Page 76 of Hats off to Love

I roll my eyes, just to harass him a little, but he won’t find me arguing, so I scoot over and buckle up. Stokes climbs in and off we go, making a quick pit stop at Parksdale Farm on the way home. Parksdale has a large roadside produce stand that also serves up barbecue, charcuterie boards, fruit platters, milkshakes, and cider.

“I’ve always loved this place,” I tell him as we sit down at a picnic table in the shade. There are a few under a tent and then a few outside of it. This one is outside and under a large oak tree. Those who might have stopped in for lunch have all gone, leaving just us and a few random shoppers.

“Me too,” he says, and then he drops his gaze. He’s pulled into himself as he thinks of something, and then he says, “I’ve imagined asking you if you would like to come here with me a thousand times.”

“Really?” I’m so surprised my shoulders jerk back just a bit.

He nods. “You and Molly have mentioned repeatedly over the years how much you like it here.” He shrugs. “I wanted to come here with you too.”

“I do like it here, but I hate to say it—if you had asked, I would have said no for fear of your ulterior motives.”

He frowns but nods his head in understanding. “No ulterior motives today.” He picks up the glass of dry cider he chose and holds it out.

“None.” I smile back and return the toast with my strawberry mimosa cider. “So how did you get out of having to attend the Oaks?”

“I had some work to do at the farm today, and my mother gave me a free pass.” He chuckles.

“Work, shmerk. So boring,” I tease, picking up a candied pecan and eating it.

He flashes me one of my smiles. “It is, but unfortunately today’s work was a necessary evil.”

“Is it all done?”

“Almost,” he says, looking like he wants to say more, something else, but he doesn’t. Instead, he changes the subject. “What color is your dress tonight? I plan on wearing a black tux, so anything will match.” He plops an almond into his mouth. We chose a large charcuterie board that’s covered with different types of cheeses, meats, berries, and nuts. I made sure there was no citrus.

“Rose gold. I found this fabric a few years ago that is gorgeous and shimmery. The dress itself isn’t complicated, but I’ve cut it to accent my curves, and I think it’s beautiful.”

“I am a fan of your curves.” There’s a glint in his eyes that’s almost heated. It could mean anything, but to me it speaks of things that are to come later tonight.

“I’m glad,” I tell him, a blush crawling its way up my neck and to my cheeks.

Five hours later, dressed to the nines, Stokes and I arrive at the Bourbon Ball, which is being held at the Marriott downtown.

If I thought the fanfare of the entrance at the bourbon tasting was a lot, boy was I wrong. This red carpet walk is that but on steroids, and what surprises us both is the number of reporters who call my name, not his. They don’t have us entering the hotel straight from the curb. Instead, guests are dropped off half a block away where the red carpet entrance is placed. Against the building there is a fabric backdrop, and in three separate places there are step and repeat banners stationed for attendees to stop in front of and pose.

It feels glamorous, and I don’t hate it. I’m thrilled to be here and to be photographed with Stokes.

“Rosie! Rosie! Rosie!” My name is called over and over to grab my attention.

“Rosie, did you design your dress?” This comes from a man in front of us as we stop at the first banner.

“Rosie, are you friends with Avery Layne?” comes from a woman at the second.

“Rosie, are you excited to see all of your creations tomorrow at the Derby?”

“Stokes, is Ace of Spades going to win it all?” He’s asked this at the last banner, the crowd murmuring with speculation.

Of course we don’t answer them, we just smile, but as we cross the threshold and enter the lobby, Stokes glances down at me, and all I see is pride, pride for me and pride to be with me.

“That was something,” I whisper up at him as people are walking all around us and chatting. Who knows, some may even be eavesdropping.

“You are something.” He brings my hand to his lips so he can kiss the back of it.

Is swooning a real thing? Because I’m certain that’s what is happening to me. My knees feel weak, my breath has quickened, I’m lightheaded, and given the right setting, I’m certain he could make me faint.

“Come on, let’s get this over with so I can get you home and out of this dress,” Stokes states as if there’s no other ending to tonight. I laugh but let him lead me to the ballroom. I’m not hating his plan, not at all.

The Bourbon Ball is everything I expect it to be and more. It’s elegant, it’s opulent, and I’m in awe of everyone’s attire: the gowns, the jewels, the glitz, and the tuxedos. These men look just as remarkable as the women, but not as remarkable as Stokes. His tuxedo is a classic style, complete with a black cummerbund and a black tie. His hair has a harsh part on one side and is slicked off to the other. He looks so debonair he’s stop-and-stare-worthy.