Page 50 of The Making of Mila and Blake
“This girl expects me to sunbathe with her,” Tori says with a snort, shooting me a dirty look. “But other than that, we’re good. How are things with you?”
Teddy widens his eyes, parting his lips with exaggerated shock. “Whoa! So youcantalk to me.”
“Don’t push your luck, stable boy.”
They engage in a somewhat playful stare-off, and it’s almost amusing that Teddy has no idea that he is stuck in a love triangle. Or rather a love. . . square? He likes me, Savannah likes him, and Tori likes Savannah. I laugh out loud.
“What’s funny, Mila?” Teddy asks, sitting down on the edge of a chair across from us and resting his elbows on his knees.
“Oh, nothing,” I lie. “How are the foxes? I haven’t gone to check on them recently.”
Tori straightens up in curiosity. “Foxes?”
“We have a fox den at the back of the ranch! Teddy feeds them. There’s even little cubs running around, but my aunt doesn’t know, and neither does Savannah,” I explain, and Teddy stares at me the entire time I talk with a look of betrayal. He is way too selfish when it comes to those foxes– they are such a fascinating sight and it’s a shame to keep them a secret. I highly doubt Sheri would call animal control.
“You should tell Savannah about the foxes,” Tori tells Teddy with an enthusiastic nod. “She will absolutelymelt.She loves baby animals.”
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I haven’t told her, because she’ll want to spend all day watching them instead of working. Can I talk to you?” His gaze pierces mine and the abrupt change in conversation piques Tori’s interest. She glances between Teddy and me.
“I’ll be back in a sec,” I tell her. I hoist myself out of my lounger and follow Teddy until we are out of earshot. “What?”
“I want to talk to you about what happened the other day,” he says, tensely rubbing the back of his neck. “You know. . . that kiss.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Teddy,” I say, affecting a look of indifference and loosely folding my arms.
“Are you sure?” he asks, an edge to his voice. “You’re sure you don’t like me even just a little? Because I don’t believe that.”
“I like Blake,” I say firmly, leaving no room for questioning. Maybe there was something, something remarkably small and indistinguishable, between Teddy and me, but it was only flirty banter. I thought he was on the same page, but maybe Ididmuddle the waters a little. “And I’m really sorry if I made you think. . .”
“Don’t worry about it,” he cuts in, almost like he doesn’t want to hear me say it out loud, that I don’t like him. He doesn’t quite look me in the eye. “I won’t kiss you again,” he says, then offers out a closed fist. “Friends?”
“Friends,” I agree, and bump my fist against his.
20
“Belmont, baby!” Blake cheers with a wolf-whistle thrown in for extra measure. He thumps his hand against the steering wheel and accidentally sounds the horn of the truck as we swing into a parking spot reserved for visitors. “This place has really grown on me over the past year, so let me take you on an unofficial guided tour, hosted by yours truly.”
The Belmont University campus is located just south of Broadway, and until now, I didn’t realize that Vanderbilt was also in the same vicinity. It is just across the street and I wonder if it serves as a daily reminder to Blake when he attends his classes here at Belmont that his dream school really is just literally out of reach. But as he says, Belmont has grown on him. He seems happy here and that’s all that matters.
He hops out of the truck and opens my door for me, offering his hand with a flirtatious gleam in his eye. He has sung his heart out to his Spotify library during the drive to Nashville and his good mood is contagious, leaving me with a permanent smile. I slip my hand into his and step out of the truck. We are parked at the rear of the business school on the very edge of the campus, and Blake doesn’t hesitate to begin overloading me with information.
“I take my marketing classes here,” he says as we begin to walk hand in hand, our interlaced fingers swinging between us. “And up here is the Gordon E. Inman Center. The nursing school is in there. So, we’d be next door to each other.”
The building is gorgeous. Pristine white stone with tall pillars holding the arched entrance and a fountain surrounded by vibrant green lawns and shrubs, perfectly manicured. I briefly close my eyes and imagine myself carrying a stack of textbooks up the stone steps, braced and ready for my next theory lecture.
“Maybe we can sit in on a class later,” Blake suggests, and then directs me down the walkway between the two college buildings as we head further onto campus.
Things are quiet and calm, the only students still at school over break being those taking summer classes and internships, so although I don’t get the full experience of the typical campus buzz during the academic semester, I have plenty of time to absorb every minute detail.
We pass more schools and residential halls and Blake makes sure to point out the female halls with the not-so-subtle reminder that if Idosomehow convince the admissions office to accept a late acceptance, then my dorm may just end up being in one of these buildings.
We advance toward the heart of the university, the huge lawn that stretches out in the midst of all the other buildings. Despite the Tennessee heat and lack of rain over the summer, the grass is a luscious green, neatly trimmed, and complete with expert stripes. Some students are scattered around the length of the lawn, reading books or eating lunch beneath the sunshine. I stop dead in my tracks and spin in a slow circle as I admire the stunning view that surrounds us. The mixture of white stone and red brick buildings are all so immaculate and grand, and the rushing water from the large fountain that overlooks the lawn is relaxing when combined with the chirping of birds overhead.Thisis how I imagined college. Beautiful and exquisite, full of optimism for the lives we wish to lead.
My parents figured out their lives here on this campus, and an image pops into my head of the two of them, young and in love, holding hands as they strolled across this lawn just like Blake and I are doing now. But the romance of the thought crumples when I remember that my parents were having a scandalous affair.
“It’s a nice place,” Blake says, then points ahead. “My freshman dorm was just down here.”
We continue our tour toward more residence halls. Maddox Hall is where Blake’s dorm for the past year was. He has already moved out and handed back his keys, so he no longer has access to the building to show me around, and he’ll be assigned a new dorm for his sophomore year starting in the fall.
