Page 23 of Becoming Mila
In a mad rush, I scramble around my room to be ready on time, because the sheer thickness of my hair alone is a problem that takes twenty minutes to solve. I blow-dry it straight and then pull a flat iron through the ends while simultaneously searching through the disorganized mess that is my closet. I finally put everything away the other day, but in no order, which I deeply regret now. Eventually, I find my favorite pair of fitted jeans, a washed-out blue color and ripped at the knees, which Mom never hesitates to tell me looks awful, and pick out a cherry red cropped Bardot top. I don’t wear red enough, despite how well it pops against my hair, so I line my lips with red lipstick too.
I’m applying a second coat of mascara when a text lights up my phone. It’s from Blake. He’s outside the gate, exactly thirty minutes after our phone call.
I grab a small shoulder purse, tossing my phone, perfume, lipstick, and wallet inside. I’ve still got the fifty dollars Sheri gave me over the weekend, so I hope that whatever Blake has in mind doesn’t cost more than that.
It only sinks in that I’m actually going out alone with Blake when I’m heading downstairs. I’ve been so focused on getting ready at lightning speed that I haven’t had time to really think about it. Honestly, I don’t even know this guy, but his mom is the mayor, so I guess it’s a safe bet that he isn’t dangerous. Annoying, sure. But most likely safe. Plus, the Bennetts are his relatives andtheyseem pretty normal.
Sheri is fixing dinner – orsupper,as she calls it – when I find her in the kitchen. I spot Popeye through the window, sitting outside on the porch in the early evening sun, sipping a glass of sweet tea.
“Hungry?” Sheri asks, hearing my arrival.
“About that. . .”
She turns to look at me and her eyes widen, obviously surprised to see me so glammed up after three days of borrowing her old tees and with splotches of dried paint adorning my hair and my cheeks. I position my purse in front of my stomach so that she doesn’t notice my piercing.
“I’m going to Nashville with Blake,” I say in a neutral tone, but for some reason my cheeks grow hot.
“Is this a date?” Sheri quizzes, her tone one of worry rather than tease. Pots are bubbling on the stove behind her. “With BlakeAvery?”
“No!” I shout. “It’s not a date,” I add more calmly. Blake needs a sidekick for the night, and I need to make memories in order to survive out here. “He’s just showing me around.”
“And what exactly are you heading into the city for?”
“Well, I don’t know, exactly. . .” My voice trails off. “But he’s already outside. I have money and your number and – oh! The correct code for the gate this time,” I say with a grin.
Finally, a trace of a smile appears on Sheri’s face. “Okay, you can go, but only because you’ll be bored spending the night here with us. Please, behave, be careful in the city and don’t be late.”
“I will and I won’t!” I say, then skip outside onto the porch. “Hi, Popeye. I’m going out.”
“With your friend from church?” Popeye wraps his hands around his sweet tea and purses his lips at me. “Blake Avery?”
“How did you. . . ?”
“Bless your heart, Mila,” he says warmly, as he looks out over the field, the sun low in the sky. “Your grandmother only ever wore red lipstick like that when we went on our dates.”
My heart feels weighted all of a sudden as I remember once more the grandma I never really knew. It’s been a long time since she passed, but Popeye must still think about her and miss her every day.
“Goodnight, Popeye,” I murmur, then squeeze my hand over his and kiss his cheek. I’ve lost out on too many years of affection.
Blake has been waiting outside for at least five minutes now, so I dash down the porch steps and head for the gate. I open it from the inside, revealing Blake’s truck. The black paintwork shines under the hazy, golden sunlight.
Blake rolls down the passenger window and leans across the seat. “Get in, Hollywood, we have places to be!”
I pull open the door and climb in, my heart annoyingly racing a bit, which I totally believe is from rushing to the truck and not because I’m even remotely nervous.
“Hey,” I say coolly, pulling on my seatbelt. I try not to fidget too much. After all, this is also the same guy who started the chain of events that ended with me almost in tears at the tailgate party, so I have a justified reason for being anxious about how tonight may go. . . But still, I don’t want Blake to notice.
“Hi,” Blake says. His brown eyes briefly run over me, but only for a second or two, and I wonder if he’s going to compliment me. He doesn’t. “Are you ready for the greatest night of your life?”
“That’s a pretty bold statement,” I point out. “Where are we going?”
Blake starts the engine, his fingertips creeping over to the dials on the truck’s entertainment system. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, a charming grin edging onto his lips, and bumps the music up. Country rock blasts in my ears. “We, suga’, are off to a honky tonk!”
My expression is blank. What the heck did he just say? Between the excessive volume of the music and the extra emphasis he added to his accent, it makes it even harder to understand those crazy words that left his mouth.
Blake registers my indifference and lowers the volume back down. “You’re going to personally offend me if you open your mouth and tell me that you don’t know what a honky tonk is.”
I blush a little too hard. “What is a honky tonk?”
