20. Bex
TWENTY
Bex
T he night sky is a deep indigo, dotted with stars that peek through the thin veil of clouds, casting a soft glow over the Sweetkiss Creek High School football field. The bright stadium lights flood the field, cutting through the cool autumn air and illuminating a sea of fans.
As I throw my car into park, I stop and take a moment to scan the lot. Austin had said he’d meet me here, but when he called to tell me this, I was a bit out of it since I was waking up from a nap in my nice and warm home, thanks to my fixed heating unit, snuggled with my new dog on the floor.
Don’t judge me because I went out and bought one of those dog beds big enough for me and Harley. Just don’t.
Swarms of people mill about the parking lot, and even more stand in groups dotting the hillside around the high school stadium on this special night. A huge banner erected over the field in colors of red and black, what must be the school colors, announces it’s “Sweetkiss Creek High School Homecoming.” Somewhere nearby the school marching band plays and the smell of sugar and fried food assaults my senses and reminds me of being on the main course of a carnival.
As I step out of my car and hear the familiar roar of the crowd in the distance, I can’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation. Even though I’ve been to many football games in my time, I’d never made it to a homecoming game. It’s not that I wasn’t into it, I just wasn’t into the dance and all of the other traditions around the whole pomp and circumstance of it all. So, I’d never bothered with the game at that time of year. Why go if I wasn’t going to the dance, too, right?
As I walk toward the entrance, the irony that I spot Mrs. Rosenblatt making her way down the path with another older woman doesn’t pass me by. With a cheeky grin, I make my way over to her, and Mrs. Rosenblatt waves enthusiastically in my direction. I wave back, squinting to see who she’s with.
“Evening, Bex!” Mrs. Rosenblatt calls out, her voice carrying over the crowd.
“Hi, Mrs. Rosenblatt! How are you?” I ask as I navigate the throng over to the pair. “Out supporting the team for homecoming?”
“It’s our alma mater, you bet we are,” she says as she gestures to the familiar woman beside her. “Bex, you know Pearl, right? She’s also a tenant of the Porter boys. The one who had that little...incident with the fire in her kitchen a few months back.”
“I do.” Pearl gives me a sheepish smile, and I return it, nodding in recognition. “Nice to see you again, Pearl. Thanks again for that beautiful bouquet of flowers. I’m glad everything turned out okay after the excitement.”
Pearl chuckles softly. “Oh, just a little kitchen mishap.”
“Something about the two of you,” I say, grinning. “Between fires in kitchens and the smell of sangria in your bathroom, I sometimes wonder if you’re running a speakeasy out of the Porter brothers’ apartments.”
Mrs. Rosenblatt gasps dramatically as she gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Now, Bex, that’s a secret we might just have to keep, isn’t it?”
The thought of these two running a black market for booze and good times almost makes me spit with laughter. It’s a visual I’ll never get rid of. “Well, if you are, I hope you’re getting good business.”
“Never a dull moment, that’s for sure,” Pearl adds with a twinkle in her eye.
“I saw Austin down at the field earlier,” Mrs. Rosenblatt says. “So it was him I’ve been seeing here all those times?”
I nod. “He’s lending a hand and coaching from the sidelines tonight.”
“Even more exciting,” she says as Pearl bobs her head in agreement. “We both saw him play when he was growing up. It’s exciting to have been on the proverbial sidelines ourselves and watched his career, and to see where he is now.”
“Oh, I know!” Pearl exclaims. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? From being a little guy who got into everything to being one of the high school superstars.”
“More than that.” Mrs. Rosenblatt rolls her eyes and shakes a finger at her friend. “You know he and Levi bought those buildings, like the one we’re in, so that the rents wouldn’t go up any more?”
I didn’t even know that. “What?”
“Yes,” she says, turning my way. “He never told you?”
I give a shake of my head, wondering what else that mystery man of mine is up to. When the mysteries are this sweet, you can bet I don’t mind them.
“I had no idea, but knowing him and his brother, I can see that being a very good reason for them to get into real estate.”
“Their mother taught them well,” Pearl says as she holds her wallet in the air. “Now, excuse us, young lady, but I need a beer. Are you ready?”
I’m trying my hardest not to laugh as this dynamic duo trots off in the direction of the concession stand, after a beer that I’m not sure they’ll find at a high school football game but what do I know? Wrapping my coat tighter around my body, I continue toward the field.
Near the entrance, the sound of the marching band fills the air again and I walk through the gates. The stands are already almost full, with small groups of people hanging around in clusters around them. There’s a hum of excitement that’s impossible to ignore.
I glance around, searching for Austin, but still don’t see him anywhere. My heart gives a little jump when I think about how much this game must mean to him. It’s the last one before he heads off to Florida, and I know it’s bittersweet for him.
Someone pushes past me, so I move closer to the field, standing by the gates where the players will come out. The anticipation builds as the crowd quiets down, all eyes on the tunnel where the team is about to emerge. Suddenly, the first few notes of “I Hope You Change Your Mind” by The Chainsmokers start playing through the speakers, and I can’t help but smile. The song seems fitting, somehow, like the universe is playing DJ to our lives.
As the music plays, I glance around the stands, taking in the scene. My eyes catch on a familiar group in the crowd. His mom beams with pride, her smile a mirror image of Austin’s. Next to her, Levi and Georgie chat away, both wearing Sweetkiss Creek sweatshirts to show their school pride. Of course they’re all here, showing their support. That’s what the Porters do.
When they notice me looking, they wave enthusiastically, and I wave back, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. I can’t help but feel like I’ve gained some traction here, in my new town. This is truly shown in the evidence of me being at a local high school football game and knowing people in the crowd, though, isn’t it?
Still grinning, I turn my gaze back to the field, my thoughts shifting to Austin as the team comes bursting out of the tunnel, the players starting to sprint onto the field with all the energy and enthusiasm of high school athletes who have nothing to lose. As I look around one last time, my eyes finally land on Austin, tall and confident as he stands by the bench, huddled with another man, hands waving, probably talking strategy. His eyes slam into mine as he waves, and I wave back, feeling a flutter in my chest.
The noise and cheers around me bring me back to the tunnel and the players. These guys are bursting onto the field ready to seal the deal and win a game. Part of me feels a little bad for the opposing team; even I can feel the palpable energy the home team is bringing today.
But then something unexpected happens. One of the players suddenly deviates from his course and runs over to me, thrusting his hand out.
“Here.”
I look at the small bunch of greenery in his outstretched hand. “Huh?”
“It’s for you,” he says. He shoves it my way again. “Here.”
Slowly, I reach out and take the bunch of shrubbery out of the kid’s hands. Inspecting it, I turn it over and look at it, but am admittedly confused. Figuring it’s a weird fluke, or a dare, I sit back and watch as the next player comes charging out of the tunnel. He does, and as he’s about to run over to the bench he, too, does a pivot and jogs to me, extending his arm to give me something.
“M’lady,” he says, giving me a deep bow and holding out another bunch of greenery.
“What is this for?” I ask him as I take the gift.
He shrugs. “I just do as I’m told.” And with a quick salute, he’s off, jogging over to the bench. I watch as he makes his way, my eyes connecting with Austin’s. When I hold up the two small bunches of greens, he throws his hands in the air.
“Excuse me,” someone says. I turn my attention back to find another football player standing in front of me with the sweetest smile on his face. “Sorry to bug you, but I was told you’d enjoy this present.” He then whips out his own tiny bundle of greens. This time, as the player runs off, I bunch my bundles together and look at the leaves. If my eyes don’t deceive me…
It’s boxwood.
And so this continues. Each player, as they pass by, makes a sharp ninety-degree turn to their left and heads in my direction to hand me a small bunch of boxwood. My mouth falls open in surprise each time, and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up as the pile grows bigger and bigger. Pretty soon, a giant cooler bag is donated to me to carry them all, thanks to a kind high school boosters family sitting nearby and witnessing the whole thing.
By the time the entire team has passed, I’m the keeper of enough pieces of boxwood that I could build my own hedge right here if I wanted.
“What are you doing?” I finally manage to ask, calling out over the hubbub around us and staring at Austin incredulously as he jogs over to me, a grin spreading across his face. “What am I supposed to do with this now?”
“Maybe we can move the hedge somewhere else?” Austin’s smile widens as he reaches out and pulls me into his arms. His hands wrap around my middle as he tugs on my waist and pulls me closer to him. “Or we could cut a window in it, so you have that view you want.”
“That was my thought, too.” I giggle, standing on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “But seriously, this is a lot of boxwood. When did you get time to clip all of this?”
“When you were sleeping,” he says, tilting his head to one side as he looks at me. “I watched you with my binoculars one night until you went to bed, then...”
I slap his chest. “Stop it.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Well, know that I did it when you weren’t around, okay?”
We stay here for a moment like this. It’s as if the world around us has stopped moving and we’re the only ones here. Surrounded by chaos and energy and noise levels like no other, yet it’s all fallen away and there’s a bubble. In that bubble is me. And beside me, with his arms wrapped around me is Austin. Our bubble.
Austin shifts his weight, his eyes hooded as he pushes a few stray pieces of hair out of my face.
“I wanted you to know I’m all in with you, Bex,” he says, his voice low and serious.
“Really?” I ask, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation. “So you think we can do this, even with you in Florida?”
“I do,” he replies, his grin turning mischievous. “If I was going to Florida.”
“What do you mean, ‘if’?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat.
“As of this afternoon,” Austin says, his eyes sparkling, “I’ve been signed to the Charlotte Cardinals. I’ll be closer. A lot closer.”
He then steps away and nods toward where his family sits in the crowd. As I follow his gaze, I look up to see that Mary, Levi, and Georgie are all wearing Charlotte Cardinals jerseys now and cheering. When I look closer, Georgie is waving one in the air.
“What is Georgie doing?” I ask. “And weren’t they in Sweetkiss Creek High School garb a second ago?”
“She’s holding your jersey.” Austin shakes his head with embarrassment, a pink flush hitting his cheeks. “They all thought it would be funny to come wearing other clothes and then change for the big reveal. They’ve been more excited about this than I am.”
“About what?” My head spins back and forth between Austin and his family as I blink at him, trying to process what he’s just said. “Wait. You’re not going to Florida? You’re staying here?”
“I sure am,” he says, brushing that stray piece of hair that won’t stay put behind my ear. “As of this afternoon, I’m officially playing for the Cardinals. A certain coach”—he points to Levi—“helped to let the right people know I was back, but that I wasn’t interested in going far.”
“Okay.” I want to understand, but it’s a lot coming at me at once. Operation overwhelm is in progress. Austin threads his fingers through mine as I drag my eyes to meet his. “What does all this mean?”
“I want to be near you, Bex. I’m done being—what did you call me? ‘Mister Grumpy pants’? I want to make this work.”
“You’re not just doing it so I lay off about the hedge, are you?” I tease, pointing to the cooler bag stuffed with pieces of boxwood.
“No way,” he responds. “I want you to spar with me and to always hold me to task, show me new ways to see things and offer your perspective. I fully intend for us to come back and talk more about that stinking hedge. But we can table that discussion for now, as you put it.”
For a moment, I’m speechless. All I can do is stare at him, feeling the warmth of his surprise as it wraps me in a delightful hug. This man. I feel like we’ve gone from one length of the football field to the other and then back again, the whole time navigating our way through barbed wire. Yet we’re here. Together.
He’s the one for me. I’ve known it since the day we met, and about time. He’s finally caught up. Which is fine, boys do mature slower than us ladies, don’t they?
Without thinking, I lean in and kiss him, pouring all my feelings into that one moment. The crowd around us cheers, but it’s like we’re in our own little world, just me and Austin and the promise of what’s to come. And it’s a good one.
When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless, my heart pounding in my chest worse than a Graves palpitation, but that’s okay by me. “You’re really staying,” I whisper, almost afraid to believe it.
“I’m really staying,” he confirms, his forehead resting against mine. “And I’m really in love with you, Bex. I want this. I want us.”
There’s a feeling of wetness on my cheek, tears I didn’t know were going to spill take this time to do so. “I’m in love with you, too, Austin,” I say, my voice shaking with emotion. “And I want this more than anything.”
He kisses me again, and I know, most certainly and without a doubt, that this is the start of something amazing. Something perfect. A story we’ll tell our grandkids one day—if they’re lucky, that is.
It might not be a perfect fairytale ending, but it’s ours, and that’s more than enough.