Page 105 of The Charm of You

I move away from the podium with my head held much higher than it was when I first stepped up here. I’m lighter than I was when I first arrived in town.

The new homecoming queen unhooks her arm from her escort and stops me for a hug, and I squeeze her tight.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and my heart about explodes.

I may not know her, but I’ve been her. I’ve worn the crown, and even though that time in my life is long gone, I feel young again with the newfound sense of hope I’m embracing.

“Congratulations,” I say back. “And enjoy the rest of your senior year. Make the most of it, okay?”

She nods as we part ways, and I saunter down the steps toward the roars of the crowd.

I practically sprint the last few steps and nearly sprain an ankle, but the closer I get to the bottom, the stronger the urge to run toward Austin becomes.

He’s my center.

Over the course of a week, Austin Kyle charmed his way into my heart, one growl, glare, and grunt at a time.

I leap the last two feet into his arms, which only makes everyone cheer louder, and my cheeks hurt, not because my smile is painful this time as it was ten years ago when my father had just died.

Back then, I wore a mask similar to the one my mother described last night because I wanted to be remembered as poised and put together, even though my heart was broken.

Today is the dawning of a new era, and it feels damn good.

In Austin’s arms, I’m only filled with joy and gratitude—I am whole.

chapter

thirty-three

AUSTIN

“Let’s go, Lions!” A couple of cheerleaders race past me, pom-poms flying in the air as the people in line match their enthusiasm.

Déjà vu hits me all at once from a football game in high school.

I’d cut my hand earlier that day, and Caroline asked me what happened. She’d been the one brokenhearted and crying; yet, she was concerned for me.

Those brief moments with her affected me so strongly, and not much has changed when it comes to her.

Not much has changed around here, either, other than a fresh coat of paint on the outside of the announcer’s box and a new fence around the perimeter of the stadium. The bleachers look just as uncomfortable as they were back then, and the smell of popcorn from the concession stand still fills the air. It wafts in and out of my senses, only to be occasionally replaced by the scent of freshly cut grass.

In other parts of the world, fall might be in full swing with lower temperatures and reds and oranges among the trees. Here in Sapphire Creek, the last of summer hangs on like a toddler digging their heels into the ground, refusing to leave the park.

I nod to a few people I recognize, one of whom stops to thank me for the work I did on his wife’s SUV.

“Roberta never even heard the noise from the muffler. There’s no telling how long it had been going on,” Bernie says, shaking his head. “I’m just glad she didn’t break down on the side of the road on her way to Atlanta.”

“Happy we could get you two fixed up.” I pat his shoulder, but curiosity keeps my feet planted. I’m not one to pry into other people’s lives, but this is the second time this week that I’m hearing of Bernie’s wife traveling to Atlanta. “If you don’t mind my asking, does your wife drive over there a lot?”

“Her brother lives there now. Moved from Sapphire Creek earlier this year, and he’s put a bug in Roberta’s ear to join him.”

“You’re not thinking of moving, are you?”

He shifts from one foot to the other and adjusts the hat on his head. “Roberta thinks we should before the kids reach their teens. There’s more opportunity out there and more culture and more sports teams for our children—yada, yada. But you know as well as I do that good ole boys like us don’t stray too far from our roots.” He nudges me with his elbow.

But I don’t share his playful sentiment.

I’ve known Bernie a long time. He was born and raised on his family’s farm on the outskirts of town. He eats lunch at Lucy’s every Saturday, and he takes his family to church every Sunday. The man lives and breathes the small-town life, just like me.

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