Page 63 of The Making of Mila and Blake
“Sir, we need to keep moving,” one of the security guys urges, but Dad holds up his hand.
I squirm past my parents, past the security team, and run to him. All eyes are on me, the entire North Terminal of Nashville International Airport engrossed. There is silence except an echoing announcement that the Atlanta flight is closing.
He stands in front of me, the boy I just spent hours crying over, with his perfectly enchanting smile and tousled hair. My heart thunders in my chest.
“Blake,” I breathe, shaking my head at him in disbelief. I reach out to touch his jaw, to feel his soft skin, to know he’s real. “How did you. . . How did you get in here?”
Blake sticks his hand into his pocket and holds up a boarding pass. “I bought the last one-way ticket to Miami,” he says, then crumbles the boarding pass in his fist and tosses it into a nearby trash can with a smirk.
“You. . . Youjerk!” I yell, thumping my hand against his chest, enraged by his playfulness after everything he has just put me through. “Where the hell have you been? I drove all over town looking for you!”
“Listen!” Blake says, taking a deep breath and clasping my wrist. He holds it against his chest, refusing to let go. He looks out over our audience, the passengers of these final flights out of Nashville this Tuesday night, then moves in closer. A shiver runs down my spine as his warm breath tickles my ear. “My dad blew it again. He got loaded at a bar downtown and knocked himself out cold when he smacked his head against the sink in the restrooms.”
I pull back from him in shock, meeting his eyes. “Is he okay?”
“He was at the ER. I had to haul ass over there, and when I saw him lying there all bandaged up. . . I realized I’m way in over my head with him.” He drops his gaze to his hand on my wrist and slowly weaves his fingers around mine until they are laced tightly together. “I called my mom. I didn’t think she’d care, but she came right over. We started looking up rehab centers, and then I noticed the time. It was too late to drive back to Fairview to see you.” He bites his lip nervously, a smile lingering. “So, I decided to beat you here.”
“You couldn’t have answered your phone?” I blurt, exasperated.
“It’s dead,” he says, and I cast a look back over my shoulder to my mom. She was right. Blake’s phone died. These things happen. “And by the way, you must have written a killer essay, because my mom wants you to know she’s already sent her letter of recommendation to Belmont.” Blake grins.
An immense burden of stress lifts from my shoulders and I collapse against him, burying my face into his T-shirt as I whisper, “I thought we weren’t going to have a real goodbye.”
Blake presses his thumb to my chin, lifting my face toward his. His dark eyes smolder intensely. “Hey, I promised you I wouldn’t let you leave without one, didn’t I?” He presses his lips to my forehead, all delicate and soft, then lowers to one knee.
The terminal gasps in unison. My jaw falls open and I gape at him. He cannot be serious.
“Blake, don’t you dare,” I hiss, shaking my head. I claw at his arms in an attempt to pull him to his feet. “Get up!”
“Listen to me, you goofball. I amnotproposing,” he says with a hearty laugh, pushing my hands away. He retrieves a small, velvet box from his back pocket, but doesn’t open it. “It’s a promise ring.” He leans to the side to peer around me and calls out, “Everett, do I have your permission?”
“For a split second there I was about to kill you,” Dad says, emerging from the barricade of security personnel and pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. He smiles. “You have my permission, Blake.”
Mom rests her head happily on Dad’s shoulder as they watch. The spotlight is no longer on them, it’s on only Blake and me. The entire terminal is watching in anticipation, entertained by such a romantic display.
“Mila,” Blake says solemnly, looking up at me from beneath his dark lashes. He flips open the tiny box in the palm of his hand to reveal a stunning silver ring with infinity knots carved around the band. It sparkles beneath the fluorescent lighting of the airport. “Ipromisethat I will never let you leave without a goodbye, but I also promise that one day there won’t be any goodbyes. Whether you join me at Belmont or you stay in California, I promise we will always dance in honky tonks together. And I’d like you to be my girlfriend. Again.”
I laugh and press my hands over my eyes, feeling heat radiating across my face. I forget about everyone else around us, I forget that we’re standing in the departure lounge of Nashville International Airport. Blake reaches for my hand and gazes up at me, grinning, his eyes shining with hope and love. I only see him.
I have only ever seen him.
“I’d love to be your girlfriend,” I whisper. “Again.”
Blake laughs and carefully removes the ring from the box. He slides it onto my ring finger of my right hand. A perfect fit. The passengers applaud and cheer, a wave of joy spreading through the terminal.
As Blake stands, I grab his chain necklace and pull him toward me. Our lips collide and the applause grows thunderous. Blake wraps his arms around my back, holding me so tight he lifts me off the ground, and I feel the promise ring against my finger as I weave my hands into his hair.
This is a real goodbye. A goodbye with no doubts, no fears. Blake will always be waiting for me right here in the heart of Tennessee, and I’ll find my way back soon enough. It’s what Popeye always said: This is where I belong.
