Page 3 of The Risks of Reuniting (Love Connections #1)

Chloe

I walk off the plane in Atlanta feeling like a piece of paper that was crinkled up in someone's hand and is ready to be tossed in a trash can.

Just over three and a half hours of tense, bum-clenching worry.

The turbulence made me question all my life choices, but I pause in the concourse to thank a higher power that my pizza digested rather than coming back up.

I follow my fellow passengers down the jetway into the gate area and step off the side to take a minute to calm myself.

Poppy's crystal necklace is still in my pocket and I pull it out to hold it in my palm as I do some deep breathing.

I recently read that if you're panicky you can put your hand over your left eye and then look up with your right eye and it will shut down the anxiety part of your brain.

So I try it. Who cares if I look like a pirate with an attitude problem?

My cotton sweats are pulled up over my calves in an effort to cool my legs, my sneakers are untied because they were feeling pinchy, my shirt is wrinkled .

. . and that was leg one. Even worse, it was the shorter of the two.

I should have asked Poppy for another crystal because this is officially the hardest I've ever pushed myself.

I hold my hand over my eye for a minute and I can't swear that the technique worked, but I do feel better.

I pull out my phone to check the time and further relax at the good news that greets me.

My layover is ninety minutes, and my flight arrived on time.

This soothes me even more. Everything is going to plan.

I'm well packed, and I don't have to rush to my next gate.

While I have my phone out I text my brother.

I still do not forgive you for making me afraid of planes.

I'm surprised when his response comes back quickly. Gavin likes to sleep in on Sundays and I never hear from him before noon.

Gavin

Fear is a choice, and you chose poorly.

You're the worst

Gavin

Thank you

Poppy gave me a crystal for my anxiety.

Gavin

Is it helping?

Hard to tell.

Gavin

Did you have an accident in your pants?

No. Gross.

Gavin

Then it's helping.

I laugh and roll my eyes before tucking my phone back into my pocket and finding the signs that direct me to the international flights terminal.

It's busy this Sunday morning. People flood around me, bumping into me, making my wobbly legs feel like collapsing.

So many people. My backpack is heavy against my back and I do that thing where I mentally work through a list. It calms me.

I was allowed only one carry-on pack for a full month, and I'd gone into hyper-focused mode making several packing lists until I'd pared it down to something satisfactory.

Now I go down the list two times while I take some deep breaths, checking off each item.

I arrive at the terminal train waiting area and get focused.

I'm not good with public transportation, because I never use it.

I scan the lists and graphics and when a train arrives I follow the crowd into the thin tube.

A voice comes over the intercom, telling us to hold on, that this a high-speed train, and I scoff a little, which is why I get nearly knocked off my feet when the train shoots out of the station like a bullet from a gun.

I quickly grab at one of the poles nearby and narrowly miss falling into the lap of a woman seated on one of the few chairs.

"First time?" She smirks up at me.

"They're not joking around," I reply with a self-deprecating smile. "Next time I'll believe them."

I look at the train map printed above the doors and find that the F Terminal is the last stop, which is fine with me.

I watch people leave the train and pretty soon I'm the only person left in this car.

I don't worry too much until we enter some sort of concrete, dystopian-looking place, where there are crumbling pillars and caution cones.

I wonder if I missed my exit and am on my way to another city.

I peek through the murky windows into the car ahead of me and try to have faith that I'm not on a ride to nowhere .

Thankfully, a regular looking airport station appears again and the train stops abruptly, nearly taking me down once more.

"Atlanta, settle it down," I say out loud. "What's your hurry?"

The doors open on a screech and I hustle off, afraid I'll get shipped back to the main airport if I dillydally at all.

I follow the signs to a large open area with shops and food stalls, and check my watch to see that I still have thirty minutes before boarding will start.

I toy with getting a snack, but decide I'd rather not tempt the universe after it so kindly digested my pizza.

Instead I opt to find a seat and doom-scroll on my phone.

Once I board that plane to Lima I'm going to be in close quarters with a stranger for over six hours.

I should take the break while I have it.

I look through a list my cousin Lucy sent of romance novels I might like to read while I travel. She's my go-to for book recommendations, and she never lets me down. I only wish I had more time because the list keeps growing while I'm not checking any off.

I'm sitting down at my gate, facing a window with a view of misty fog and large airplanes, when I hear a voice that immediately crawls right up my spine and makes my head tingle. A voice I haven't heard in ten months. A voice that still reverberates in my dreams.

"Chloe?" he says, sounding unsure.

I understand his hesitation. The last time we saw each other, the moment was heated and hurtful things were flung back and forth.

Not only that, but my back is to him, and I've chopped my dark brown hair into a pixie cut since we saw each other last. Mostly, though, he'd never expect to see me in Atlanta, much less in an airport.

He knows I'm not a flyer. In fact, my dedication to staying in my comfort zone was one of the biggest reasons we fell apart.

That and the fact that he left me. You know, minor detail .

I think about not turning around. I think about it long enough that he takes matters into his own hands and comes around to face me.

He's wearing his same style of jeans and t-shirt he always wore, looking casually fashionable.

His brown hair is shorter too, shaved on the sides and wavy on top.

The well-trimmed beard on his face is new.

His hazel eyes under dark brows, however, are exactly the same, painfully reminding me of every time I'd looked into them.

I swallow as he says my name a second time.

"Holy . . ." he pauses and rubs a hand over his face. It's so quiet in this little bubble that I can hear the beard hair scratch against his palm. "I thought I saw you walk by, but I was sure I'd imagined you." His voice is rough and awkward. "You look different. You chopped your hair."

I manage a tight smile. As if my pixie-style hair is the only thing that's changed. My lips tremble a little and I clear my throat to speak.

"Hi, Holt," I say in a voice I hope sounds unaffected.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his eyes wide with the same shock I feel.

I don't want to answer that question. He's going to have a second shock pretty quickly here.

See, Holt's father is Peruvian, and he is definitely going to wonder why I'd be going there when I hadn't ever gone with him on any of his family trips to the country he loves.

Or why I chose Peru out of all the places in the world.

I'm sort of embarrassed, actually. I don't want to look like some desperate ex, reaching for any sliver of connection to the man who left me.

But his eyes are steady and watchful, and I can feel his curiosity washing over me.

I'm cringing inside as I manage to say, "I'm, uh, heading to Peru, actually." I clear my throat, again. "I'm doing a humanitarian trip – dental stuff," I hurry to add.

His hand drops from his face and his eyes grow large. Yep. Shocked. Of course he would be. There's history here, and he's very familiar with all the reasons I shouldn't be standing in front of him telling him this.

I watch with fascination as his lips tug up, some of his usual good humor sparking in his eyes. "Me too."

Confused, my brow drops. "What?"

"Yeah, I'm heading to Peru on a humanitarian trip."

My chest tightens and I clench my fingers into a fist to try to keep from overreacting. During my research I'd found there were several groups providing humanitarian relief in Peru. It's a big country. The odds of us ending up together are tiny. There were dozens of towns and villages needing help.

I'll just make sure I heard him correctly. "What?"

He shifts the bag he's carrying in one hand. "I'm going to Peru, too. Doing some humanitarian work. Construction mostly. I'll be helping to update and stabilize housing."

That makes sense. His dad is a contractor and Holt worked for him for years to pay for his undergrad degree. Holt and his knowledge would be a big asset to a humanitarian effort. I only hope he'll be doing amazing work far, far away from me.

"Where?" I manage. "What city?"

"Lima."

My heart speeds up, which should be impossible. "Oh."

Of course he's not going to one of the outer cities or villages that has volunteer opportunities. Of course we're both situated in Lima. Although, Lima is huge, there's still hope.

He grins, and it makes me feel things I don't want to feel. "I take it that ' oh ' means you're going to Lima also?" I nod. "Is the company Lifting Hope Worldwide?"

I drop my head forward into my hands. "Oh my gosh." Hope is lost.

He chuckles. "Small world, huh?"

"Too small," I whisper to myself. "Much too small."

"What does your family think of you going on this adventure?" he asks, reminding me how much he knows about me and my life.

"They're as surprised as you are," I reply, lifting my head again. "And you? You're on a break from school?"

Asking him about school makes my stomach swirl and my legs feel like lead. I don't want to acknowledge the reason we're apart.

He nods. "Yeah. Seemed like good timing."

I laugh, but it's not with humor. "Yep, great timing. Great."

But it's not great. Not at all.

Holt moves away and I'm grateful for the reprieve from this surprise.

I sink lower into my seat and focus on my feet as my mind races through so many of the things I've been trying to forget.

His smile, his laugh, his scent, his kindness, his work ethic, his goodness.

Holt was the entire package, until the day he broke my heart.

I zone out, staring ahead of me, willing back the tears and promising myself that everything happens for a reason. Suddenly, Poppy's words from my horoscope come circling back. Didn't she say something about my moon being agitated? Well – she was right.