Page 32 of The Risks of Reuniting

The three women greeted us in dresses with their hair and makeup done. It was obvious that Chloe had borrowed a dress, because it was toobig just about everywhere, but she could be wearing a garbage bag and look beautiful to me. When Chloe's smiling eyes met mine, the look on my face made her blush. Guess I hadn't done a great job of hiding how pretty I find her. We'd walked the twenty minutes in good spirits with Emilia and Cesar sharing funny stories from their churches back home, and Rachelle joining in with her own stories, Georgia style.

We've formed a little troupe, which has been an unexpected bonus.

Rachelle recorded some of the walk and the conversation between her, Emilia, and Cesar, and I told myself to check her social media when this is all over. It would be fun to see what she shared, and to relive some of it through her viewpoint.

Chloe had been quiet, but smiling, and it had been truly hard not to reach out and take her small hand in mine while we walked. Instead, I found myself repeatedly tucking my hands in and then yanking them out of my pockets. Real suave stuff.

Everyone had scooted so quickly into the tight pew when we arrived five minutes late, that I hadn't been able to shuffle around to sit by Cesar, and now I sit between the pew arm at the aisle and Chloe's soft body, and I have no idea what the pastor has been talking about for the past ten minutes. Probably eternal torment, if he's inspired.

Chloe shifts for the forty-seventh time, and her shoulder brushes against mine. Every time that's happened, she's shifted away, but this time she leaves it in place. She's clearly given up on pretending there's any room for us to avoid the contact. With her closeness comes her smell, and with that comes a million happy memories that outweigh the hard, bitter ones at the end. She was my very best friend, and I miss her.

I had friends growing up, and a family that loved and supported me, but Chloe had been the first person I'd truly melded myself to. Myroomie, Brock, is an okay guy, but I've been lonely for that type of trusting connection.

At the other end of the pew, Cesar shifts slightly, causing a domino effect that has Chloe bunched up against me. So, I take a risk and free my arm, putting it lightly along the pew behind her back. It frees up some space, but also means we're sort of snuggling right now as her shoulder slips under my arm and presses against my rib cage. I don't hate it, but she might, so I try to keep from dropping my hand to cup her other shoulder and gather her close.

"I can't understand a word of this," Chloe whispers out the side of her mouth.

"They didn't cover theological terms in your eighth grade Spanish One class?" I tease back, tilting my head so that my mouth is close to her ear.

She holds her head perfectly facing forward, but I'm close enough to see her swallow and lick her lips, and I love the signs that she's affected by our proximity too. My stomach swoops a little, and I don't sit back up straight, but keep my head close to hers.

"The preacher hasn't pounded the pulpit yet, so it must still be the good stuff about heaven. Streets of gold, wings, never having to waste time using the bathroom." She giggles softly. "The stuff that keeps people coming through the door."

"Don't forget about eating all you want without it making you unhealthy," I add.

She nods, and her wavy hair brushes my cheek, we've gotten so close. "There's no diabetes in heaven, amen."

I chuckle and she does the same, and I can feel her shoulder bounce against my chest. I like it.

"Did you notice how yellow the building plaster is?" I ask, knowing she loves it.

Chloe loves brightly colored things, even though she's too risk-averse to ever paint her house those colors, or buy clothes in those colors. It's a quirk I find endearing. One time I bought her a cherry red jumpsuit and dared her to wear it on a date. She'd done it, and blushed the entire time, acting like it was some sort of rebellion. When we'd gotten to her place afterward, I'd kissed her on her doorstep until her lips matched the jumpsuit. My chest warms at the memory. Chloe looks good in red.

She turns and smiles, and our faces are so close her nose nearly brushes my chin. Surprise colors her expression, and rather than reply, she does her best to shift in her seat and get some distance. It doesn't really work, but I'm not complaining. From here, I can see the scattered freckles across her nose, and the golden flecks of color in her dark eyes.

"You're beautiful," I whisper, the words sort of slipping out without my permission.

Her eyes grow large, then her brow sinks, then she blushes and turns to face forward again. I hold perfectly still, waiting to see if she'll pull away, or let me in. Did I make a mistake, or open a door? I can see the moment she decides to accept the current situation. Her features smooth out and she relaxes into my side once again. It's a tiny, but enormous, victory. Still, I don't move a muscle. The lady is like a jumpy cat, and I'm trying to trap her.

I will never admit I had that thought.

"Yellow," she says, redirecting us back to the color of the church building. "It's so vibrant. I can't imagine a building that color in downtown Salt Lake. It's so pretty."

We sit in silence for a bit and I listen to the pastor – preacher? – talk about Jonah being swallowed by a whale. It's a familiar story, and my mind wanders back to Chloe who is sitting with full attention up front, as though she's listening. If I didn't know better, I'd believe it. But I doknow better. Her mind wanders, and not understanding the language is not going to help with that situation.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask under my breath.

"Tube socks," she surprises me by replying and I have to stifle a laugh by biting my lips and looking at my feet for a moment.

This is the Chloe I miss the most. When she's relaxed and happy, there's no one more interesting than Chloe. I love her drive, I love her logic and her planning. I love that she stands firm on things, but her humor and wit, they melt me. It's all I can do to not wrap my arm around her and squeeze her closer. I settle for letting my thigh man-spread a little more.

"Do tell," I say.

She shrugs and tips her head closer to mine. "They couldn't come up with a better name? Tube socks? I'm disappointed to admit that I love them. Last Christmas for the cousin gift exchange, Lucy gave me a set of knit socks with prints of her favorite classic romance novels on them, and I became a sock addict. Hi, I'm Chloe, and your socks aren't safe around me."

I smile. "You do love a well-designed sock."

She smiles too. "You'd know. I stole enough of yours."

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