Chapter 20
Blake
During the entire walk to the willow tree, Blake had been nervous.
And the car ride.
Sure, they had terrific sexual tension and pent-up feelings, but what else did they have in common? Their lives were so different. Maybe he was just talking himself out of this and had built it up in his mind to more than it was. This was, after all, just going to be a casual date where they could catch up, until he spilt his guts to Sophie and she got involved.
Freaking Sophie!
She texted him today and told him to wear a suit, but he assumed she meant for her wedding, not tonight.
If he had known, he would have worn the suit he wore to the Oscars last year, which would have gone with Violet’s pretty dress. He felt terrible for not noticing Sophie’s text and just showing up in his usual shit.
Blake pulled out Violet's chair and watched her beautiful ass take a seat while he made his way around to his side of the table.
The party planners he hired were not kidding around when they said they would deliver on ‘romantic’. The table looked like it belonged at a fancy five-star restaurant, not out under his parents’ willow tree in a field.
Sitting down, Blake looked at Violet and he felt his heart miss a beat. She was something else, she looked stunning in the setting sun with the flickering candlelight against her pale skin.
He reached out and entwined his fingers with hers, hoping this would convey a message to her. For some reason, he was tongue-tied. Never in his life had this happened to him. He was about to tell her she looked prettier than the stars starting to twinkle above her in the night sky, when his phone rang.
Of course!
Wrestling it out of his skinny jeans pocket, Blake stifled a groan as he saw his agent’s number flash on his screen. He instantly got mad, because he hadn’t given Darrell this number.
“I have to take this,” he said as he got up and wandered from the table around the other side of the willow tree.
“Blake! How are you?” came the voice of Blake’s agent, Darrell Hopper.
Blake imagined the 40-something sitting behind his domineering desk in his downtown LA office, wearing a crisp Armani suit and looking out at the Hollywood sign.
“I’m good, it's nice being a normal person again.” Darrell made a noise down the other end of the phone. “The reason I’m calling is they are starting to report your absence and EntertainMe TV has called looking for answers. There are only so many vague answers I can give them. Some fans have started an #WhereIs Blake? hashtag on WriteMe. I really think you need to release a statement that you’re retiring from acting. It's not going to be too long until someone in that country town of yours rats you out for some serious cash.”
Blake leaned against the old willow tree. “I’m done, I don’t want to do a press release, I just want to go quietly into the night.”
“Blake, there is no way in hell they are going to let you do that,” Darrell replied flatly.
“Fine, can we talk about it next week?” Blake said.
“Sure, call me when you can.”
“Thanks Darrell.”
Blake hung up the phone and looked up at the illuminated branches of the old willow. Why couldn’t the media just leave him alone?
All he wanted to do was spend time with the girl he once loved and get to know her again. With more determination than ever to have a romantic dinner and reconnect with his Violence, Blake made his way back to the other side of the willow tree. Rounding the tree, Blake froze.
That romantic table wasn’t looking so romantic.
It was on fire!
The whole table and his chair were engulfed in flames.
Violet was standing a few feet away with her hands over her mouth looking on in horror. Springing into action, Blake ripped his t-shirt over his head and started beating the flames out.
They were in the middle of a field full of dry grass.
He didn’t want the flames to light the grass because if they did there would be no stopping them.
It took him a few goes, but he managed to put the fire out by beating at the table and chairs with his shirt.
He ruined his shirt in the process, but it was a small price to pay for not starting a grass fire.