Page 16 of The Risks of Reuniting (Love Connections #1)

Chloe

I couldn't eat at all the next day. I was tied in knots from the dustup with Holt, and from the rat situation, and from dreading the upcoming bus tour of downtown Lima, even though I really want to go on the bus tour.

Thursday morning has me feeling mopey, and sort of delirious from starvation.

I go through the motions of getting ready, putting on the navy blue scrubs that match my mood, but I don't bother with makeup, and when I follow Rachelle to breakfast I don't contribute to the chatter as we walk along.

She doesn't seem to mind. Rachelle is happy to talk to herself if she needs to.

I imagine that back in Georgia she's like honey and the community members are flies. She's so darn sweet.

My eyes immediately search for Holt when we walk through the door.

It came to me in my sleepless state last night that I have to make peace with him.

I'd struggled to remember the horoscope Poppy had shared with me when I was leaving Salt Lake.

Hadn't she said something about this being a new opportunity for me – a time of change and self-discovery?

And my cousin Lucy has talked to me a few times about how the books she reads so often have miscommunication moments that ruin everything.

She's always encouraging me to talk about things, and not make assumptions.

Her beloved book characters stand as a warning to me that I'm going to have to be brave.

I've decided that self-discovery requires me facing up to the fact that I'm still harboring too much post-breakup angst. Even worse – I blame Holt for everything.

Apparently. I maybe didn't realize that until I blew up at him in the laundry room.

I cringe at the very thought of all those emotions spewing out at him. Emotions I should have resolved months ago.

I'm tired of being angry. I want me back.

Holt is sitting at a table with Cesar, but his eyes lift to mine as soon as we come fully into the room.

He has a ballcap on today, and it shades some of his expression, but I gesture with my head and point to a door.

Thankfully, rather than ignoring me, he says something to Cesar and abandons his plate.

I would have deserved the snub, and am grateful that Holt hasn't changed into the same sort of crusty person I've become.

I turn and go back out the door I'd just walked through, mumbling something to Rachelle about needing to chat with Holt. She hasn't asked me more about our argument the other night, but she's definitely noticed my moodiness and her expression is sympathetic as she continues into the canteen.

I wait for Holt around a corner where it's still shady. He joins me, and tucks his hands into his jean pockets, waiting for me to start. I look him over. His T-shirt is wrinkled, his beard growth thicker than usual, and his eyes look as tired as mine. Maybe I can free us both.

"I think we need to call a truce," I say, gathering my courage.

"It's obvious I still have . . . feelings about our history, and I know it's holding me back in life.

I don't want to assume how you've been feeling, but I think we can agree that those emotions have no place here.

We both came to help people, not to rehash a painful past. So, I guess this is me taking a first step by reaching out and asking how we do that. "

His expression is thoughtful as he listens, his dark eyes constantly scanning my face, watching my expressions.

I wish I could peek into his brain right now, but instead I reach up to play with one of my chains and force myself to stay open and honest, to not shut down no matter how painful this conversation may prove to be.

I have to do this. I have to. I think about how proud Lucy would be, and use that to lean on.

"You're right," he says at last, his voice low and defeated. "I don't want to be your enemy."

"Exactly. I don't know if we can be friends, exactly, but maybe we can find a way to be peaceful with each other?" I offer a half smile and a shrug, hoping he's kind enough to not point out I'm the only one who's been unfriendly.

"How would you feel about talking things out?" My stomach churns and I must grimace because his lips tug up in amusement. "How much time do you have before you need to report in to work?" he asks, looking over my shoulder at a path that leads out of the walls of Lifting Hope.

I glance at my watch. "About thirty minutes, but I haven't eaten for a bit and I'm not sure I can do a full emotional cleansing on an empty stomach," I respond.

"Okay. Hold tight for one sec."

He darts around the corner and back into the canteen, and I have to assume he's gathering food because that's the only logical explanation. I'm proven correct when he reappears with a breakfast burrito in one hand and two bottled waters.

"Alright. Come with me?" he asks.

I nod and follow him out of the gate and down a side street.

It's only 7:30 in the morning, but the little pathway is already filled with workers heading down the hill into the city.

Many of them have packs full of goods that they'll sell on the sides of car-choked streets, hoping to make enough to buy their dinner that evening.

I remember Holt telling me that often when they were in Lima, after eating dinner out, his parents would package up the leftovers and give them to people on the street who looked hungry.

It always makes my heart squeeze to think about those people, so happy to have the leftovers.

We push against the foot traffic and then Holt takes a quick left into a small clearing that has a bench.

It's an odd sight, almost as though someone wanted to make a town square in the middle of this hillside squatters village.

People need pretty things, and quiet moments, no matter their circumstances.

I run my hand over the crude bench and smile.

Holt sits first and gestures for me to join him, then hands me the burrito and one of the waters. "Eat first, then we'll talk."

It's hard to eat, because my stomach is a little bit cranky with worry over what we'll talk about, but in the end my hunger wins and I manage to get most of it down, interspersed with swallows of warm water.

I'm grateful when Holt takes the lead. I like sitting back to get a lay of the land when I can, to help me feel less out of control, more steady.

"So, I'm going to start by restating the fact that I don't want to be at war with you," he says, gazing out over the rooftops that drop below us. "And I will also admit that I have some unresolved feelings about us."

I take one last swallow of water and cap the bottle. "All right. So, how do we keep those feelings from bleeding out over the innocent people of Lima?"

"I never thought I'd be sitting next to you in Peru," he says, rather than answering my question. "It's sometimes hard to believe it's happening."

I bite my lip and fiddle with the water bottle. "I'm sorry I never said yes when you asked me to come. It was a mistake. I'm really loving it here. The people are wonderful, the history is interesting, and the food is delicious." I say all of this with sincerity and regret.

He keeps his eyes ahead. "Do you remember that soccer jersey I brought you one time?" he asks .

I nod. "Yeah. I used it as a pajama shirt for a long time." The truth is I only recently stopped wearing it, but no one knows that.

He licks his lips and rests his hands on his knees. "Cool. I knew you'd like it." I can feel that he's not quite done with whatever questions he has, so I wait for him to continue, my eyes taking in the same view. "Why did you never say yes, but now you're here? What changed?"

I puff out a breath. "Oh boy, that's the million dollar question."

"I'd really like to know."

"Well, after our breakup I was sort of lost and feeling unmoored," I begin.

"Relatable," he mutters under his breath.

I smile, but it's not in amusement, it's in acknowledgement.

"I needed to feel like what I was doing mattered, because if it didn't, I'd just broken up with you for no good reason.

" The words are hard to push out, and when I see his face swing my way, I remain focused on the bustling city below us.

"I got into volunteering, thinking that I'd find some purpose that way.

I loved it. And when one of the ladies I was working with mentioned humanitarian work in South America, I don't know, I sort of got this little zing, I guess.

It was like, yes, that's what you need, something to shake it up .

So, I applied without doing much research, on a whim. "

He chuckles. "You? On a whim?"

I pull a face. "I know. My cousins nearly croaked when I told them. Allie asked if I needed to go to the hospital. My dad is still having heart palpitations."

"What happened next?"

"I was accepted, and when I read the paperwork and realized it was in Lima I nearly fainted. I could not believe I'd be going to the one place you'd always begged me to go." I shake my head and huff out a laugh. "It was the most ridiculous coincidence."

"Yeah."

"Anyhow, I figured that maybe Lima was the place I could come to finish it, you know? See it, get you out of my system, and be ready to reclaim my life when I got home."

"You came to Lima to bury me?" he asks, joking but serious.

I own it. "Yeah, sort of. And to help people. Killing two birds with one stone, you know?" This time I swing my head slightly to make eye contact with him, and he's so close that I look away quickly and take another drink of my water. "This is hard."

"Being this honest?"

I toss my arms open wide. "All of this. Being in Peru, being with you, tearing back the layers and talking to you again. It's hard."

I can hear his deep breath. "Yeah. It is."

"I thought Peru would be closure, but instead it's somehow the most liberating suffering ever." I finish off the water and tap his knee with the empty bottle. "Your turn."

"Well, I came because I have the summer off from classwork and wanted to do some good. My mom suggested I spend some time in Peru. I love it, so it was a no-brainer."

Everything was a no-brainer for Holt. He'd always lived in this whole the world will provide and things will work out way, and it makes sense that he hadn't overthought it, but simply signed up bada bing, bada boom. I envied that.

"So, you weren't in North Carolina, suffering and looking for closure? That was just me back in Utah? Awesome." I state sarcastically. "This is really making me feel better." It did explain the huge chip on my shoulder while he acted like nothing was amiss.

"I didn't say that."

"Okay, what are you saying? "

He skims his palms across his jean-clad thighs and taps his feet. "You're right, this is hard." I nod, but don't say anything. "Look, the truth is that my heart was torn out and I'm still not totally over it. My mom caught those vibes, and that's why she suggested Peru."

"Really?" I latch on to that detail about his mom. Sandra and I had been close, and I'd hated losing her and her husband, Victor, too. "You've talked to your mom about it?"

"Not talked so much as she used her mom senses on me.

" He grins and I do to. Moms. They're powerful.

"So, yeah, seeing you in Atlanta really threw me for a loop.

I've been trying to figure it out ever since.

Are we okay, are we not, should I be your friend, or stay away from you?

It's confusing, and there are a lot of conflicting emotions. "

"You want to punch me sometimes too?" I ask playfully.

He chuffs a laugh but shakes his head. "Never."

"Oh, come on."

"Well, sometimes I hope that there aren't any cookies left for you after dinner. That's how angry I feel."

I make my eyes big. "That's just cruel. You know how I feel about cookies."

"I told you, I'm a monster."

I grow serious once more. "I'm sorry you're angry. I'm angry too."

"I wish I could understand what happened, Chlo. But I can't seem to make it all make sense."

Boy, do I feel that, deep down in the tissues of my heart. "Me too."

He looks over and this time I don't shy from meeting his eyes. "Can you make it make sense?"

I shake my head sadly. "We chose different things. We put each other second, and we're both to blame. Neither of us made the necessary sacrifice to stay together . . . and that will never feel okay. "

And just like that, I own my part in it.

Holt doesn't carry all the blame, and a fresh wave of sorrow hits me.

I did this too. I hurt us. It stinks. I could have followed him.

He'd begged me to. But I dug in my heels, and he'd done the same.

So, here we were, sitting in a foreign country, saying that we both still hurt but nothing much had changed.

There doesn't seem to be anything else to say after this revelation.

"Truce?" I ask, standing. That was, after all, the entire point of this conversation.

He stands and turns to face me, so I do the same. "Truce," he agrees, holding out his work-calloused hand.

I take it and one side of my mouth tugs up as the familiar warmth of his palm envelops mine. I nod, he does the same, and when I feel the urge to hug him, I pull away. We still have a ways to go before I'll trust myself to be in his arms again – if ever.