“Imagine having the nerve to walk out of your dad’s movie,” Tori says, posing in front of a mirror with a pair of bright red sunglasses that I believe are now the hundredth pair she’s tried on. “That’s bold, Mila. You literally givezeroshits about who your dad is, and for that you have my utmost respect.”
“We’re going to see the movie on Friday,” Savannah says as she rounds a clothes rack with the overflowing cart, “but Myles said not to get my hopes up.” There’s a bag of Cheetos propped up in the kid’s seat – yeah, strapped in – which she has opened and is munching her way through as she continues to browse.
“Myles is right,” I agree with a laugh.
Although the opening weekend has racked in big bucks at the box office, the reviews have been less than stellar. Once upon a time there were rumors among the production executives of a fourth installment, but I imagine they’ll need to rethink how well a fourth movie would be received after the disaster that is the third.
Months ago, I would have been feeling disappointment, but now? I don’t really care. Dad is already so successful, he doesn’t need to be thrust even further into the stars. In fact, he could do with a reality check every once in a while.
Tori finally decides which three-dollar sunglasses are the most likely to last for more than a week (round, edged with diamante daisies), then tosses them into the cart. “Okay, but I still can’t believe you went to Honky Tonk Central anddidn’t get kicked out. Is this what happens when you’re the kids of Everett Harding and the Mayor of Nashville? People make special exceptions, like letting minors stayillegallyin their bars?”
“No one made any exceptions,” I say, playfully shoving a pouting Tori away from me. “We just hid ourselves at a table right at the back when it turned eight, and the bouncers walked right on by. We didn’t stay that late.”
“You stayed until one,” Savannah points out, cocking a brow at me and shoving another Cheeto in her mouth. Her earrings today, surprisingly, are plain studs. “That sounds like a pretty fun night to me.”
My thoughts drift off to scenes of last night, of Blake and I together at Honky Tonk Central. We shared the same platter of appetizers again that we had on my first visit, and because it was the weekend all three floors of the bar were packed from wall to wall with people having a good time. The music blared loud all night, and I couldn’t stop the rhythm from taking over my body. I left Blake behind at the table, shimmied my way over to the squashed dance floor, and lost myself in the music of the live band smashing out country hits. I blended straight in – not Everett Harding’s daughter, just Mila putting her dance classes to good use. I felt free and alive, dancing all night among strangers in the city I’m falling in love with, and Blake watched me for a while with an odd twinkle in his eye. Soon he joined me on the dance floor, spun me into his arms, and kissed me right there and then.
“We just listened to the music and danced a little,” I say, keeping my head tilted down.
“Oh, is that all?” Savannah says, raising an eyebrow.
“Let me think. . .” Tori grins. “And stuck your tongue down his throat?”
My face heats a bit and I grin sheepishly as Savannah and Tori squeal with delight, bouncing on the balls of their feet. Savannah rams the cart out of the way, nearly knocking a mannequin to the floor, and shakes me by the shoulders.
“See? I knew it. I ampsychicwhen it comes to these things!”
“Oh, shut up, you mystic weirdo,” Tori says, shoving Savannah to the side and stepping in front of me. “You are now officially my idol. Not only did you waltz out of your dad’s movie, you did it so you could spend the nightkissing Blake Avery. You are living my eighth-grade dream!”
“Tori! We’re talking about my cousin here, remember?”
“You don’t care that he’s your cousin when Mila is the one who gets to kiss him!”
“Guys,” I say, holding my arm out between them, a grin still spread wide across my face. “Chill.”
“Let’s go back to the ice cream,” Tori decides with a dramatic flourish. “I need to drown my sorrows.”
We finally finish up at Walmart fifteen minutes later and we head out into the parking lot where Tori’s older brother, Jacob, waits for us. We are laden with bags full of ice cream, snacks, sunglasses, a disposable grill, and of course a hair dryer, among a thousand other things. As we haphazardly stack the bags into the trunk of the car, I receive a text from Blake Avery himself that reads:
Hey honky-tonk-loving Mila who knocked out the killer dance moves last night. Where are you?
I hope he’s not looking for me back at the Harding Estate. I quickly text back:
Walmart with a cart load of crap. You?
Our responses become pretty instant as we fire them back and forth.
BLAKE: Home. Wanna come over?
MILA: Is your mom there?
BLAKE: All clear at the Avery abode.
MILA: See you soon!
I climb into the backseat of the car and, as Jacob navigates out onto the highway, I clear my throat and say, “I was wondering if maybe you guys could take me to Blake’s.”
“Okay, nowthatstings, Mila,” Tori huffs, but her eye roll reassures me that there’s no hard feelings. “Jacob, head over to the mayor’s house.”
