Page 21 of Hats off to Love

Taking a step away, I break eye contact and look at the ground. My hands involuntarily clasp at my heart, and one of his slips to my elbow to hold me in place. I can feel him watching me as I try to regain my composure.

A throat clears next to us, and my head jerks to find Molly staring at us with wide, shocked eyes. We are, after all, standing under the middle of the tent, and that kiss happened in front of everyone. The most intimate moment I feel I’ve ever had was in plain sight, surrounded by mostly his people: other thoroughbred farm owners, some of his colleagues, and his friends.

This is horrible.

And humiliating.

“What’s going on here?” she asks. The color has receded from her face. I’m not sure if it’s from shock or displeasure, but she’s clearly struggling, just like I am. Austin is standing right behind her, confused and watching the scene between the three of us play out.

My gaze flies back to Stokes. His hands are now off of me, in his pockets, and as he watches me, his “Rosie face” has returned.

“Nothing,” he answers. His cheeks are pink, but his jaw is locked tight.

More humiliation crawls up from my stomach to my throat, and I think there’s a real possibility I’m going to be sick.

“Nothing,” I parrot, whispering more to him than her, that word seemingly hurting my soul way more than I should be allowing it to.

Whatever he sees on my face has the hard look in his eyes shifting to almost remorseful, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Heather was headed this way, and well, now she’s not,” he says quietly, his stare still locked on mine.

Heather.

Right.

I know Heather, and I remember her from New Year’s Eve. The Blantons hosted a party at their farm that most of Louisville’s social scene attended, and once she set her sights on him, he was done. It was like instead of having two arms, she had eight. They were octopused all over him all the time, and no matter how hard he tried to get her to leave him be, she was there pawing at him until he eventually got fed up and left.

“So you decided to kiss her?” Molly whisper-shouts.

He doesn’t answer her. In fact, he’s full-on ignoring her as his attention is locked on me and my reaction to what just happened.

Did he just take the kiss? No.

But that doesn’t mean I actually wanted this.

Yet, I conceded.

This is terrible.

Recognizing the meaning of the lump crawling its way up my throat and the burning behind my eyes, I spin on my heels and make a beeline for the exit. I smile at people as I pass them, and I realize, with horror and clarity, people are staring at me. They saw that kiss. It will be talked about.

Why this matters to me, I don’t know. It’s just . . . it’s Stokes.

Cool air hits my face the second I leave the tent. I didn’t notice it before, but now I do. My skin is burning, my eyes are welling even more with unwanted tears, and I just need to get out of here.

So much for a great night.

“Rosie, wait,” Stokes calls after me.

I don’t. Bending down, I slip off my heels, grab them, and run.

Of course his long legs eat up the distance between us, and he keeps pace next to me all the way to my mother’s house where my car is. All of my things are already in my car because I wasn’t sure how late we would be up tonight, and I didn’t want to bother my mother in case she had gone to bed. I’d also rather be at the shop in the morning than here and have to drive in.

“If you’re going to apologize, there’s no need,” I tell him through labored breaths. I just want him to go away.

“Apologize? Why would I do that?” he asks, and I turn to face him, shocked. I know he sees the traitorous tears that always come when I’m mad, because he sucks in air like I’ve personally wounded him and suddenly looks so bereft it’s almost comical.

Down by my sides, one hand tightens around my shoes and the other clenches the fabric of my skirt. “Maybe because you just kissed me against my will. You’re a lawyer—you should know that’s harassment.”