It already is. She’s laughing and smiling. My heart flutters at how her smile makes the hint of a dimple form on her left cheek. I find myself gazing at the long lashes that frame her eyes, and in an instant I’m reminded of how much I’ve missed looking at her face.
“Put your hand here,” she says, setting it on the shirt closest to me. Then she runs to the other end of the aisle. “Now, close your eyes and start walking. When I tell you to stop, you have to grab whatever shirt your hand is on.”
“Oh boy,” I say, noticing the broad options ahead of me. There’s everything from simple button-downs to shirts that look like they belong on a tropical vacation. Knowing Emma, she’s going to try and make the most ridiculous outfit possible.
“Close your eyes,” Emma calls from the other side.
I close them.
“Okay,” she says, laughing. “Start walking.”
I step forward, running my hand along the shirts as I walk toward her.
“Keep going. Keep going. Okay, now stop,” she says.
I crack my eyes open slowly, preparing for the worst.
My hand is touching a fluorescent pink shirt with a deep V-neckline.
It isn’t something I’d normally wear, but it’s better than the fringe tie-dye shirt farther down the aisle.
Emma squeals, running up to me. She pulls the shirt out, holding it up to get a better look. Turning, she pushes it against my body. “It’s perfect.”
“You think so? It’s a lot of pink.”
She smooths it out. “It’s the perfect amount of pink.” She tucks it under her arm and grabs my hand, pulling me to another row of clothes. “Now we need to find your pants.”
We’re practically jogging through the store, but she’s right. It is fun to do something like this where nothing else matters. It’s just us, making each other laugh.
She positions me again at the edge of the pants and moves to the other side of the aisle.
There are so many pairs of jeans, I’m positive I’ll land on one. There are only a handful of other colors mixed in, so the odds are in my favor this time.
I close my eyes, waiting for Emma’s instructions.
“You can start whenever you’re ready,” she says.
I walk quicker this time, trying to make it harder for her to anticipate what I’ll touch.
“Stop,” she says.
I skid to a halt, fully expecting to see my fingers against denim when I open my eyes. “No.”
Emma gasps. “Yes.”
Beneath my hand is a pair of leopard-print skinny jeans. How in the world did I end up with the most ridiculous pair of pants in the row?
“You’re not really going to make me wear these?”
“Of course I am.” She doesn’t even try to hide her smile as she pulls the hanger off the rack. “This outfit is beautiful. It's like a work of art.”
I rock my jaw, fighting back a laugh. “Well, you know what? It’s your turn now.” I take my awful outfit from her and lead her to the women’s clothing side of the store. “Prepare yourself because if I have to wear this, I’ll make sure you have something just as hideous to match.”
But she isn’t worried at all. She stands at the end of the aisle in a ready stance, hand touching the first shirt like she’s been waiting for this moment her entire life.
“Ready, set—no cheating. Back up.”
She frowns, inching back. “You’re so slow—”
