Page 39 of The Making of Mila and Blake
“Morning, Mr. Harding,” he says with a clipped nod, then disappears outside before any further small talk can take place.
“Someone’s in a hurry to get back to work,” Dad says lightheartedly as he sits at the dining table and stretches out his legs. He’s wearing sweatpants and has a pen tucked behind his ear, so clearly Teddy isn’t the only one working hard around here. Last night, he was in the study for hours on phone calls with his co-producers back in Los Angeles. Between his random excursions to Nashville and his refusal to take a break from work commitments, I barely see him around the ranch.
I slide the silverware drawer shut without retrieving anything, shaking away all thoughts of Teddy and focusing only on Blake. “Dad. . . how would you feel if I told you I was going to one of Blake’s gigs in Nashville?”
I can sense Dad’s penetrating gaze fixed on me from behind. “I would feel. . . confused,” he says carefully. “Areyou going to one of his gigs?”
“Yes.”
Dad releases a soft, airy “huh” and cracks his knuckles. “So, Blake Avery is back in the picture?”
“Maybe. Yes. I don’t know, exactly, but. . .” I turn around to look at him and am relieved to see his expression is indifferent, neutral. Blake may be LeAnne’s son, but Dad still liked him when they first met, up until Blake broke my heart. Dad wasn’t happy about that. No one hurts his daughter.
“And you’re sure you know what you’re doing?” he asks, his expression concerned rather than berating. “Mila, you aresureyou want to get involved with him again?”
I swallow the lump in my throat and answer him with the smallest of nods.
“You were really messed up when it ended last time. . . Don’t forget that, but I trust you to do what you feel is right,” he says kindly. With a smile, he stands from the table and crosses the floor toward me, no doubt sensing my apprehension about discussing this with him, and he throws his huge, muscular arms around me and pulls me into a secure, protective hug. “But hey, if heeverhas you in tears again. . . You tell me, and I’ll take care of him.”
I laugh against Dad’s chest, my arms wrapped around his back and inhaling the scent of his signature cologne. No, seriously.Hiscologne.ImperialHarding.
“Where is the gig this time?” he asks, relaxing his hold on me just enough to pull back a little and look into my eyes.
“Honky Tony Central again,” I say, then playfully shove him away from me, breaking our hug. “And you arenotinvited!”
Dad chuckles and turns to the coffee machine. “Has LeAnne ever been to any of his gigs?”
“I don’t think so. She still doesn’t accept the music thing.”
“Does Blake want her to?”
“Well, obviously,” I say, clearing some empty plates from the kitchen table and dunking them into the sink with a clatter. Instead of exquisite riding arenas, Sheri should seriously invest in a dishwasher. “You wanted Popeye to support your acting, didn’t you? I think that’s what everyone wants, for their parents to believe in them.”
The coffee machine whirs into action and Dad places his hand on my arm by the sink, forcing me to pause and meet his gaze. “You already know your mom and I are so proud of you for pursuing nursing,” he says in a tranquil, sincere tone, “but in case it wasn’t that obvious, I will always support you regardless of what you choose to do in life, okay? Whatever choices you make, whatever path you take, as long as it makes you happy then I’m all for it.”
No, it wasn’tthatobvious. There was always so many rules before and my life felt carved out for me. Dad and his manager Ruben controlled my every move, so much so that even now, I still forget sometimes that Idohave freedom.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say as I stretch up on my tiptoes and plant a kiss on his cheek, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.
My life is mine again, and I need to remember that.
15
Tuesday afternoon, I hang out at Jefferson’s, tucked in a booth in the corner with my MacBook and catching up with Mom over video call. She is currently traveling as part of the crew of a new reality show, always on-hand to touch up make-up at the snap of a finger, and is very clearly exhausted. It’s late morning back home in California, yet she can’t fight the incessant yawning, and eventually I tell her to take a nap before she leaves for today’s shift and then end the call. I’m glad work is keeping her so busy, though, because I hate the thought of her being alone and lost in thought over her and Dad’s current divorce proceedings.
I try to corral my friends back home into a group call too, but one is still asleep, another is already catching the morning waves at Venice Beach, and the one whodoesanswer rolls her eyes when I talk about Fredo. My friends often joke in good nature that I’m turning country on them, but I think they forget that my bloodisSouthern. The call doesn’t last long. It’s amazing how quickly I feel disconnected from my life back home when I am here in Fairview.
“I amsobored,” Tori whines as she slinks into the booth across from me, collapsing forward and placing her head on the table like she wishes she could knock herself out. “Why do they even need four waitresses during the weekday slumps?” Without even lifting her head, she gestures around the restaurant. It’s three thirty, the lunch rush is over, and there’s only a handful of people in Jefferson’s, all served and content. “You’d think Brian would let some of us go home for an hour, but nooooo.Do you need anything else?” She glances up now, but I can see the hope in her eyes that I don’t request another soda refill.
“I’m good for now,” I say. “But you were right. That buffalo shrimp?To die for.” It’s about time I tried it, considering I abandoned our dinner order back on my first night in town.
Tori rolls her shoulders and cracks her neck as she sits back up, leaning over the table to clear my plate and silverware. It feels wrong to have one of my best friends wait on me like this, but I can see her manager, Brian, keeping an eye on her from afar to ensure sheisearning her wages. “It’s what your dad ordered this weekend too! He raved about it. See, I wasn’t wrong. It really does live up to the hype. I’m going to ask the kitchen to plate me up some on my break later—”
I don’t mean to interrupt her, but the words spill out of me. “My dad was here this weekend?” He heads out on his own a lot, usually only to Nashville, but he definitely didn’t mention trying out some of Fairview’s local food offerings. In fact, now that I think about, Dad never really tells mewhathe is out doing.
“Yeah, Saturday night,” Tori says. Brian signals to her from across the restaurant, and she huffs and begrudgingly peels herself out of the booth, taking my empty plate with her. “Blake’s mom was here too. All of the waitstaff were fighting over who got to serve them, but the table was in my section, soha! Your dad is a great tipper, by the way. I can finally fix the radiator on my junker!”
I slam my laptop shut. “You are absolutely sure he was with LeAnne?”
