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TWENTY-ONE

Ella

IT’S the last gala before summer break, so I know it’ll be fun. Josie said there’s a fire-blower guy and a shaved ice station, but not even that can convince me to go. I don’t want to see Blake more than is absolutely necessary. My emotions are ranging anywhere between sad, embarrassed, mortified, and pissed. Choose your fighter! I have no idea how to act normal around him. I don’t know what normal means for us anymore. Strictly professional? Friends? Acquaintances?

The Grand Prix is in Silverstone, right outside of London, so George is here for the race. We spend a lot of time going over the outline we have for the biography, highlighting the areas where we need more information and noting what’s good to go. A few chapters have changed—we’re combining a few, deleting another, adding one. It’s amazing seeing all the work we’ve been doing coming together in a cohesive way. I haven’t felt this excited over a project in a long time.

“Have you started thinking about what’s next?” George asks as we finish up on Friday afternoon. “Writing? Podcasting? Another biography?”

He looks at me thoughtfully, biting the end of his pen. The fact that he still has this habit is astonishing. Back when George was my professor, one day in class he bit on his pen so hard it exploded all over him. He had black splatter marks on his face for the next week.

“I think I should definitely finish this biography before considering another,” I finally respond. “But other than that, I’m not sure.”

“Blake enjoys your interview style,” he shares with a proud smile. “Says he likes working with you.”

If only he liked me more than that.

“That’s good to hear.”

The cheeriness in my voice is so forced I’m surprised when George doesn’t question it. It’s at least three octaves higher than my usual tone. I don’t say anything else. Kissing Blake and then telling him I want more than sex isn’t the most professional thing I’ve ever done.

“You seem to like Formula 1,” he adds.

My face falls. I can’t tell if he means it as a good or a bad thing. “Am I sounding too much like a fangirl in my writing?”

“No! Not at all. It’s just apparent how passionate you are about the sport. It’s good, don’t worry.”

Phew. I really do like Formula 1. George is right about that. Nothing beats the high of a race weekend. Granted I’m rooting for some of the best drivers, who I now consider friends, but still. Knowing them makes the sport feel more intimate, like I’m a part of it. I’m not just an outsider looking in. I can wish them luck or compliment their race because I was there, I saw them, I know them.

“Would you have any interest in moving across the pond long-term?”

It takes me a minute to realize he means the Atlantic Ocean. Pretty big pond.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“Something to consider. You’re good at what you do, Ella. I see a lot of myself in you, and I think you can be super successful. I’m happy to make some introductions for you. Just let me know.”

“Thanks, George.” I lift my head to meet his eyes. “For everything.”

GEORGE IS TACKLING everything work-related this weekend, so I’m supposed to sit back, relax, and enjoy the race. Kind of hard to do when my body is on full alert, ready to run in the opposite direction of Blake at any given moment. Having George as my human protective shield definitely makes it easier, though. I make sure I’m always around but never alone. There’s no way I can keep this up forever, but I need to adjust to being around Blake again. Seeing him sucks. There’s no other way to put it. It fucking sucks. Because we’re both still the same, but things are completely different.

Josie lets me tag along with her on Sunday. She switches off between singing Lizzo’s “Truth Hurts” and Beyonce’s “Sorry.” We love a supportive partner in crime. I try helping her come up with witty Instagram captions for the photos she took this morning and suggest some good options, but they’re all rejected. Apparently, “Which groupie will Blake bone in Silverstone?” isn’t an appropriate thing to say. She also didn’t like “Britain’s Blake Hollis: breaking hearts AND records.”

I follow her around for another hour until she’s ready to push me into the pit lane. Timing is on her side because a driver’s home race is always a huge deal, so the rest of her day will most likely be around Blake. No, thank you.

I spend some time in the kitchen with Albie before heading up to the rooftop. It’s become my favorite place to escape the madness of race days. Looks like someone’s beat me to it. Well, two someones. Two very small someones. I instantly recognize them as Blake’s niece and nephew. He talks about them a lot. His sister and her family are the only people he talks about in regard to his family. Rarely his dad and never his mom. I’m honestly just happy he feels comfortable enough talking about them in the first place.

They spot me before I can quietly beep beep reverse my ass right out of here. They may be four and five, but they clearly don’t know stranger danger. The two of them are out of their chairs and running up to me in no time. Where are their parents? Is Blake nearby?

“Hi. I’m Millie. Who are you?”

She’s a carbon copy of Blake’s sister with the same light brown hair, bright blue eyes, and button nose I’ve seen in photos. Her shirt has a sparkly unicorn on it and she’s wearing cat ears. Oh, to be young again.

“I’m Ella. It’s nice to meet you, Millie.” I kneel so I’m at their level. “What’s your name, buddy?”

I already know his name’s Finn, but I can tell he’s not as outgoing as his older sister. He’s hiding behind her with his small hand clasped tightly in hers. Only his blond curls are visible from behind her shoulder.

“Finn,” he squeaks out.

“Whoa! That’s such a cool name. Did you pick it out yourself?”

“No!” Millie giggles. “He was just a baby when he got it! He couldn’t name himself.”

Her pigtails bounce as she shakes her head. Finn steps out from behind Millie and places his small hand on my knee. He blinks at me with the same blue eyes as his sister.

“Is Ella short for Cinderella?” he asks sweetly.

Ella definitely isn’t short for Cinderella considering my glass slipper got tossed right out a window like a dirty Converse sneaker. “No. I wish it were, but it’s short for Eliana.”

Millie nods as if considering this. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you. I think your name’s pretty, too. I’ve never met another Millie before.”

“Really?” Her face lights up in excitement. “So in the whole wide world I’m the only Millie you know?”

“Yep.”

“Do you know anyone with my name?” Finn asks with wide eyes.

“Hmm.” I pretend to think. “I don’t think I do! You guys are the only Millie and Finn that I know.”

This seems to be the coolest thing they’ve ever heard. Kids are easy to impress.

“There you guys are! Your mum’s been going crazy trying to find you.”

I’d recognize that smoldering accent from a million miles away. I quickly stand and hold my hands up defensively. I don’t want him to think I was interviewing them or anything horrible like that.

“Uncle Blake!” Millie tugs at the end of his shirt. “Do you know Ella?”

He smiles in that reckless way of his. “Of course.”

Millie starts chattering away about a bug she saw earlier, and Blake listens intently, nodding and asking follow-up questions. Why does seeing him with kids make me feel like my IUD is going to eject itself? They look at him like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky. Ugh.

“Can Ella eat lunch with us?” Finn asks innocently.

Dear God. If you were ever planning on revealing the existence of superpowers, please feel free to do so by granting me the ability to become invisible. Thank you and amen.

Blake shrugs and looks at me to try to gauge how I feel about the situation. His eyes are apologetic.

“I can’t, but thank you!”

Millie’s eyebrows draw together in disappointment. “Why not?”

“I forgot,” I mumble.

“Forgot what?”

All right, Miss Millie. What are you? The question police? I can’t think of anything. I forgot to take out my tampon? Forgot to pay the parking meter? Forgot I have a doctor’s appointment?

“An email,” I blurt out. “I forgot to answer an email. It’s, uh, very important.”

Nice. Totally believable. Blake knows I’m lying out of my ass but doesn’t say anything. It’s a Sunday, 6:00 a.m. in America, and George is here, so there’s not really anybody I’d be emailing.

“Why don’t you guys go wait for me at the door?” Blake suggests while ruffling Finn’s curls. “I’ll be there in a second.”

Millie and Finn wave goodbye, so it’s just me and Blake. Well, me, Blake, and the awkward tension surrounding us. Now I know what they mean by three’s a crowd.

“I want to make sure we’re cool,” he explains, a frown creasing his forehead. “We haven’t talked since Italy.”

“We’re cool!” I paste a smile on my face even though I’m mentally screaming. “Cooler than an ice cube.”

I can’t fault Blake for how he feels. He doesn’t date. Rejection stings, but I’m a big girl. I’ll get over it. I just need about thirty to ninety business days to do so. Formula 1 has a month off starting tomorrow, and you bet your bottom dollar I’ll be using that time to lick my wounds. See you at the end of August, Blake! Hopefully, distance doesn’t make my heart grow fonder.