Becoming Mila by Estelle Maskame
22
“Look, if commercial first class won’t convince you, how about I ask your father to send out a private jet? I’m sure in these circumstances there are no financial limits.”
“You are beyond hilarious, Ruben,” I say nonchalantly as I slip on my shoes, not exactly listening. My phone is on speaker on the nightstand as I’ve been getting ready and rolling my eyes every ten seconds at the absurdity of Ruben’s pleas. “Go ahead. Send a private jet to come get me, but the pilot will have a wasted journey. I already told you a thousand times – I’m not coming home until the day before school starts, and that’s only because I have to.”
“When did you get so difficult?” Ruben grumbles. After days of blowing up my phone to convince me to come back to LA now that he and Dad have realized sending me off to Fairview was a terrible idea, Ruben is at the point where he doesn’t even try to mask his annoyance at me with fake pleasantries and artificially sweet tones. “You were much easier to handle before you decided you have a say in any of these matters.”
“Well, Ruben, these matters are my life,” I retort breezily, getting to my feet. I grab my phone from the nightstand and press it to my ear. “And that sort of means that I should be the one who decides how to live it.”
“Mila—”
“So sorry, Ruben, but I really do have to end this call now. I’m out,” I interrupt, my voice rife with sadistic pleasure because I know how much this will aggravate him. And then, with extra sarcasm, I add, “Fingers crossed I don’t cause too much trouble,” before hanging up.
Honestly, if I had a couple more ounces of bravery, I may have blocked Ruben’s number by now. But I don’t want to deal with that fallout, and it’s fun to torture him instead. I imagine him and Dad huddled close together in our lavish kitchen back home, conferring over how to deal with me, knowing all this information that shines a negative light on Dad’s character. It’s not very kind of me, but, hell, they deserve to feel unsettled.
My phone buzzes in my hand. No, it’s not Ruben harassing me again.
It’s a message from Blake that reads: Hey, Mila. Get your sweet self outside. I’m waiting.
With a grin of anticipation, I leave my room and head downstairs to where Popeye and Sheri are eating together at the dining table. We’re all going for food after the movie, so I’ve had to skip dinner tonight.
“Blake’s here,” I announce, stopping behind Popeye and placing a hand on his shoulder.
Sheri sets down her fork and breaks into a laugh. “When you confronted your dad about Mayor Avery, did you remember to mention that you’re dating her son?” she asks, wiggling her brows at me. She seems more at ease now I’ve confessed to her that I know all about how my parents’ relationship started, that they have a history of infidelity. Now Sheri can relax and not have to worry about letting that particular secret slip.
“This isn’t a date, Aunt Sheri. Blake’s friends are going to be there,” I say, because I’m not really sure that Blake and I could even be considered as dating in the first place. It’s not like we’ve had an official date, but at least I am no longer denying that I like the boy. And I’m okay with that for now. We’re still getting to know one another.
“And you wear perfectly applied red lipstick every time you hang out with friends?”
I purse those red lips of mine to blow her a pouty kiss. “Ha ha. Okay, I’m going now. Bye, Popeye.”
“You are the image of your grandmother. Beautiful,” he says. “Enjoy your evening, Mila.”
With a small wave, I slip through the door and out into the evening sun. It’s been another gorgeous day, but I’m realizing now that every day in Tennessee is a beautiful one. For once, though, I’ve remembered to bring my sunglasses with me, and I push them down over my eyes and trek toward the gate where Blake awaits on the other side.
We saw each other earlier at church. But he was with his mom, and with a flickering moment of eye contact across the pews, we exchanged an unspoken agreement to stay clear of each other. When the service wrapped up, we didn’t search for the other in the parking lot. Blake remained firmly by LeAnne’s side while she nodded enthusiastically along to the church elders, and I didn’t attempt to pull him over for a chat by our favorite shrubs, so instead I hung out with Savannah. When it comes to LeAnne’s approval, I don’t think we’re going to get it. That just means Blake and I may have to be a little more discreet.
I reach the gate’s control panel, hit my fist against the bright green button, and wait while the gate peels open to reveal Blake hanging casually out the rolled down window of his truck. His hair is styled with gel, tousled to one side, and he beams when he sees me.
“C’mon, girl, we’ve got a movie to get to!” he calls, rapping his hand against the truck door. “I heard from a reliable source that the ending sucks!”
With a snort of amusement, I climb into the passenger seat as he contorts himself back through his window, and we look at each for a long moment, our gazes bright and our smiles identical. For two people who don’t particularly want to catch Everett Harding’s new movie, we’re both in a spectacularly good mood. Maybe because it’s the weekend, or maybe because we can finally hang out together after having to act like strangers at church.
“Ready for our second Nashville adventure?” Blake asks, dimples flashing.
“Hopefully this one doesn’t result in me yelling at you on a street corner,” I say between nervous giggles as I pull on my seatbelt. As always, there’s music playing, but the volume is down low. All these country albums have really grown on me and I’ve become accustomed to listening to them on full volume whenever I’ve been in Blake’s truck, so I reach over and flick the volume straight up. “Better.”
Blake stares at me slack-jawed in complete and utter fascination. “A girl who turns up Kelsea Ballerini? Damn.”
He puts the truck in drive and places a hand on my thigh. I immediately rest my hand over his, leaning my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes and feeling the warmth of the sun against my summer-freckled face.
And as we head off along these same old quiet roads with the sun lowering in the sky ahead, with the bitter-sweetness of a country melody playing and the breeze from the open windows rustling my hair, I think that maybe tonight we can’t stop smiling because I like Blake and Blake likes me.