Page 93 of When Love Is Unexpected

"You were pretty popular," I say after shaking hands with dozens of people.

They have games scheduled, food, a photo booth, a slideshow of the past and present, bingo, and a photo gallery.

After lunch, I excuse myself to go to the ladies' room, leaving Sam with a few of his best friends. They're engrossed in conversation about the old days.

When I return, Sam isn't with the same group. I scan the area a few times, but with this many people, I don't see him. They have picnic mats stacked on a table, so I grab one and find myself a comfortable spot next to the group he was with when I left.

When the crowd clears, I see Sam standing next to a tall brunette with perfectly tanned skin, an athletic build, and great taste in clothes. She's wearing a yellow single-breasted suit vest, matching shorts, and cute little gold sandals. Her hair is pin-straight and goes down to her waist. She looks oddly familiar, but I know I wouldn't know her. I watch their body language. Sam is relaxed. Her? Not so much. She seems to be wound up tight, her nerves ready to snap at any second. He starts to say goodbye, and she grabs his arm, which makes him stop in his tracks. She gets close to him and kisses his cheek, and I could swear she's whispering something in his ear. Maybe I'm imagining it.

"Is everything okay?" I ask when he returns.

"Yes," he says, smiling tightly.

"Who was that?" I ask.

"Who?" he asks, sitting next to me.

"The woman you were just talking to," I say. "You two seemed to be deep in conversation."

Chapter 22

Sam

Before I have a chance to process the question and form an uncomplicated response, I tell her a half-truth.

"Oh," I say. "That was Tricia Duncan."

"Now, I know why she looks familiar," says Laila. "She looks like her mother, the pastor, and his wife, Vanessa, right? That's their daughter."

"Yeah, that's her."

"She's beautiful," she says. "I'd kill for her hair."

"I love your hair," I say, gently pulling a shiny strand from her shoulder and kissing it. "Come here."

She leans into me, and I kiss her.

"So," she says, "what did she want?"

"She was hounding me about why I haven't been to church in seven years." That was not a half-truth; it was a straight-out lie. Why did I lie? Because I don't want my past, present, and future to collide. "My future," I think. This beautiful woman sitting next to me is my future. I can't fathom it without her.

"Oh yeah?" she asks. "I've been wondering the same thing."

The rest of the afternoon goes well, except for me constantly looking over my shoulder, hoping Patricia steers clear of us.

I see her a few times, and she sees us, but she makes no attempt to engage us. Good.

"You seem quiet," says Laila as we get ready to leave.

"I guess I'm suffering from a bout of nostalgia," I say. "Seeing everyone, remembering our youth."

"It was only ten years ago!" says Laila, laughing. "Let's not come back for your twentieth."

"Are you planning to be my date again ten years from now?" I ask.

When she doesn't respond, I add, "Now you're the one that seems quiet."

"Trying to picture what my life will be like in ten years is something that takes time to consider."

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