Page 6 of The Making of Mila and Blake
Savannah gives me a reluctant nod as the door opens. Her brother, Myles, walks in first with his girlfriend Cindy on his arm. They have, at long last, put a label on things. Barney enters with his usual confident swagger, like nothing in this world could ever touch him, and behind him, Nathan. He slips through the door hand-in-hand with a girl I don’t recognize, but how can I? I don’t live here.
Savannah huffs and strains to keep her attention fixed only on me. “Think of Teddy, think of Teddy, think of Teddy,” she tells herself.
The hostess seats them at a large table on the other side of the restaurant, and Myles catches our eye just before he sits down. He excuses himself and meanders over, flicking his thick blond hair out of his eyes. Last I heard from Savannah, Myles works in the FedEx warehouse while studying at community college in Nashville. He hasn’t yet decided what career path he wants to take, so he’s buying himself some time.
“Hey, Myles!” I chirp, but my shoulders sink when he doesn’t immediately flash me his charming trademark smile. He grimaces and presses his palms flat to the table.
“You could have warned me you were coming here tonight,” Savannah grumbles at her brother, sulkily folding her arms and casting a disgusted look across the restaurant. “With Nathan.”
“You could have warned meyou were bringing Mila,” Myles fires back. Looking distinctly on edge, he scratches his neck.
“Didn’t Savannah tell you I’m visiting for a few weeks?” I ask, stirring my soda with a straw.
“She did. Welcome back,” he says in a softer voice and with a hint of a smile. “But she didn’t tell me you were coming here.Tonight.”
“So?” Savannah says. “You’re being annoying, Myles.”
Myles leans closer to her, his jaw set in frustration. “Savannah, it’sguys’night. He’s coming.”
“Nathan? I know. I can see him feeling up his girlfriend’s thigh over there.” Savannah rolls her eyes, laughing off the hurt of rejection, but a seed of panic plants itself in my stomach and grows, grows, grows.
“Myles. . .” My lips suddenly feel chapped, my throat raspy. “Who’scoming?”
Before Myles can give me the answer I am dreading, Tori bristles past with a stack of dirty plates loaded on her arm. “This is what I was trying to tell you!” she hisses past Myles, slowing her stride. “The reservation is under Avery.”
I can feel the panic building inside my chest. My body flops back against the booth and Savannah says something that I don’t even register.
Avery.
Blake Avery.
Blake is cominghere.
Of course I knew the risk. Coming home to Fairview always poses the risk of running into Blake. It’s a small town, and I am amazed I have managed to visit so often andnotcross paths with him– until now. He studies in Nashville, and those forty miles have been enough of a distance to keep us apart for the past few years, but it was only a matter of time.
Blake and I are both back in town.
“I need to leave,” I say frantically, fumbling for my bag. My ears ring, my heart is racing. “I can’t see him.”
I dump a wad of cash, too much cash, on the table and shakily get to my feet. If I move fast enough, I can get out of here before Blake shows up. I nudge Myles aside as I slide out of the booth and then nearly crash into Tori and her haphazardly stacked plates.
With the door in sight, I pick up the pace and twist around tables and patrons, hearing Savannah say, “Tori, cancel our order.” She’s coming with me. Of course she is.
The door is in front of me. Fresh air, the outdoors, my escape route– it’s all a few steps away. I reach out, push open the door. A sigh of relief is waiting for me on the other side. I step out into the golden evening, turn toward the parking lot, and—
My breath hitches. He’s standing before me, blocking my route. I stop short before we collide, and my heart tightens. The door falls shut behind me.
“Blake,” I whisper.
Blake parts his lips, staring down at me with shock pooling in those dark brown eyes that I used to dream about. The very last time I looked at him, we were at Honky Tonk Central in Nashville two summers ago, his skin damp with sweat from the stage spotlights, his hair ruffled, his hands wrapped tightly around his guitar. That’s the last image I have of him before he turned his back and walked away. From me, from us.
But things have changed since then. We’vechanged. The Blake standing in front of me now has grown, changed. His tousled dark hair is cut shorter, neater, and there’s the faintest shadow of stubble tracing the sharp line of his jaw. The tan of his sun-kissed skin is highlighted by his white polo shirt that stretches over his broad chest. The silver of a chain pokes out from the collar. He’s really here, the guy who was once my Blake.
He swallows hard.
“Mila. . .” he breathes, and the familiarity of his husky tone sends shockwaves through my body. “You’re back.”
For the briefest of moments, I forget that two years have passed. I forget that I hurt him and that he walked away. I forget that all of my phone calls went unanswered, all of my texts were left unread. I knew if I ever saw him again, it would hurt.
