Page 60 of Hats off to Love

Leaning over, I whisper to Molly. “I’m sorry we aren’t really getting the double date you were wanting. I had no idea so many people would stop us.”

She gives me a warm, friendly smile. “It’s okay. It’s always like this with Stokes. I should have remembered that.”

I frown. Maybe I should have remembered that too. I’ve been in enough social settings with him over the years to know he’s always being approached or talking to someone. For some reason, I always kind of thought that was his choice, but maybe it’s not.

“If it’s any consolation, you know he hates it. Next time, we’ll go somewhere a little more quiet, maybe Stokes’s house at the farm. Austin and I will invade and cook while y’all drive out.”

“That sounds great,” I tell her, my heart sinking just a bit. Why didn’t I recognize sooner that he hated it? Why did it take these last couple of weeks for me to really see him? I also don’t know if there will be a next time, but I’m hoping there will be. I’ve never been to Stokes’s house on the farm. Sure, I’ve been past it a thousand times, but I’ve never been inside it. He’s never invited me.

“You doing okay?” Molly asks, concern laced in her voice at whatever expression she finds on my face.

“Yes,” I tell her, but she sees the lie. She knows me better than anyone. Her hand reaches over and squeezes my leg just as Stokes leans in close to us and asks the same thing.

“Everything okay?”

His voice . . . it soothes my spirit and makes my heart beat faster at the same time. I don’t think there is one thing about him that I dislike. When this is over, it’s going to hurt. Just thinking about it has my eyes stinging and turning glassy. Molly sees this and answers for me.

“Of course.” She grins at him and then shushes him so we can hear the chef.

I make it through most of the meal and decide just before the dessert to make a small escape to the bathroom. While the dinner and the pairings were delicious, and I was sitting with my two favorite people in the world, I just needed some space to drop the face and allow this anxiety in me to run freely. Thank God it’s a single-user bathroom and not a large shared one. In and out I breathe while telling myself I can do just another hour or two. I can.

Coming out of the bathroom, I open the door, and as I do, Stokes steps in. Gently pushing me backward, he shuts us in and locks the door.

My eyes widen as I stare up at him. “What are you doing? Someone will see us.”

One side of his mouth tips up. “So?”

“What do you mean, so?” I feel slightly panicky at the idea of being caught in here together.

Reaching for my elbows, he spins us around so I’m leaning against the door and he’s towering over me. He tips my chin up so our eyes are locked on each other. “You needed a minute, and so did I, only I want mine with you.”

“Stokes,” I whisper.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his fingertips gently pushing a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. He runs those same fingertips over the outer shell of my ear and down my neck, where he lightly clamps onto my shoulder.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. It’s not that I don’t trust him, because I do. It’s just . . . he’s Stokes and I’m me. Maybe there is still a little distrust lingering, but it’s there for a good reason. I’ve felt the damage he leaves in his wake.

“Yes, you do. Talk to me.”

Talk to me.

His voice is like truth serum to my soul, and I can feel the longing and sincerity in his words. He wants me to talk to him. He wants me to trust him, wants to be the person I go to when things feel off, and even though it exposes the vulnerable pieces of me that I like to keep hidden, I do want him to be my person too.

“I just feel off.” I shake my head, and he frowns. “Everything has been happening so fast. I feel like I’ve been living life at warp speed for the last two months, and next weekend it’s all coming to a stop. Avery’s dress is finished and picked up, the Met Gala will be aired, the season will be over, the Derby will have come and gone, and so will have we.”

His expression shifts to one that is unreadable, and instead of talking, he lets dead air hang between us. The silence makes me fidgety, so I drop my gaze and keep talking instead.

“It’s just jarring, that’s all. I’m certain this has been building for a while, but this level of anxiety started yesterday when Avery was in the shop and had her dress on. I can’t seem to shake it. I don’t know, for months—no, for years, this shop has been all I’ve thought about. The excitement, the buildup and the anticipation, the worry, the stress, the workload . . .” I look down at the ground, pausing, and then back up at him. “And now you . . . my mind is trying to shift gears as things are coming to an end, and it’s just a lot. Plus, I’m overtired, which makes this a thousand times worse.”

Tears fill my eyes, and slowly they tip over the edge. Stokes continues to remain silent as he watches and listens to me. Tilting his head just a little, he reaches his other hand up to wipe the tears away and tuck a few more strands of hair behind my other ear. His fingertips graze down my cheek, and my heart stutters at the contact. Can he see what he does to me?

“Do you know how proud of you I am?” he asks softly, wrapping his hands around my face. His thumbs swipe both sides dry.

“What?” My eyes find his, and they are more green than hazel. They are soft and understanding. They are kind and sturdy. They shine with an intimacy that’s just for me, and it makes my breath shaky.

“I am so proud of all you have done. I know this has been your dream, and watching you work for it, reach for it, and achieve it—it’s inspiring. I know you’ve had a lot on your plate, and I know I added to it, but I’m not sorry. I’ve loved being on this journey with you. Things may feel like they are coming to an end, but they aren’t. This is just the beginning for you.”

But is this just the beginning for us too?