Page 22 of Becoming Mila
“Excuse me?MayorAvery?”
“That friend of yours,” Popeye grins, motioning over my shoulder. “His mother is the mayor.”
I stretch up on my tiptoes to peer at Sheri over the roof of the van. “Blake’s mom is the Mayor of Fairview?”
“Oh, honey, no,” Sheri says with an amused chuckle. “The Mayor of Nashville.”
Holy crap! Blake’s mom is the freaking Mayor ofNashville?That’s huge.
I search the crowd for Blake. He’s still with his mom and they’re talking with the preacher now, though Blake seems disinterested. His mom, however, nods enthusiastically and wears an elegant smile that only a politician could pull off so smoothly. I register it all, the way she holds her head high and her careful, calculated movements. It seems kind of obvious now that there’s a certain authority to her. She’s part of the Nashville government, a leader. She has won a freaking election.Of courseshe carries herself with such grace and self-assurance.
Blake catches my stare. He taps his pocket where his phone is and mouths, “Call me.”
Okay, mayor’s son,I think, rolling my eyes.
Then I instantly feel guilty for thinking of him as the mayor’sson, rather than as Blake Avery. I hate being known as Everett Harding’sdaughterinstead of Mila Harding. So yeah, I’m a total hypocrite.
I glance back at him, but he has already looked away, and is now busy shaking the preacher’s hand. I watch him for a moment, his courteous body language matching his mom’s, and I realize something.
I think Blake Avery might be the only person around here who understands what it feels like to live in someone else’s shadow.
9
I help Sheri around the ranch over the next few days because, honestly, I think she’s glad of an extra pair of hands other than Popeye’s. I’ve noticed that his pride doesn’t really match his capabilities these days, which makes him tough to please and a bit of a difficult partner to work with. Sheri teaches me everything I could possibly need to know about the six horses they keep here, like what to feed them and when, and how to groom them without getting kicked in the face by a massive hoof. After some reluctance, I even help muck out the stables. We tidy up the porch too, and when Sheri returns from the hardware store with a van full of buckets of paint I jump at the chance to be the designated painter for the Harding Estate – it’s due for its annual summer touch-up. Whenever we moved into a new home in LA, Mom and I played music on full blast and painted each room ourselves rather than hiring a decorator. Our splotchy paintwork in the bedrooms made our homes feel a little more normal and down to earth.
By Wednesday, I’ve painted all of the downstairs window frames around the outside of the house and have given up in the heat for one day. I’m padding through to my room from the shower just after five when I hear my phone buzzing on my nightstand. I grip my towel tighter around my body and dive across my room because I know Ruben hates it whenever I dare to let his calls go to voicemail, so I frantically grab my phone and shove it up to my ear before it rings off. I hope he hasn’t been calling me the entire time I’ve been in the shower, because if so, he’s going to be furious.
“Ruben, hey. I was in the shower,” I splutter before he has the chance to say anything. “I’m sorry if you’ve been calling for a while.”
“Who’s Ruben and why does he need to know that you’re showering?”
I rip my phone from my ear and stare at my screen, checking the caller ID. It’s my new “friend”, Blake Avery. Warily, I tune back into the call. “Oh, sorry. Hi, Blake. Ruben is my dad’s manager. He calls a lot.”
“Sounds like he’s your manager too, then.”
“Lovely as it is to hear from you. . .” I smile to myself and sit down on the edge of my bed. “Is there a reason you’re calling me?”
“Do you remember that church you attended on Sunday? The one where that guy gave you his number and asked you to call him?” Blake asks sweetly. “Well, it’s now Wednesday, and has my phone rung? No, not once, so I thought I would call and check you’re still alive.”
“I’ve been busy helping out around the ranch,” I tell him, which is the God-honest truth. The idea of calling Blake has crossed my mind more often than I care to admit, but I have repeatedly shut it down as it made me feel nauseous with nerves. So, I decided to play it cool and hang out with Sheri instead.
“And are you busy right now?”
“No. . .” I say hesitantly, unsure of what this may lead to.
“Great. How quickly can you get ready?”
“Huh?”
“There’s this place I like in Nashville. Myles has bailed on me because Cindy Jamieson has a free house tonight and wow, how could he turnthatdown? But I still want to go,” Blake explains. “And you said I owe you, right? So, I’m going to give you the chance to actually have arealNashville experience. Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”
My gaze lands on my bullet journal on my nightstand and I think of the pages I made last weekend, the one for listing all of the memories that I make here in Tennessee. If nothing else, an evening in Nashville sounds like it could help fill up some of the blank space.
“Can I ask where we’re going in Nashville?” I ask, trying not to let those pesky nerves creep into my voice.
“It’s a surprise, Miss Mila,” Blake says in a tone that makes it obvious he’s grinning on the other end of the line. “I’ll see you outside the gate.”
The call ends and I sit in my towel for a few minutes, mulling over his words. So, we’re going to Nashville – just the two of us, by the sound of it. It could be for anything, so I’m not sure how to dress. Also, I haven’t even asked Sheri for permission. I debate checking with her first before I go through the effort of drying my hair, but then I remember our pact. Sheri made it clear I’m allowed freedom as long as I keep her in the loop.
