Page 78 of Tastes Like Watermelon Moonshine
His mouth curves upward as he strides across the room and wraps his arms around us. Austin’s warm lips caress mine for a few glorious seconds before he pulls away and presses them to Grace’s head, right next to the little fountain of hair tied in a red bow that matches his shirt.
“I like those colors on you.” He whispers, his eyes heating my skin from my shoulders to my red painted toe nails. His eyes capture mine, love and desire running a tightrope between the two of us. If my arms weren’t full, and we weren’t surrounded by other people, I’d be pulling his mouth back down to mine.
Grace interrupts the intimate tension by reaching for Austin and asking, “Da-da?”
Austin takes her and shoves his nose into her neck. It’s my favorite spot on her to shove my nose as well. “Ready to take a few pictures?”
He runs his fingers through his hair. “They, um…” He palms the back of his neck with his free hand. “The team has professional photographers, so, um…” Now he’s shifting from foot to foot. He’s clearly nervous, but why? It’s just some pictures. “And I figured we could get some family photos.”
I grin up at him, and squeeze his arm. “I’d love some family pictures to go on the wall.” Even though we aren’t marriedyet, having these days memorialized in photos will be glorious to look back on. When I’m old, I'll look back at the photos; relive the memories… Be reminded that it didn’t all taste like watermelon moonshine, but instead see the moments where I lived the truth of being free, forgiven, and filled.
Austin’s hand grasps mine. He slowly shows me through the clubhouse, pointing out various things. My whole body tingles as we make our way through the tunnel, past the benches in the dugout, and onto the freshly watered and raked grounds of the field.
A sense of awe sweeps over me. Seeing the field from this angle is so different. It seems so small from the stands, but down here, the seats are small, the few people milling around are tiny specks. The dirt of the mound rises up in front of us, and I want to go stand on it. Then I want to stand on home plate, and on second base. See it all through Austin’s eyes.
Austin motions to a woman with a camera. “Want to take a few on the mound? Then, maybe home plate? And we can finish up with some in the dugout, and then there’s a little family area, with a bench and greenery and stuff.”
“As long as it’s you, Grace, and me,” I pause, the sun is hitting the field and Austin perfectly. His green eyes are sparkling, doing things to my heart. “That's all I need. Us.”
Austin looks down at me. The toes of his cleats touch my sandals. He leans down until his nose meets mine. “You. Me. Grace.” His eyes shift from gazing through my eyes deep into my soul, to focusing on my lips. “Us. Forever.” He rasps.
He leans down, his lips brushing mine, and the shutter of the camera and Grace’s giggle cement the memory in my mind.
I reluctantly pull away. I don’t want to embarrass anyone, or get carried away.
The photographer instructs us through several poses on the mound, her shutter snapping away. Grace keeps up her bubblygiggles and bashful smile. Finally, twenty minutes later, the photographer tells us that she has enough photos. She whispers something to Austin quickly, before he nods then waves her off.
“So, wanna hang out in the dugout for a few more minutes before you head up to the family box?” Austin’s hand rests on the small of my back as we head toward the dugout. “I’ve got to get started warming up, but, uh, you can hang out for a few minutes longer.” There it is again. That nervousness I haven’t noticed before any of his other games.
“Are you nervous about your first major league game?” I ask, coming to a complete stop on the edge of the infield grass.
Austin stops too, his eyes shifting from me to the ground and back. “No, I’m not nervous. Well, not about that. I mean…” His wrinkles his nose and he shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe I am. But once I get in the zone I’ll be fine.” He gives me a peck on the cheek before taking Grace and leading her into the dugout.
Grace wobbles her way up and down the dugout, high-fiving the players, and touching anything her chubby little fingers can reach. I watch, contentment flowing through my veins, one eye on Grace, the other on Austin. He’s out in the field practicing now. Every so many tosses, he turns toward the dugout and smiles at me.
When the players file back into the dugout to grab their hats and get ready for the national anthem, I pick up Grace and wait for Austin. “Should I head up to the family box?”
“No,” Austin clears his throat, and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Not just yet. Wait till after the first pitch and stuff.”
Something is definitely going on. What does he have planned? A thought enters my head… No, it couldn’t be. But, we’ve already discussed it. We both know what we want. How we want the future to look.
Shuffling feet and a clearing throat cause me to turn around. Josh and Jared, from the Spurs minor league team are here.Stepping around me, they pounce on Austin in a group hug. “Congrats, man. You ready for this?” Jared passes something to Austin, which he quickly pockets, before backing up a few inches.
Both guys turn to me. “Ready to watch your man crush it on the field as a major leaguer?” Josh asks.
I know that both guys have been a stepping stone in his baseball and faith journey, especially as he’s dealt with the guilt and shame just like I have. I nod at Josh, “He is going to crush it out there. I’m so proud of him.” I look at Austin and grin. My cheeks heat as he pulls me close and wraps an arm around me.
I lay my head on Austin’s shoulder and watch a man with a microphone give a few announcements before the first pitch.
“Before the first pitch tonight, we have a little something special.” The announcer turns toward the home dugout where we’re standing. “Austin Thomas, why don’t you come on out here, bring your girlfriend and your daughter.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and I turn toward Austin, “What?” My mouth is wide open, and my eyes have to be as big as baseballs.
“Come on.” He tugs on my hand. “Just follow my lead.”
I blink a few times before I let him lead me out onto the field. The cheering of the crowd, along with my curiosity, causes goosebumps to erupt on my skin.
We join the announcer on the mound, and he hands the microphone off to Austin. He squeezes my hand before shakily holding the microphone in both hands.
