Page 5 of Hats off to Love

He lets out another long sigh. This one is resigned and almost as if he’s counting in his head the minutes he’s been away from his office and wasted his time.

“Suit yourself.” He dismisses me and turns to look at his sister. “You coming to dinner on Sunday?”

“Have I missed one yet?” she asks, still reeling from our conversation as her gaze, which unfortunately is almost the same shade as his but a smidge lighter, bounces back and forth between the two of us.

He pinches his lips together.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you.” His eyes slice my way. “Both of you then.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides right out the front door.

LUVU TEA

MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR OF THE SEASON

Ladies and gentlemen, loyal Louisville readers, with the series one championship races officially underway, we are pleased to announce it’s time to present to you this year’s most eligible bachelor of the Derby season.

As we are celebrating our tenth anniversary here at the Tea, it’s only fitting that this year we aim high to crown our king. After sorting and contemplating many nominations, there seemed to be only one who stood out from the rest. And stand out did he . . .

Coming in at six foot three, not only is he tall, he’s lean, strong, and built just like those gorgeous stallions he raises on his farm. His family has deep roots in our beloved town and the thoroughbred racing community, and dare I even say their name is a household one. With light brown hair, hazel eyes, and a brooding stare, he’s not only a beauty—he has brains too. He completed his undergraduate degree at the University of Kentucky, graduated top of his class at Harvard Law, and is currently working as an attorney at Collier, Pierson, and Bilella.

While he does an impeccable job keeping his life private, sources have told us he is kind, driven, loyal to those closest to him, and would be the ultimate catch.

Now, who is this magnificent man? He is LuVu Tea’s finest yet, as even his name has us shimmying in our boots. So run fast, ladies—we’ll be watching and reporting, and we can’t wait to see if there’ll be a winner in this year’s race for Stokes Whitlock’s heart.

3

Whitlock Farm sits on almost two thousand acres and is very much heaven on earth. From the endless rolling fields of bluegrass to the woodland pastures and miles of white plank board fences, there’s always something so comforting and therapeutic about turning down the long tree-lined driveway. No matter what is going on in my life, my heart settles into a calm state. This place may not belong to my mother and me, but it is my home, and I can’t imagine a time when it won’t be.

The farm has the main house, thirty barns for breeding and boarding, and several on-property homes for staff members, trainers, and security. All the buildings are white with black shutters, a black door, and a green roof. The consistency and beauty of it all continually makes me breathless, and I’m proud to have grown up here.

Pulling up to the main house, I park next to Stokes’s large, expensive black SUV. I’m not surprised he beat me here; he often spends Sundays talking to the staff, going for a long ride, and generally overseeing the property. For as much as he is a hassle in my life, there is comfort in knowing he doesn’t take this gift he’s been given for granted and loves the farm as much as I do.

Well, that’s not fair—he loves it more. After all, it is his.

Walking up the front steps, I breathe in the sweet blooming jasmine and smile at the perfectly polished black rocking chairs and pots of spring flowers. During the Derby season, visitor tours run daily, and Mrs. Whitlock, who goes by Birdie, prides herself on how well kept the farm is and how well taken care of the horses are.

Opening the front door, I hear voices inside and realize I’m the last to arrive.

For as long as I can remember, the second Sunday of every month has been family dinner. I think Birdie and my mother cooked up this idea together, wanting to create a new tradition for Stokes, Molly, and myself that we could all depend on. I don’t mind. It doesn’t always work out that we are all in town at the same time, but when we are, there’s an unspoken expectation that the three of us will be here. That’s right—forced proximity to Stokes, twelve times a year, though sometimes less if I’m lucky.

I can’t really pinpoint exactly when Stokes and I became enemies. It was more of a gradual thing as time passed. Well, I’m pretty sure he disliked me the moment he met me, but he was never obnoxious about it. In true Stokes fashion, other than Molly, he’s never insulted or harassed me in front of others, keeping those moments just for us and in private. He knows his place; he’s the only son and the oldest heir to Whitlock Farm, and his station in life demands that he act a certain way, which he does.

“Hi, everyone!” I call out as I walk through the foyer.

“In the kitchen,” my mother replies, and that’s where I find all four of them, plus Grayson, the lead trainer.

This kitchen is my favorite room in the house. It’s large, the windows overlook the fields behind the house, which are all misty in the morning, and Molly and I have spent many hours here making a mess of the island and learning how to cook. Everywhere there are memories, and as I look around at them laughing, my heart swells with fondness.

That is until my eyes land on Stokes, and he’s scowling at me, as usual. He’s washed up after spending the day here, his hair damp and his clothes looking crisp and clean. He’s wearing a light gray Henley, comfortable-looking jeans, and brown lace-up boots. He’s holding a glass of iced tea, and with a mockery that’s meant to get under my skin, he points toward his ridiculously expensive watch to let me know he knows I’m late. By four minutes.

I’m not a klutz, but at this moment I wish I were. I’d purposely bump into him hard enough to spill that tea all down his front. Then again, I’m wearing a cute light blue and yellow babydoll-type dress with a matching decorated headband, which of course I made, and I wouldn’t want it to get stained.

“Don’t you look cute.” My mother beams as she comes over to kiss me on the cheek. We are exactly the same height, and both of us have brown hair and brown eyes. There’s no question that we are related, and I’m pleased to know when I’m older, I’ll look like her and not a troll.

“Thank you. I came from the store and didn’t run upstairs to change.”

“Rosie, just darling like always,” Birdie says. I can’t help the grin I throw Stokes’s way as his mother wraps me in a hug.