I get to church early, like I usually do, so I can settle down and gather my thoughts. I sit in the pew furthest back, the barrier separating the prompt ones from the latecomers, who get the chairs in the overflow section. It’s the Sunday in the middle of the 2005 blizzard. Snow is packed 6 inches thick on the sidewalk, and I’m so glad I wore my boots. People slowly trickle in, and the chatter gradually loudens. I breathe deeply and try to keep my insides reverent.

He walks in. I instantly recognize him. We make eye contact and and smile at each other. He approaches my pew and we say hi and shake hands. He asks if he could sit beside me and I permit him. We chat quietly for the few minutes preceding the service. I ask him if he attends activities. He talks about the activities coordinator who lives somewhere in my neighborhood. I end up poorly attempting to explain where I live. I want so badly for him to know where I live. I wonder if he’ll ask for a phone number. He asks how I’m doing. He talks about his work, because that’s what we were talking about the last time I saw him, which feels like months ago, but it was probably during the Christmas season.

It’s nice when you can pick up a conversation where you left off, especially when it’s been a long time between encounters.

The chapel starts getting more crowded, and the service is about to begin. He scoots toward the center of the pew to give other people room to sit (because I was sitting on the end). I watch him shift. He looks at me and pats the space beside him, inviting me to scoot over as well. So I do. We chat a little more. We banter well. I have a little trouble keeping my insides quiet.

Church begins, so I bear down and focus. I get out my pad and pen and take notes during the talks. He opens his scriptures and follows the reading. As I write, I take mental notes of the way he crosses his legs, how his hands move turning pages, his eyes lasering the words on the page. He’s wearing old, reliable boots and warm socks. He has on a sweater over a dress shirt and tie. He’s grown scruff for the winter. I’ve also seen him clean-shaven. He’s cute both ways.

He doesn’t normally attend our ward; his ward got cancelled due to the snow. It is a happy surprise to see him. He’s not what many would consider a “hot” man. Cute, though. All sorts of cute. He’s not tall, about 5’5 or so. Clear, discerning, kind eyes. Dark blond. Sweet smile. Adorable.

A toddler escapes from her parents and wanders the aisles. She spots me writing. She just sees my pen and decides it’s something she wants and beelines our way. She’s holding a mitten. One. He and I smile and say hi to her and she smiles back. I let her hold my pen and scrawl a little bit in my pad. With the pen in her hand, she goes for his scriptures. He and I scramble to divert the pen. Success. He holds his hand out for her to grab. Somehow, the pen ends back up in my hand, and I find myself lightly grazing his hand with the blunt end of the pen. But my mind hasn’t departed from entertaining the baby. It’s one of those moments where I’m watching myself outside of myself. My outside self is shaking her head asking, “What the [church version of hell] are you doing?” My inside self feels really natural about it, like it’s something I do all the time.

He picks up the baby and she stands on the pew. He and I are making faces at her and enjoying her smiles. Her mom is sitting behind us. I guess she sees her mom and starts being noisy. Her mom comes and picks her up. I hand the mom the mitten. He and I continue to breathe in baby fun. My heart couldn’t be smiling any bigger. Or thumping more strongly. Forget about keeping my insides reverent.

He leans over to me and whispers how well the baby knows me. His body tilts such that his left arm touches my right arm. We have full-upper-arm contact. Of course this means he loves me. What else could it mean? I lean back over and whisper how well the baby seems to know him. By this time my outside self has completely tackled Inner Me. Why, you ask? It’s a little embarrassing. Ears are a huge weakness. I have many (weaknesses, not ears), but ears are significant. If I like you and you’re whispering in my ear–it could be about flowers or quantum physics or dog vomit or foot fungus–I melt.

That whole tactile experience with the arm-love and the whispering makes me want to rest my head on his shoulder and snuggle.

Time for the closing hymn, which only lasts 7 seconds. The entire meeting seems to have lasted two minutes. After the closing prayer, a few guys come up to him and make small talk, and of course I stand around awkwardly. Suddenly I feel really self-conscious. I see an opening and tell him I’m off to the nursery.

We shake hands. He’s got a great handshake. We tell each other to take care, and then I leave to tend the kiddies.

Not sure when I’ll see him again.

That was maybe the 5th time I’ve seen him in the two years I’ve lived here. It’s just very nice to think of someone and feel your ears slide upward and then realize it’s because you’re smiling so bigly. Bigly is a giddy word. Giggly. Hee.

It’s official. I have a crush.

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