Page 34 of Hats off to Love

While we’ve had several sightings of our bachelor of the season entering and leaving Ms. May’s hat shop with flowers, coffee, and to-go food galore, for the past week and a half, none have been of them together. Until now, that is.

Attending a season party, the pair stepped out in style looking sleek, sophisticated, and just remarkable together. Dressed in black with accents of white, the two were striking as they unknowingly stole the show. Little kisses here, lots of touches there—they were keenly observed to be utterly smitten and content with each other. Is this what’s to come? More of this sweetness? Here at the Tea, we love to keep things mixed with honey, but we also enjoy a little spice. Be our eyes and ears, and send in those photos. We are just chomping at the bit for more and more.

13

Stokes picks me up after work to drive us both out to the farm for family dinner. I can’t believe it’s already been a month, and I also can’t believe all the things that have happened since the last dinner. I’m not sure why he didn’t head out earlier, but who am I to complain? I’m already reaping the benefits of this so-called truce, from the coffee and the snacks to him driving me around. I’m tired; work was crazy busy this weekend, and then after I got home from his firm’s party last night, I lay in bed awake and replayed different scenes of Stokes and me together and how Stokes is with his colleagues.

I’m pretty certain I’ve always been who I am with everyone I’m around. I’m a happy person. I’m lovable, sometimes funny, and I try to be positive. I trust those I keep in my circle, and really what you see is what you get. It’s hard for me to hide emotions—they’re usually plastered on my face—but with Stokes, it’s the complete opposite.

He’s a closed book, and on purpose. Yes, he’s done well for himself, even I can see that. Aside from the success of the farm, he’s worked really hard to identify himself as someone, and not once has he seemed to lounge back and enjoy the conveniences he was born into. But, he’s so stiff around people, it just doesn’t make any sense. Of course he can hold a conversation, and occasionally he laughs, but for the most part, he’s hard to read, at least he is to ninety-eight percent of the world. Me, I’ve always thought I could read him well, but now I’m second-guessing that too. It’s like I’m holding the last piece of a puzzle that is Stokes, and I’m so close to solving it. The words are right there, but they just won’t materialize.

“You okay over there?” he asks, one arm draped across the steering wheel, the other playing with his cell phone, which is sitting in the center console. Tonight he looks relaxed and trendy in a navy blue shirt and gray pants like you’d find at J.Crew. His hair is mussed, he hasn’t shaved, and I think I like this side of him more than I should.

“Yeah, it’s just been a long week,” I tell him, because it has.

He hums in agreement but doesn’t say anything else. He lets me be lost in my head as I look out the window, and it isn’t until we’re sitting at the table for dinner with Mom, Birdie, Grayson, and Molly that I snap out of it.

“So, curious minds want to know: are you two dating?” Birdie asks point-blank, and my head pops straight up.

Tonight we’re eating lasagna, and it’s usually one of my favorites, but the ricotta is sticking to the roof of my mouth, and I’m having a hard time swallowing. Her question almost makes me choke, and my stomach bottoms out. Deep down in my gut, I knew they saw us at her party, or someone did and told them. Then again, those gossip articles are running wild.

I glance at Stokes, and he’s giving his mother a look I can’t decipher. In return she gives him one of her own.

“No, we are not dating,” he says. The relaxed posture he had in the car is now gone, and tension has taken its place in his shoulders and all down his arms. “You know I asked Rosie to be my date to the party, and she’s agreed, for appearance’s sake, to be my girlfriend until after the Derby.” His eyes—back to laser beams—flit my way and then move back to her.

It is what we agreed upon, and although it’s only been a little over a week, I feel like it’s been much longer. I’ve seen him seven of the last ten days. That’s like seven months of Stokes time condensed, and I’m feeling affected, overwhelmed, and—I know it’s strange—crowded. Having someone come into your life this much, it takes up space. I don’t mind; it’s just a lot in a short amount of time, and I’m having to adjust quickly.

Mostly adjust to it being him, the one who calls me Thorney and in general has refused to acknowledge me in life.

“Appearance’s sake,” my mother repeats, while his mother starts grinning.

What is she grinning at?

Running his finger inside the collar of his shirt, he leans back in his chair and asks her, “Why are you smiling like that?”

Great minds think alike . . .

“Grayson, tell him,” she says as she picks up her wine glass and takes a sip.

Grayson lifts his napkin, runs it over his mouth, and then picks up his glass of bourbon and water, his favorite. “Well, let’s just say, recently the farm tours have been sold out,” he says as he also takes a hefty sip.

I lean forward with my elbows on the table, not seeing the problem. “Okay. Well, that’s good, right?”

He looks at Birdie and then at Stokes, and apparently I’m the only one not following.

“Good, yes.” He hesitates, and then the hammer drops. “And the staff around here love that it’s all college girls. Makes for an interesting time to say the least.”

My vision blurs, and even though it’s suddenly so quiet in the dining room you could hear a pin drop, my ears start ringing, and I’ve stopped breathing.

“Did you say college girls?” I ask him with narrowed eyes.

“Yep.” He shifts his gaze to Stokes. The two of them have a silent conversation as they stare at each other, and my muscles suddenly feel strangely tight. Stokes is scowling hard, and Grayson—well, he just shrugs as if to say, What do you want me to do?

“Gross,” says Molly from across the table, and my eyes dart to hers.

Without thinking, I blurt out, “So you think that’s gross, but me fake dating your brother is not?”

All eyes fall to me, and my face burns deep. I’m certain my whole body has gone three shades of red.