Page 102 of The Charm of You

My chest stays pressed against his as Austin pulls back with a smirk and says, “Let’s get you on your throne, homecoming queen.”

“Yes, sir,” I practically purr, and my lungs work overtime to help me catch my breath.

We turn in sync, his hand in mine, but we stop when we catch sight of our mothers, who are performing some kind of handshake. They end it with an ass bump, and laughter bubbles out of me.

“What on earth are you two doing?” Austin asks them as I lean my head on his shoulder.

“We’re just celebrating the blessed product of our handiwork.” Suzanne shrugs innocently, but the gleam in her eye gives her away.

Austin peers down at me, confusion drawing his brows together.

“Well, we didn’t do all the work, but we’d like to think we helped orchestrate your budding romance,” my mother adds.

The frowning creases around Austin’s eyes smooth as his tight expression softens.

“Is that what you’ve been hiding?” he asks his mother. “You’ve been particularly squirrelly lately.”

She glances at my mother, who angles her face away. With a nervous laugh, Suzanne throws her hands up and says, “You caught me.”

Austin doesn’t immediately relax, and I don’t have time to ask for more information, since Addie bulldozes her way between us.

“I knew there was something going on here!” she bursts. “You two could not stop staring at each other last night.”

“I wanted to tell you,” I insist. “But you were preoccupied.”

“I’m never too busy for my friends.” She flicks her gaze up to Austin and cracks into a smile, which appears much less crazy than the one she wore last night. “Except for now. We really need to get into position and get this show on the road.” Her eyebrows shoot into her hairline like she’s unsure. Then she shakes herself out of it and mumbles, “Parade now—details later.”

I nod toward Austin. “We’re ready.”

Mama gives me a quick hug, and then Austin helps me onto my “throne.” Flashbacks of my last homecoming parade hit me, especially when the marching band blasts our school’s fight song.

The float I’m on is aptly decorated with a few pieces of plywood painted with New York City skyscrapers on one end and a few notable Sapphire Creek landmarks, including Cream and Sugar, on the other. My spot is right in the middle, and the irony isn’t lost on me, as I’m painfully aware of the fact that I’m metaphorically stuck between the two at the moment.

When Addie first came to me with the idea, I agreed only because arguing for something different would raise too many questions that I didn’t want to answer.

But being here now is almost poetic. Even if I might not know exactly where I stand or what my future is, both places hold pieces of me.

On the float, Addie dabs at my forehead with an ivory cloth while I swat her away. “You’re sweating! And it’s only going to get worse.” She punctuates her warning with one more dab before scurrying off.

I wave to my mom and Suzanne as we inch forward, trailing behind the current homecoming queen. Through the back window, I find Austin staring back at me over the arm he drapes across the passenger seat.

“Here we go,” I mutter to myself, then deeply inhale and cross my ankles.

We continue forward and stop again, causing me to sway like I’m on a boat at sea. My feet skim the tote next to them, which holds the speech I prepared last weekend. As I think about it now, it gives me pause.

I’ve never been one to shy away from public speaking, not like Maren, who sweats through her underwear at the mere thought of it—her words.

The root of my butterflies resides in the fact that I was a different woman when I wrote this speech compared to who I am now as I wave to familiar faces.

The truck comes to another stop at the edge of our starting route, and I lurch forward. Judd nods at me, and I smile back. The cheers and squeals from kids gathering the scattered pieces of candy loosen the knot in my stomach.

As we join the official parade, my smile grows, and after the last few days, it’s easier to do so. I’m not forcing it. I’m not hurting internally from it.

I’m genuinely enjoying myself because I am, indeed, a new version of Caroline Summers. I might not know exactly what that means yet, but it’s undoubtedly a good thing.

Over the next hour, we move at a snail’s pace, but with my adrenaline pumping, it feels like it passes in a blink.

We inch past people I’ve known all my life and a few I’m seeing for the first time, from babies to elderly folks. We continue from the high school to Lucy’s Diner, where I used to enjoy an occasional milkshake with the girls after cheer practice.

---