Page 93 of Bourbon and Proof

Just as he wraps his sweaty arms around me and mumbles the word “always” into my neck, I glance back at my car. Hawk is gone.

“Look at him up there,”Lincoln says as he sips on his beer. The evening crowd is picking up as the kids have all filtered home with their parents. Lincoln has his girls doing sleepovers with friends so he and Faye could enjoy the night.

“Griz looks like a natural on that stage,” Faye says as we all look on and watch Griz pull a solo on his accordion.

I point at her. “Donottell him that. You know how long it took for me to convince him that he wouldn’t want to perform at Midnight Proof because the crowd barely notices the jazz trio?”

Laney chuckles. “Oh, I remember. He moped around for a solid week and threatened to take away your book club privileges if you didn’t reconsider.”

“How was he when we were away?” Ace asks Grant at his side, low enough to not make it a group conversation.

“Same. Still more quiet than usual. You think something is off?”

Ace rubs along his lip when he says, “Nah, probably just missed me.” But I know that tell. He’s worried about something or knows something that he isn’t ready to share with everyone. Swiping on his phone, he types something out before he pockets it. I don’t love secrets being kept from me, but whatever’s going on with him and Griz isn’t my place to know until one of them shares it.

When the song changes over from Bob Dylan to Dolly Parton, the crowd cheers wildly. Griz stands, taking off the accordion and lifting his hat to the crowd. We drown everyone else out with the whistling and clapping. Ace raises his arms, cupping his hands around his mouth to cheer out for the patriarch of our family.

I catch a glimpse of the inside of his forearm and smile proudly. From his wrist to his elbow, the same cursive words that run along my wrist are written even larger on him. It’s the only tattoo that’s visible for the world to see. I swoon a little at the matching words we both wear proudly.

Griz makes his way over to more claps and whistles. “Y'all are the best cheering section,” he says, snagging Lincoln’s beer from his hand. Then he promptly makes a face. “I hate this stuff. I’m going to go find Hal’s moonshine.”

“You want to head home soon?” Ace asks him.

He turns from where he was just walking. “I’m sure you’ll be fine without me. You take the horse back, and I’ll drive Hadley’s car.”

“You treat her with the kind of respect she deserves, Griz. No moonshine please,” I call out, narrowing my eyes playfully.

He rests his hand on his chest. “Hadley Jean, I would never...” He winks. “The fried dough soaks it all up; they cancel each other out.”

“Griz . . .” Grant groans after him.

He waves his hand over his head like he’s exasperated. “Fine, y’all are no fun.” But he gives us one more smile. “But I love ya.”

The short riff on the keyboard tees up a twangy version of “Little Lies.”

“Oh c’mon, cowboy. It’s a Fleetwood cover,” Laney says, locking her arms around Grant's neck. She stares up at him, and they have their own wordless exchange.

“Alright, honey, one dance.” He loops his fingers with hers, pulling her onto the dance floor.

“Let’s go, Foxx.” Faye claps after she sucks down the rest of her peach daiquiri yard. “Time to show me those sweet dance moves.” Linc rushes toward her, mumbling something in her ear and shuffling her forward, but then halfway to the dance floor, he shouts back to us, “You two coming?”

I glance at my husband, and he’s smiling and running his fingers around his almost empty glass.

With a sassy smile, I turn to Linc. “We’ll snag the next song. Your brother looks like he’s really feeling his forties right now.” I tilt my head at my husband. “Aren’t you, Daddy?”

He wipes his hand over his smirk, muttering, “Jesus Christ.” With a huffed laugh, he says, “Sugar, you like to make fun of how old I am, but I can run circles around most of those guys—my brothers included. And while I might be a little thicker than I used to be, you know I can lift and move what counts.”

I scream out a laugh when he bends quickly and scoops me up in his hold. With one arm cradled under my knees and the other around my lower back, it feels exactly like the waysomeone would carry a new bride over a threshold. But instead of moving inside, he keeps moving toward the center of the dance floor. There’s something to be said for not giving a shit about what people around you think and doing something or having a moment with a person despite how uncomfortable it might make others. I’ve always felt that way, but Ace? He likes quiet. To observe. To steer clear of the center of attention. But with me in his arms, at the center of a dance floor, surrounded by most of our small town, the smile on his face and the way he’s looking like he wants to kiss me might mean I’ve assumed all wrong.

Round globe lights strung up around the dance floor let off a boozy glow. The slow bass and a drumbeat make way to an unhurried version of “Fools Rush In,” and I can’t help the smile it pulls from me. “Did you know that when I told Lincoln we were getting married, he asked if I was pregnant?”

His arms wrap around my waist and pull me closer as the dance floor gets more crowded. Smiling at me, he says, “That so?”

I nod, taking in his somewhat serious expression.

“That something you think you want?”

I move my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, and his eyes blink slowly at the feeling. I love how much he loves being touched.

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