Page 81 of Yours To Take
“Old Betty?”
Stepping outside, I point to the bright red truck. “She’s Gramps’s truck. Had her for thirty years.”
Blake whistles. “Wow, she’s pretty.”
“He’d be happy to hear you say that.”
“I mean, I know he likes me, but he still is kind of scary.” Blake hops up into the passenger seat as I slide in on my side.
I laugh as I shift the truck into gear and head toward town, leaving the ranch in the rearview mirror.
“He’s not scary.”
Blake points his body toward me. “You can’t tell what he’s thinking with those bushy eyebrows of his.”
Giving Blake a sly grin, I turn onto the main road. “I’m glad you got to meet him. He likes you.”
“I need to write him into my show.”
“Oh, yeah?”
The skies are gray as we head into town.
“Every good family drama has that paternal figurehead.”
“And you want to base yours off Gramps?”
Blake swivels his head. “Yes and no. I don’t want to make it exactly like him, but something like that.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question.”
“Maybe the parents of the kids died and the grandparents raised them.”
Dixon comes into view ahead, still plenty of road to cover before we get there. “I think you’ve got the drama part covered.”
“Still a work in progress. But my producer liked what I sent him.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Says it’s some of the most inspired writing he’s seen from me.”
“That’s great, Blake.” I peer at him from the corner of my eye. His face gives nothing away. “When do you think you’ll know if they decide to start filming?”
“Not sure. Depends on how fast they want to move. Could be as little as a few weeks, maybe a few months.”
The happiness from this morning slides away. I hate thinking about Blake leaving. His life is in LA. Mine’s here.
We couldn’t be more different if we tried.
Pulling into town, I find a spot and pull Old Betty in.
“Thank for coming with me today.” Blake grabs my hand, linking it with his.
I push away the unwanted thoughts of Blake leaving and steer us toward the crowded park. “The farmers’ market is the place to be on a Saturday.”
Squat, brick buildings line the road. Flower boxes are bursting with color along the windows. Banners hanging from old gas-lit streetlights advertise the small market.
It’s picturesque.
