Page 44 of Hats off to Love

Either way, their tiny wings tickle my insides as I open the door and Stokes smiles at me. It’s a real smile too, one that reaches his beautiful eyes and says his day just got infinitely better and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

My stomach swirls and dips, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say right at this moment, he’s giving me weak knees.

Stepping close, he runs his fingers down my arm to my wrist as his greeting and then bends to give me a kiss, only this one isn’t on my forehead—it’s lower and on my cheek. I suddenly have a whole new appreciation for the five o’clock shadow as his lips are so soft, but the scratch just around them marks my skin.

He strides in, and heat flashes through me. I grip the door and watch as he tosses his charcoal gray jacket over the back of the couch, pulls on his tie so it loosens, and undoes the top button on his shirt. Pushing his hair off his forehead, he turns to face me, and a sharp jab of longing hits me.

Longing for Stokes.

What is happening to me?

He’s so tall and handsome. His broad shoulders, imposing stature, and overall serious air have him filling the space and sending out magnetic waves. Those waves . . . they’re trying to pull me toward him, not push me away. I’m not sure when the flip occurred, but it did.

Sure, I’ve always thought Stokes is attractive—most of the female population does—but what I’m feeling right this second about wanting to be stuck to him, lost under his hands with his mouth fully enraptured with mine, has my lower stomach tightening and makes me almost panicky. Molly was right, I do like him, and after this reaction I just had to him, once this little fake relationship is over, I already know things are not going to end well for me.

Slowly, one corner of his mouth tips up, and reflex has me doing the same. I smile at him until he chuckles, and his hands land on his waist, his waist that has zero fat on it and I’m certain sports that V that is so sexy on a man, sexy and pointing straight to the promised land.

“I don’t know why your outfits continue to surprise me, but they do,” he says as his eyes trail down the length of me.

I look at the dress I wore today. It’s royal blue and has a short full skirt made of ruffles.

“It’s the same dress you saw me in this morning,” I tell him, looking back up and pushing the door shut.

“Yeah, but . . .” He twirls his finger over his head.

“Oh.” I’d forgotten I was still wearing a matching fascinator. This one has black netting that’s shaped into a disk, and adorning it is a large black and white feather flower with royal blue and teal filler feathers surrounding the back half of it to give it height.

“I should be used to them by now, but I’m guessing I never will be.” His expression softens, and I might even say he’s looking at me affectionately. “It looks good on you.”

This time the heat crawls up my neck to my cheeks.

I start fidgeting with the skirt and eventually clear my throat. “Right. Thanks. Well, food is ordered, and I’m going to run and change real quick,” I say as I start walking toward my bedroom.

“Okay.” He makes his way into my kitchen, lays his cell phone on the counter, and opens the refrigerator like this is an everyday thing and not something he’s doing for the first time.

Pull it together, Rosie, I tell myself as I slip into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top and pull my hair up into a bun. I realize this is an overly casual outfit, but this is what I wear at the end of a long day, and I’m not trying to impress him. Wait, am I? No. That’s ridiculous. This is Stokes. Besides, he’s seen me every which way to Sunday and doesn’t care.

“So, not that I mind rushing over, because I’m happy to see you, but I’m wondering how much longer you’re going to keep me in suspense,” he says as I walk back into the living room. He’s lounging on my couch and drinking a beer he found. He’s rolled up his shirtsleeves and looks so delicious I wonder what he would do if I went and sat on his lap.

I almost laugh out loud at the reaction I think I would get, but then again, his behavior lately has been so starkly different. Only a month ago I’m certain he would have pushed me onto the floor, but now, who knows.

I sit next to him, facing him with one foot tucked underneath me, and I breathe slowly to calm myself. He watches me, and at whatever expression he sees on my face, the playful look vanishes and the familiar little lines drop between his brows.

Nope, this won’t do. Buzzing with energy, I decide it’s best to stand and end up walking back and forth in front of him. He sits up and leans forward so his elbows are on his knees, his eyes never leaving me, tracking me around the room.

“Spit it out, Thorney,” he says gently as I make my way to the kitchen where my planner lies. I wrote out the timeline so I could keep everything in order, and I hand it to him.

He’s looking up at me with full concern, the muscles locking in his face.

“Okay.” I let out a deep breath. “You may think I’m crazy, and I might be, but hear me out. I’d rather give you all the details so you can formulate your own conclusion.”

“Conclusion about what?” He sets his beer on the floor and now stands too. His voice has changed a bit; he knows I’m about to tell him something he isn’t going to like to hear, and he’s gone into lawyer mode.

“A couple of weeks ago, Mrs. Rupp came into the shop.”

“Mrs. Rupp from Sterling Bells Farm?” He’s completely confused now. The sun is just barely out, and the sky has shifted from orange to a nighttime purple. The hue bounces off the side of his face and enhances his features: sharp cheekbone, defined jaw, skin that looks smooth and rough at the same time. I want to run my hand over it.

“Yes. She was with her friends. They had an appointment so no one else was there.”