness of a hidden speakeasy know to look for Midnight Proof. There isn’t a sign out in front of Crescent de Lune; instead, it’s a series of clocks stuck on 12:00 that serve as breadcrumbs toward the staircase that lead to the double doors of my establishment. It feels secretive and seductive for out-of-towners. Part of the fun is hiding and finding—almost as much as building out cocktail menus curated specifically to the season. Or in this case, the occasion.

“A mint julep,” a woman’s low voice says as I make my way down the length of the bar. I’m one of those people who thinks someone looks familiar. I know a face if I’ve seen it—there’s no need to play coy about it either.

I didn’t need to study her to know that I’ve seen her before. “That’s rather predictable—would you like me to make my version of one? It’s not on the menu.”

I hadn’t seen her face, only her profile before. I expected her to be pretty, but she’s striking—high cheekbones on par with Geena Davis, full lips with no bow in sight. I wanted to absorb just a fraction of her confidence. “If you’d like.” She nods.

“We haven’t met,” I say as I flip a chilled shaker. “Officially, at least.”

She rests her elbow on the bar, her long white nails matching her platinum hair. “I know who you are,” she says with a slow, menacing smile. “For quite some time now, in fact.”

I pluck three brown sugar cubes, along with a stalk of mint and a small scoop of crushed ice. Slightly more aggressive than usual, I jam and twist the steel muddler into it. “Mind elaborating on that?”

“I’ve known Ace for a long time.” She tilts her head to the side, pausing for a moment as her eyes rake over me. “And I know how important you are to him. I take it he’s told you about me?” She sits back in her chair, just as the music for Faye’s burlesque performance ramps up. “The Jeweler? Maybe more?”

I nod as I swipe a lime wedge along the side of a short rocks glass, and then dip the edge into mint-infused sugar. Pulling the bottle of Foxx 100 Proof, I eyeball two and a half ounces, give it a shake until the shaker frosts on the outside, and double strain it over one large ice cube with a lime frozen at the center.

“Good,” she says, as she slides a hundred-dollar bill across the bar. “Welcome to our fucked-up little family, Hadley Foxx. My number is in your phone.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it and turn back to give her change, but she’s gone. With my brow pinched, I peer over the crowd and along the main room for her, but it’s like she was never here. The only thing that remains is an untouched mint julep and text on my phone that reads:If you ever need a favor, let me know.

Somehow, her name is already in my phone, along with her phone number and email. I won’t overthink how it got there, but it seems like I passed some kind of approval having met her and knowing who she is to Ace.

I take inventory of the faces that pack the house tonight. Some I recognize, but there are more I don’t. Oversized hats and fasteners are still on most who had been in Louisville earlier in the day, on their second wind of drinks and fun by now. I smile at my busy servers and keep an eye on the overserved that Brady consistently keeps turning away at the door.

I’m eager to duck out and see how Ditch the Derby is going. Laney sent out pics of her and Lincoln clinking glasses and another handful of images that showed off a crowded distillery that bled into the hill along the main building. They had set up a main stage for bands to play throughout the day and a row of food trucks to keep everyone happy. They managed to do what they had set out to do—offer something different for a day that thrives on tradition. I’m proud knowing how much hard work it took to put on an event like that.

As I glance at the clock, and it’s only just after 9:30 p.m., I decide that a perk of being the boss is leaving when I want to. “Faye, are you going to the distillery?”

She smiles and leans against the bar. “Lincoln said the girls were fading fast, so he took them home. I’m going to see my crew after my last set.” She glances around the room. “You should go. Your crew can handle it.”

The truth is, I want to see Ace. It’s always been that way. While Lincoln was the reason I found my way to the main house or the distillery most of the time, Ace was my quiet reward. But now, it’s wildly different. Of course I want to see Lincoln and support Laney, but I’m going for him. To see my husband, show off a little, stir up some gossip, and know that when he kisses me hello, he won’t hold back. Not anymore.

Chapter 30

Ace

There arepeople from all over peppered around the distillery throughout the day. The tastings started early, but when the Kentucky Derby kicked off, it was broadcast over the massive screens on either side of the stage that’s currently playing some decent bluegrass. It was over quickly, but the Derby is always about the show of it—the races and the experience. Fiasco has had enough of racing this year, so when Laney suggested Ditch the Derby, it felt like the perfect way to cater to locals and still celebrate an event that ushers in massive amounts of bourbon drinkers.

Grant and Lincoln join me on the balcony just off the upper floor offices. With them is James Dugan Sr. in his hardware store polo, and Del, who quietly surveys the crowd in his typical cop-like fashion. My brothers welcomed the plans for investing in Dugan’s Hardware. It wasn’t even a question for them—trying to find ways for us to invest in our town. They’re good men. Plus, the three of us have been absorbing the fundamentals that Grizalways spouted, like,“You’ll find success more palatable when you watch others find it.”And the one that seemed to hit hardest lately,“Take care of where you’re from and it’ll take care of you.”Today is a great day to bring our partners up here to show our appreciation. Their last name might be different, but they’re a part of the Foxx family.

“Helluva view from up here, Ace,” James says.

I nod, taking it all in. It’s been a while since the distillery’s been this crowded and the warmth of pride laces its way through me as I admire all of the hard work it took in getting this event moving. Winter is never as busy as the summer, but it hasn’t been this full of life since our 100-year celebration. And that was just after Laney had moved here, after the rickhouse had burned down, and along with it, some of our oldest bourbon. I look toward the main road, hoping to hear the roar of that damn Mustang coming up the drag. I was hoping Hadley could duck out early and enjoy some of this.

“I didn’t think you were going to opt to rebuild it,” Grant says, looking at the newly constructed rickhouse frame. It’s just past the distillery, in between the path to the stables. I haven’t told him yet that it’s not going to be a rickhouse—I have ideas and, hopefully, with a little bit of research and time, those ideas will turn into plans. They just aren’t ready to share yet. I need to pitch an idea to my wife first, and then take it from there. I cover my mouth, trying to hide the smile those words cause—my wife.

I can still taste her on my lips. Hell, every time I think about her sweet, sugary smell, I get hard and want to say fuck it all. I knew the moment I woke up with her beneath me that I’d want all of it all over again—and on repeat. The sounds she makes. The way she does exactly as I request. How she doesn’t hold back. How it feels to lie with her and just be exactly who we are—no masks or lies. It’s a quiet proof that I’m never going to let her go. If she allows it, this will be it for us.

I clear my throat and tell him, “I have a few ideas of how we can use that space. Maybe something a little different instead of just barrels and bourbon.” It’s one of the reasons I’m heading to Colorado. I want some time with Hadley, to work out what we’re doing and to share with her what I’ve been thinking through for the past year. That new, empty building we were looking at, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of her when I first had the plans drawn up.

“Heard some big name in thoroughbreds, a bloodstock agent over in Lexington, was found face down at Fiasco Falls. It’s all the guys down at the station were talking about yesterday,” Jimmy Dugan says to his dad as they make their way through the first pour of their tasting flight. I try not to be obvious in listening, but I know exactly who they’re talking about.

“The bald guy from Midnight Proof? The one who got tossed out after getting in Hadley’s face the other night?”

Del glances at me, looking to see if he should be playing interference. But instead of giving him anything, I add to the conversation. “The guy was a real hothead. I remember him from auctions over the years—fought like hell with plenty of people.” I look at Lincoln and ask, “He was at the Blackstone auction last year, if I’m not mistaken.”

My brother remembers that night pretty damn well. It was the first time he realized his now wife was more than just a burlesque dancer. A private investigator who worked closely with Fiasco PD and the FBI field office. Every single person I recognized at that auction had a tie to Wheeler Finch in some way or another.

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