Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
Last night did a number on me. Gave me a striking clarity I didn’t think I’d find.
Now I’m snuggled into Austin’s giant bear body, head on his chest, legs stretched out on his perfect rust-colored couch.
I never knew closeness and comfort could be this thrilling.
Cue Lizzie McGuire in “This Is What Dreams Are Made Of.” Images of prairie bonnets and churned butter lurk, but I won’t let Austin go.
I finally understand why people are willing to compromise so much to be with the one they love.
It’s not because I’m investing in my future—I have no idea what my future looks like.
It’s because I’m desperate for Austin to be happy.
I crave what he craves. I long for his dreams to come true.
I know it sounds crazy, but if it pushes him an inch toward those dreams, I will absolutely pack up my things and move to Austin, Texas.
Maybe even in all the ways.
Besides, the Texas capital is a thrill, right? Everybody says so. So we’d both be getting what we want, at least while I’m in school. Now I just need to figure out how to convince him to reconsider giving up his dreams.
Mom would have an aneurysm, call this humiliating. Antifeminist. But what has worst-casing ever bought for her? What has selfishness ever bought? I want Austin to be as happy as he makes me. I need that.
Teach me to be as good to him as he is to me, as good for him as he is for me.
Austin’s charged hands toy with my fingers, sending sparks up my arm. He’s lazy and content—feet on the floor, legs in sweats, back slouched into the corner of the couch. His faded-blue Cowboys hat hides his curls today and, often, my eyes when he leans in to kiss my head.
Austin’s big surprise this week was throwing an insanely dreamy Valentine’s Day party for me and my floor on Wednesday.
And last weekend our crew went camping—Austin’s best s’mores included.
Even Levi had the best time. So we have a rare slow Saturday afternoon on campus.
I told Austin I wanted to watch his game with him, and now my man is practically purring as we watch the Mavericks together.
The lounges are packed—one with another basketball game, one with some group gaming session—so Austin’s laptop is propped up on big math books on his desk chair.
He tells me about his favorite players, how the team hasn’t been the same since they traded their best player.
Explains things, but only if I ask. I keep humming “Simple” by FGL.
I keep wanting to bring up UT at each commercial break, but it hasn’t worked out yet.
It’s long past time we did a day like this. We’re always out doing what I want. He deserves a girlfriend who shows up for his stuff too. WWJD if J were me? Honestly, I think he might be right here, watching Austin’s game.
I don’t like his Westerns, and I could go my whole life without chewing through beef jerky again, but bonfires?
Flannel? Hiking? County fairs? I’m so in for his faves.
It’s all the opposite of Pasadena-life, but that might be exactly why I love it.
It makes me think maybe I could figure this thing out long term.
That we could avoid ending up like my parents.
At halftime, Austin mutes the laptop. We’re alone in here, but probably not for long.
Flooders noises float in from the hall. Guys pop in now and then to talk to Austin, and I expect Levi and Kit will be back soon.
Maybe it’s the right time to broach the UT subject, so I lean my head back to look at him upside down—but I’m immediately distracted by my favorite mischievous smile.
The one that almost always precedes a kiss.
Wait for it.
Fingers graze my ear, my jaw. His hat covers my face in a dark cocoon, and he tilts the bill so it doesn’t hit me.
Fingertips land at my neck. He kisses me twice, upside down, Tobey McGuire Spider-Man–style.
Then a final kiss—a Conclusion Kiss—before he fixes his hat and drops back against the couch.
My heart races, as if it heard the starting gun at a track meet.
Sorry, heart. I know this guy. The one kiss is all we’re getting.
“Well, it’s official, Sparky. I have a big head now.”
“Oh no. I’ve been afraid of this.”
“The most beautiful girl in the world is on my couch watching basketball with me. I have arrived.”
“Do I have to stop complimenting you?”
“I’m not sure—please elaborate. With examples.”
I reach to tickle his side, but he catches me easily. “Nice try.”
He sets my hand on my stomach, then trails both hands up my arms, across my shoulders, into my hair. My eyes roll back in my head.
“Tell me more about when you met Jesus?” he asks.
I smile, lazy and safe under his touch. He doesn’t have to bribe me. I’d tell him anything.
But a thought slinks in. A troll. “Why did he keep UT a secret?”
But I shoo it away. Austin’s the most selfless guy on the planet. That’s why.
“You said you were volunteering?” he says.
I start talking, his fingers twisting through my hair.
“Yeah. I needed volunteer hours for school. We were picking up trash in this random neighborhood. Another volunteer I met said chasing freedom never worked for her. Drinking, sex, sneaking around—it all sounded like freedom but ended up just trapping her more.” I give a little shrug.
“That really landed. Partying had felt that way to me. So when she said she had looked up all the verses that say ‘freedom’ in the Bible, I went home and did the same. I just… knew it was true. So I tried talking to the air.” I gesture around us.
“Told Jesus I needed that free life I’d never been able to find. ”
He’s silent, fully locked in.
“I don’t think Jesus just gives freedom. I think he is freedom … Because the rules in the Bible aren’t prison bars. His way is like a fence around a playground—boundaries that keep us free.”
I hear myself say it like I mean it, like I get it. Still, something itches. Like maybe I haven’t really stopped chasing freedom, just gotten sneakier about it. But before I can scratch at that thought, his hands are back in my hair. I chuckle. He’s not done listening.
“Church still gives me the ick, but Praise and Prayer has been game changing. The simplicity. The hymns. And ‘More Like Falling in Love’—that song helped everything click.” Saying the title out loud feels oddly vulnerable, but I push through.
“The one by Jason Gray? It’s Jesus Life in a song.
Anyway, I’m still kind of shocked I ended up at Mayberry.
I thought Christians were wacko. Kit was super intense.
I felt so out of place in August. Still do sometimes. ”
“What? No.” He brushes a thumb along my jaw. The path he touched must be glowing now. “Soph, this place needs you. I need you. You just … get it. Jesus isn’t a … a hobby for you. He’s the whole point. The whole enchilada.”
“I do love enchiladas.”
He plants a lingering, cocooning kiss on my forehead, like that’s the best way to say what he means. “I love you.”
A thoughtful pause rests between us, and then his hands resume their languid path through my hair. “You said ‘Jesus Life in a song.’ So how should the Jesus Life look?”
I swallow. Should I tell him?
Weaving my fingers together, I dive further in.
“Falling in love with you actually helped me figure it out. The second I met you, I wanted to see you again, talk more, know more. And the more I knew you, the more I felt seen and known and happy. So … that’s what Jesus is offering.
Falling in love with him. But so much more. Better. To an extreme, you know?”
His eyes glisten. He nods.
I roll onto my side to face him. “It’s super hard because you’re right here, inviting me to come over.
Jesus is always there, waiting. It should be easier that way, right?
But it’s so hard for me to tune out everything, to put it all away and just hang out with him.
Hearing from him is so different from hearing from you.
But when I start to coast, to give up on listening, this”—I gesture between us—“reminds me. I fall more in love with you every week, every day. And Jesus is just so much better than you.” We share a grin.
“So if I’m not falling more in love with him, it’s ’cause I’m not making enough space for him. ”
Oversharing makes me twitchy, but he deserves it. He’s earned it. And maybe it’s not oversharing with Austin. Maybe it’s just … vulnerability.
“Dang, Soph. Never felt the urge to propose before.”
I laugh—until I see he’s only half-smiling.
“Can I ask you one more question?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Of course.”
“You said you’re shocked you’re at Mayberry. How’d you end up here?”
I trace a pattern on my knee. “I just … knew. I was supposed to be here. I couldn’t explain it, didn’t want to listen.
I was supposed to go to USC like my dad.
Got in somehow. But one night, I was spiraling and Googled Christian colleges.
Something about Mayberry’s pictures—just the trees, the space, I don’t know—made me feel like I could finally breathe.
Turning USC down felt crazy, especially that late.
Mom still hates paying for this place. But I knew. So I came.”
His eyes catch fire—blue flames flickering, growing. “He got you here.”
Tenderly, urgently, Austin pulls me onto his lap, cradles my face.
I search his eyes. He’s said no to this before, and an alarm flashes in the back of my head.
But when his nose brushes mine, I fall silent.
After everything I shared, I ache to be near him, close in a way words can’t reach.
Even with Austin, in the safest hands, letting someone see this much of me stings with risk.
I need this. To soothe. To reassure. To prove I’m safe.
But just before his lips meet mine, his eyes snap to the door.
He sets me back down—too gently. And just like that, the moment cracks.
Guilt floods his face. He won’t meet my eyes. Rolls a shoulder. Clears his throat.
Mine tightens as I follow his gaze.