“You look great. As always,” he says, then pulls my hand away from the hat and brings it to his lips, where he places soft kisses against each finger.
Moving in with Ryan has upped his romance game: simple touches, sweet words and gestures, going out of his way to make sure I’m happy. When he’s not at work, we’re together. I can tell from his one-sided conversations with his friends that they are not pleased that I am monopolizing his time. A good girlfriend would insist he see his friends, make sure he didn’t lose touch with the people he’s closest to—but I am not a good girlfriend.
“Will your friends be mad we bailed on the pre-party?” I ask as we get closer to our destination.
We skipped drinks at Beth and Paul’s not because I couldn’t stand the idea of being around Rachel but because Ryan couldn’t. He’s still not over the way she acted at lunch, although at this point it’s been blown up to a bigger deal than it really was. She pressed me for information, not punched me in the face, but in small towns among small groups of friends, there is little difference between those two things. Ryan can hold a grudge.
“I’m sure I’ll hear something about it, but it’s all good.”
We’ve probably beat his friends here, so it will be interesting whom he gravitates to, since he’s rarely at a function like this without his core group. When we pull up to the valet stand I’m at least pleased to see that he was right: my hat is not the biggest or the most obnoxious, although that only means we all look like idiots.
Our first stop is the bar.
“Welcome to Hidden Hills Farms,” a woman behind the rough wood counter says. “Can I get your names before I get your cocktail?”
While I think this request is unusual, Ryan doesn’t hesitate. “Ryan and Evie.”
The bartender nods and drops down behind the bar. I take a minute to look at the woman in line behind us, and I’m sure the plastic horse attached to her hat is the same one I got for Christmas when I was a kid—one of Barbie’s horses, complete with pink saddle and bow in its mane. The bartender pops back up and starts making us a mint julep. I’m not sure if we have any other choice of beverage since she never asked us what we wanted, but as I eye the healthy pour of Woodford, I’m not going to complain. When she’s done, she hands us each a silver cup. Ryan’s is engraved with an R and mine has an E.
Ryan and I walk away from the bar while I’m still studying the cup. “This is pretty over the top,” I say. “I mean, if I said my name was Quinn would she have pulled out a cup with a Q on it?”
“When I RSVP’d, I told them both our names. I have a whole collection of these at home. This one is number six.”
“Ridiculous,” I mutter while he laughs.
We surf the crowd and Ryan speaks to almost every person we pass, introducing me to them as his girlfriend while his arm anchors me to his side.
“Well, hey, you two!”
Ryan and I turn around to find his neighbor, Mrs. Rogers, heading our way. I get a pat on the arm from her, while Ryan is graced with a full-frontal hug. I’m amazed at her ability to pull him in so close and not upset the precarious balance of the hat perched on her head.
“Isn’t this so fun!”
“So fun,” I answer back.
Before long, she wanders off to deliver more hugs, and Ryan gets into a deep conversation with a local judge about an upcoming election, so I take a moment to look around. This place is beautiful. The winding driveway was long enough that you can’t see the main road or hear any traffic from the house, making it feel like this party is hidden from the rest of the world—just as its name suggests. The red wooden barn sits on top of a hill and the pasture slopes down in all directions around it like a sea of green lined with white fences. There is a large movie theater–size screen attached to the side of the barn, while smaller screens are scattered in between white linen tables that will show the race. Servers roam the crowd bearing silver trays of mini Hot Browns, individual portions of cheese grits, and delicate tea sandwiches.
The judge ambles off and Ryan jerks in surprise when a couple moves in close.
“Ryan!” the man says while flinging his arm around Ryan’s neck and pulling him in tight. The two hug it out while I study the woman with him. She’s tall, close to my height, with long light-brown hair. She’s slender but muscular, and I can’t help but notice how physically similar we are.
When Ryan breaks away, his friend holds out his hand in my direction.