Page 59 of Hats off to Love

Together, Stokes and I weave our way past other guests, making our way to the bar to stand in line.

“Do you know what you want?” he asks.

“Not really. I mean obviously I know a few of the standard drinks like a whiskey sour and an old fashioned, but after that, not too much. I actually don’t know a lot about bourbon or what makes it different from whiskey. I just know that for it to be called Kentucky bourbon, it has to be made in Kentucky.”

“That is correct.”

Stokes unlinks our hands and wraps his arm over my shoulders to bring us closer. Mine slips under his jacket and around his waist. He smells so good, feels so warm and solid, and I can’t help but lean into him as he drops his head a little so I can hear him better.

“Can it be made somewhere else, yes, and it is, but mostly bourbon is made in Kentucky so it can have the name. It’s kind of like champagne. Unless it comes from the Champagne region of France, it’s not really called champagne. It’s a sparkling wine. The difference between bourbon and whiskey is also that in order for it to be classified as bourbon, it needs to be distilled from a mixture of grains, or mash, that’s at least fifty-one percent corn. That corn gives bourbon its distinctive sweet flavor. Also, it must be aged in new charred oak barrels for at least two years. That is not the case with whiskey. Whiskey can be aged in barrels that were previously used to make other spirits such as port, sherry, and rum.”

“Gotcha.” Well that seems easy enough.

Reaching around the guest in front of us, Stokes grabs a drink menu that was designed for the event. He hands it to me so I can select a cocktail.

“Oh, look at this one, it’s called Strawberry Soiree.” I grin at him. It’s made with one ounce of David’s bourbon, one ounce of strawberry puree, sparkling brut wine, and mint. It sounds delicious.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” His lips tilt just a little while his hand runs up and down my back a few times.

“No, just that I like the name.” My grin widens as his smile grows too. Gah, he is so handsome.

“Sounds perfect for you then, especially if you’re intent on causing me misery.”

I laugh as I remember his sensitivity to citrus. There would be no kissing if I chose this one, so I pick out another instead.

After we grab our drinks, we attempt to make it back to our table, but it seems the entire room wants to say hello to Stokes. Whereas I know a few of these people here, like Mr. Evans, the owner of Thunder Alley Farm, and Dr. Miller, Stokes’s veterinarian, the rest of them are just strangers to me. To him they are other business associates he knows from around town and acquaintances from the horse community. He includes me in each new conversation, but so far, this is not the night with Molly I had been hoping for.

“Dr. Miller, it’s nice to see you this evening,” Stokes says as they shake hands in greeting.

“Likewise,” the older gentleman says in return, smiling at both of us. I’ve always liked Dr. Miller. His clinic mainly focuses on thoroughbreds, and for years he has been sought after for his expertise and care. “How’s Ace doing these days?”

“Oh, he’s well. Demanding attention and eating snacks as if he’s worried we’re going to forget to give him his next meal, even though we never have.”

Dr. Miller chuckles. “Better him eating than refusing to.”

“This is true.”

“I’ll be by next week to see him as we get closer to the race.”

“Sounds good. Don’t forget to schedule it with Grayson so we know you’re coming.”

“Will do.” Then he shifts his attention to me. I’m sure he’s done this to not be rude, but still, I’m not surprised when he asks, “So, Rosie, how’s the shop coming along?”

It’s funny, all I’ve ever wanted is my shop, but this question is asked so often by so many, it’s officially become my most hated question.

“It’s amazing. I couldn’t be happier.” I smile, but I can feel it getting faker with each new person who asks, and I know Stokes sees this. His hand reaches out and rubs across my lower back.

“That’s great. And Stokes, how’s the firm treating you these days?” His gaze shifts from me to Stokes, and I look at him as well. Stokes really doesn’t talk about work all that much. I don’t know if it’s a confidentiality thing or if he’s just one of those who, when he leaves work, he leaves it and doesn’t want to drag it home.

I glance up at his face, and it seems this just might be his most hated question too. He’s trying hard not to scowl, but his jaw is clenched tight behind a closed-mouth smile, and he’s fighting those two little lines.

“The same as always,” he replies, leaving it at that.

“Good. Did you know, a good lawyer knows the law, but a clever one takes the judge to lunch.” He slaps Stokes hard on the arm and laughs at his terrible joke.

Stokes nods his head like he thinks this is funny too. As much as we love Dr. Miller, both of us are ready to be done socializing.

Eventually, we make it back to the table, and I sit down next to Molly just as the celebrity chef cooking for us tonight picks up the microphone to greet the room. Stokes sits on my other side and lays his arm across the back of my chair. Everyone cheers and then gives the chef their undivided attention.