Page 4 of The Making of Mila and Blake
“Hey, buddy! It’s me, I’m home!” I slide open the stall door and join him in his pen, running my fingers through his smooth mane. When I scratch beneath his chin, he nuzzles his nose into my shoulder. “Yeah, Fredo, I missed you too!”
The horse in the next stall, Princess, kicks at the floor in protest at my overt favoritism.
“I missed all of you!” I call through the divider, and Savannah rolls her eyes and strokes Princess in comfort. I look over at her and feel a pang of jealousy that she gets to be on this ranch, in these stables, with these horses, every day. “You have the bestjob, Savannah.”
Savannah lifts her head and her earrings swing. “I do! I just love working with Sheri. AndI get paid for it!”
“How about you earn those wages by helping me out with these?” a voice calls, startling us.
I peer over the stall door and down the aisle, my surprised gaze landing on a guy emerging from the feed room, a bale of hay resting easily on his shoulder. He walks toward us, rubber boots caked in dry dirt, and stops in front of Fredo and Princess’s stalls.
“Give me a break, Teddy! I’m not even working right now,” Savannah huffs with a playful tut, then steps out into the aisle and places a hand on his free shoulder. “This is Mila. Sheri’s niece that I told you about. The one who’s staying here for the next few weeks.”
The guy runs his pale blue eyes over me, assessing. He is undeniably gorgeous, with rough, dirty hands and sweat beading on his forehead beneath his thick blond hair. With the hay still propped on one shoulder, he tilts his jaw and flashes me a pleasant smile.
“Hey, Mila,” he says, his voice as thick as honey. He stretches out a hand over the stall door. “Teddy.”
I shake his hand, noticing the calluses on his palm, just like Popeye’s. A hard worker. A ranch boy. “Hi,” I say, then move my hand back to Fredo’s strong neck. “Savannah has mentioned you. You work for Sheri too, right?”
Teddy nods and dumps the hay on the ground, wiping his hands on his faded blue jeans. His biceps tense as he pushes back his damp hair from his forehead, and I never knew just how sexy a guy in dire need of a shower could be.
“Yeah, someone has to do the heavy-duty work around here since Savannah spends half her shifts braiding manes,” he says with a teasing wink at Savannah, who blushes.
I give herthe look.Savannah has spoken about Teddy– a lot, really– and she gushed about how attractive her coworker was, but I never imagined him to bethishot. I also know he’s older. Twenty? Twenty-one? I can’t remember. I wish I’d paid more attention.
“Yeah, she loves horses,” I say lamely.
“Clearly,” Savannah says, pointing to her earrings, and the three of us laugh. “Teddy, I’ll see you in the morning. Mila, let’s get ready.”
“Where are you guys headed?” Teddy asks.
“Jefferson’s.”
“Ah, nice,” he says. “Enjoy your first night back in town, Mila.”
“Thanks. Enjoy work,” I say, and he grins and strides off through the stable doors, disappearing out into the fields.
“See?” Savannah hisses, flapping her hands at me as she slides open Fredo’s stall door and yanks me out into the aisle. “Do youseewhat I mean! He was definitely crafted by angels. And he isn’t a jerk! He’s super nice and helpful, and when are guys thatsexy ever nice? Never! He’s a gift from God.”
I shake my head, biting back laughter. Savannah’s musings are so much more entertaining in real life than over a video call, and I may have just arrived five minutes ago, but already I am floating on cloud nine. I have a good feeling about this trip. The perfect few weeks of summer– making memories with Savannah and Tori (that hopefully don’t involve any more rabbit holes!), prancing around the paddocks with Fredo, and warm hugs from Popeye.
“Let’s get ready for dinner,” I say, linking arms with Savannah. “It’s time to get this summer started.”
3
Jefferson’s is a franchise restaurant down on Fairview Boulevard, a rustic timber building right next to a gas station. We park in the lot around the back next to Tori’s old beater and I follow Savannah inside, licking my lips at the delicious scent. I amsohungry. Even in first class, I hate how artificial and unfulfilling airline food is.
We pause by the hostess stand and I look around the packed restaurant. Timber walls, ESPN on the TVs, food served in baskets, and a weird collage of dollar bills on the far wall. I squint and realize each bill has graffiti, a personalization.
“Hi there!” the cheery hostess says as she swings by the stand, scooping up two menus.
“Hey. Tori made us a reservation for seven,” Savannah says.
“Name?”
“Um,” she says. “Bennett? Or Harding?”
The hostess scans the reservation list and lifts her head with a knowing smile. “No Bennett, no Harding, but thereisa reservation for Miss Earrings. I’m guessing that’s you?”
