Page 27

Hadley

May: Trough water is my new favorite cocktail.

Also, women asking men to marry them is highly underrated. I’ve done it twice now. Answer still pending, but feels hella empowering...

“What are you calling this again?” Faye asks from the farthest galvanized tub.

I toss my black book onto the pile of towels a few feet away, thinking about it and taking in the set-up we’re submerged in. “Trough water. Our version of ranch water.”

“Brilliant,” she says with a sigh. “I like it better than the mint julep.”

Julep barks out, hearing her name from the back porch. Laney shouts back, “Not you, sweet girl.”

I smile, enjoying the company of two of my favorite people.

How am I supposed to keep the proposal from them?

What did I possibly see coming out of any of this?

I’m not the kind of girl who gets the guy.

I’m an independent woman in my mid-thirties who doesn’t need the guy.

..And yet, I’m still thinking about his mouth on mine.

The way my thoughts stutter every single time I see him in a room or catch his attention on me.

Water splashes on the side of my face, and Laney says, “You’re thinking awfully hard over there, Hadley.

” She turns her head in the other direction toward the horse trough that Faye’s sitting in.

“She has that serious look on today, and it’s worrying me.

She hasn’t said the word vibrator or insinuated anything sexual in—” She looks at her wrist, where there’s no trace of a watch, smiling back at me. “Far too long.”

“I’m wearing a very short, cropped T-shirt that says, Ask Me About My Panties, while submerged in a tub, drinking a cocktail, and it’s two in the afternoon. I feel like I’m very on brand today,” I joke as I sip my cocktail.

Tilting my head back, I bask in the warmth of the sun. I’m ready for a Kentucky summer and all of the sweet and slow details that the season brings with it—festivals and fireworks, river dips and cavern dives, and the simple things like late-night rides and watching Lark and Lily catch fireflies.

I can almost hear them looking at each other, trying to decide what to say next. “You’ve just had a lot of things?—”

I cut off the pity that’ll come as a follow-up to that statement. “Do you remember the time that guy tried to ‘mansplain’ what a speakeasy was?”

Laney laughs. “Inside a speakeasy . . . to a speakeasy owner.”

Faye smiles into her glass. “I would say I’m surprised, but...”

I draw my pruney fingers along the edge of the trough. “The audacity of people will never surprise me, but sometimes, I truly wish I could see the moment in life when they realize how egregiously they’ve overstepped. And then just give a slow and awkward golf clap.”

“That would be too poetic, Hadley.”

I exhale. “A girl can dream.”

“So you’re good, then?” Laney presses, looking at me more seriously.

“I’m fine. Promise.” It feels nice to have people who notice even the slightest shift in my behavior.

She’s not wrong. I’ve been “off” since Lincoln’s wedding.

But I’m not even a little bit ready to share all the reasons why.

I turn my head toward Laney and try to shift the subject away from me.

“I’m currently loving that you decided to think of us when Grant asked about what you wanted for your birthday. ”

“I got my hammock over there,” she says, tipping her head toward the two oaks holding a massive hammock between the trunks.

“And there’s something very therapeutic about sitting in these things with junk food and good company,” Laney says with a wide, lazy smile as her long copper-colored hair drapes over the back of the galvanized tub.

What each of us are submerged in are really intended to be horse troughs—a spot for horses to drink or feed—but my darling friend made herself at home in one of them when she first came to Fiasco and decided it was better than a hot tub.

She brought one in for me, and then when Faye decided to make herself a permanent part of the Foxx family, Laney added a third.

Reaching over, Laney plucks a small handful of sour gummy worms from a candy dish and says, “I just felt like we could extend use of these if we added heaters, and the sound system outside was an easy upgrade.”

“I will never complain about your taste, Laney Foxx. It’s impeccable,” Faye says with a content sigh as she types something on her phone.

When my phone buzzes for the fifth or sixth time, I reach over and see the wall of texts from Faye.

FAYE

Are you seeing what I’m seeing?

Oh my gosh, pick up your phone

I’m going to keep texting until the buzzing actually makes you look.

HADLEY!!!

Please tell me I’m not the only one noticing that Laney is ignoring her afternoon cocktail...

My eyes go wide as soon as I read the last text. “LANEY!” I shout and turn to her, splashing water all over the place.

Faye gives me a knowing glare, but I ignore it. I’ve never been one for subtleties.

She closes one eye and looks at me. “You noticed.”

“Actually, Faye noticed. You’re not drinking.”

Faye laughs as she sips her light pink drink that I whipped up for our impromptu afternoon dip. “I was also the one who didn’t shout it out.”

I splash water at her while splashing Laney again in the process.

“I’m just taking a little hiatus. I’m not pregnant...yet,” she says with a smile.

“But you want to be?”

She lifts her shoulder in a small shrug.

“I haven’t wanted anything more lately. We practice.

” That has her smiling wide. “I mean, look at the man I married. And we both want to start a little family. So, we’re being horny and careless.

” Popping another gummy worm in her mouth, she adds, “And I keep track of when I’m ovulating. ..so...”

I hop up and out of my trough and into hers, giving her the biggest squeeze the tight space will allow.

She laughs, her eyes watering as she pulls back. “I just don’t want to be excited about something that might not happen, you know?”

I know what she means. I’ve been schooling my own excitement for things, like a happily ever after, for a long time.

It always seemed safer to harden my edges a bit than to get lost in the idea of something.

I think that’s what made us so close so quickly.

She isn’t a starry-eyed idiot. I like the realist attitudes of both of these women.

They went ahead and fell in love, but they did it with both eyes open and fearlessly.

I might be older than them, but I’m in awe of them. And their strength.

My phone continues to buzz from where I dropped it before practically tackling my friend.

I spare a glance at Faye to see if it’s her again, but the only thing she’s holding is her cocktail in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other.

But when I pick up my phone this time, the name waiting for me makes my stomach swoop and chest feel lighter.

DADDY FOXX

Come to the house.

HADLEY

I’m busy right now.

DADDY FOXX

Come. To. The. House.

Has he actually lost it? He’s known me long enough by now to realize that text is going to get him nowhere.

HADLEY

Is that any way to speak to a lady?

DADDY FOXX

Get your ass up here now.

HADLEY

Are we talking about a mustache ride situation?

You should have led with that.

DADDY FOXX

Knock it off.

HADLEY

Wanna make me?

“Fuck,” I say under my breath as I look at the alert from the stables at Finch & King, taking my attention away from getting to push Ace’s buttons more.

I swipe to the security feed and notice the paddocks are empty, which means either my farrier didn’t show up today or something’s wrong.

It’s a gorgeous day and my girls love to run, especially on warm days.

“Hey,” Laney laughs when I jump to my feet. “Where are you going?”

“Lady Brittany Christina Pink isn’t in the south paddocks like she should be. Just want to be sure my farrier isn’t skipping his shifts.”

I lift my phone to my ear to call him, but on the second ring, it goes right to voicemail.

Faye shouts from behind me, “You need me to come with you?”

I wave her off as I swipe my shoes from the grass and hoist my bag over my shoulder. “I’m good!”

The stables aren’t too far. Finch & King butted right up against the farthest strip of Foxx Bourbon property a few miles down from my father’s estate and current prison.

I have a stable hand and farrier on rotating schedules to check in on my horses, feed, and muck the stalls when I can’t get there. One of them should be there today.

Most of my father’s stables were cleared out last year—boarded mares and foals were quickly moved to new locations after my father had been arrested.

The stallion that had been standing stud was auctioned, and any others that were boarding were taken back to wherever they had called home, leaving just the horses I call mine.

Less than ten minutes later, I’m driving along the dirt and gravel that leads right into the breeding stables.

They’re the nicest, so that’s where my girls are staying until I can figure out my own version of housing for them.

I open the center console and snag the Christmas present Faye bought for me this year—a small, handheld pepper spray, since there have been plenty of media and trespassers over the past year.

Gripping it tightly in my palm, I walk through the double sliding doors, the cool air set at a perfect temperature to keep my horses comfortable.

My father loves horses, but only because of the fortune they made him.

He loves what they provide. He loves them more than my mother, more than me.

And he spent plenty of money making sure his investments had the best. Now knowing how he’d allowed horses under his care to be abused, the investments he made here weren’t for them, they were for him.