Page 48 of The Making of Mila and Blake
It’s a profound line of questioning, so much so that I have to consciously make the effort to breathe. “Is that whatyou’redoing?”
Blake smiles and says, “I asked first.”
This is my opening, my chance to tell Blake exactly what I had every intention of admitting to him tonight. It’s why I wanted to get him alone after his gig, because this isn’t something I can scream into his ear over the thumping music in a bar downtown. We needed privacy, intimacy. . . some place exactly like here.
I peer through the darkening sky toward the river again, allowing the gentle lapping of water to calm my nerves, and then look Blake directly in the eye with a renewed sense of purpose and confidence. “Do I think this is just a quick fling with an ex while I’m in town? No. The truth is, these aren’t old feelings,” I say. “They are feelings that never went away to begin with.”
“Hmm,” Blake says with an air of optimism. “So, what you’re saying is. . .?”
I weave my fingers between his, locking our hands in place. I don’t want to ever let go. “I’m saying,” I murmur, “that I’m still in love with you, Blake.” And as soon as the words escape my lips and drift into the air above us, a weight lifts from my shoulders.
Blake’s brown eyes ignite with desire, burning with a lustrous sense of euphoria. Edging toward me, he draws his face close to mine and his free hand gently grips my bare thigh. I close my eyes and listen to the erratic thumping of our heartbeats beneath the Nashville sky, tuning out the musical notes of Broadway as though Blake and I are the only two people in the world.
His lips hover dangerously close to the edge of my mouth, and against my jaw he whispers, “Kiss me if you mean it.”
Slipping my hand around the nape of his neck, I weave my fingers into his thick hair and pull him toward me, capturing his lips with mine. The kiss is gentle, precarious, like we’re two people exploring each another for the very first time. . . until the familiarity sets in. And suddenly it’s as though no time has passed at all, like it was only yesterday that I last felt the pleasure of Blake’s kiss, and our hunger rips through us. Our movements pick up pace, our hands grab each other desperately, and I kiss him deeply with every fiber of my being.
Blake grabs my hips and swings me onto his lap. I cradle him on these warm concrete steps, our chests tightly pressed together. The smallest of moans escapes me as he takes my lower lip between his teeth.
“What ifIthink this is just a summer fling with an ex?” he says with that hoarse, raspy voice of his, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he winds his fingers through my hair.
I press my forehead to his, breathless, and whack his shoulder. “Don’t joke like that.”
“Mila,” he says, his hand abruptly pausing by my jaw, my face cupped against his palm. He skims his thumb over my sun-kissed freckles, the ones that only emerge under the hot Tennessee sunshine, the ones I know he loves. “I never stopped loving you either.”
And as my heart bursts, I kiss him for the first time all over again.
19
“What’s your friend doing?” Popeye asks suspiciously, pressing his face to the window above the kitchen sink as he stares outside. “The one who doesn’t work here.”
“Tori?” I jump up from the kitchen table with a longing glance back at my chicken wrap I’ve lovingly thrown together for lunch and budge up next to Popeye by the sink.
Tori’s old clunker of a car judders up the track road toward the house.
I cross the kitchen and make for the front door, throwing it open just as Tori parks and steps out of the car. She shimmies and says, “Hey, hey, girl!”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask. Savannah and I rarely see her these days.
“Oh yeah. I got fired,” she says nonchalantly as she climbs the porch steps. She rolls her eyes with disdain and explains, “Brian went off on me for raising my voice at customers. Like c’mon! It’s not like I yelled at a stranger. It was only Savannah. But apparently that’s not acceptable.”
I grin. “Well, it isn’t.”
“Whatever,” Tori says. “Are you free to hang out? I’m bored.”
“If you don’t mind tanning, then sure.”
I step back from the door to allow her inside, and as she passes, she groans and says, “Ugh. Straight girls are so boring. Do I look like I need to tan?”
“Oh, so we’re making these jokes now, are we?” I laugh and dig my elbow into her ribs. Did I really expect anything less from Tori? Her brutal honesty is why I love her so much.
She casts me a petulant look, then her expression cracks, becoming playful. “I’ve been biting my tongue for ages, Mila. Now I don’t have to hold back all these remarks.”
Together we head into the kitchen where Popeye has now designated himself the task of washing up the stack of dirty lunch dishes. He dunks his hands into the soapy water and flinches at the scalding temperature.
“Popeye, stop,” I order. “I’ll get those later.”
“Just needs cooled!” he says, turning on the faucet.
