Page 40 of The Risks of Reuniting (Love Connections #1)

Chloe

When I wake up, Allie is in the kitchen baking the brownies I'd begged her for, and she squeals and gives me a hug before she pushes me away with a wrinkled nose and laughs.

"I don't know how this is possible, but you smell like a foreign country," she says.

I sniff at my shirt and pull a face. "What are you talking about?"

"Go shower. The brownies will be ready when you're done."

"Is Holt sleeping still?" I ask.

She shrugs, but her eyes are suspiciously shifty as she pours the batter into a pan, so I pause in going to look for him.

"What did you do, Al?" I ask.

"I gave him the ole butterknife, and a side of whisk." She turns to look at me with a firm expression. "And I would do it again."

Allie has always had this quirk of using kitchen utensils to make a point. I've never seen anyone else do it, but I find it hysterical, especially when they aren't aimed at me.

"You really gave him the full thing, huh?" I ask, a smile tickling my face. "Both utensils?"

"He practically peed himself."

I snort laugh and hug her again, smothering her in whatever foreign scent she doesn't like. "You're the best. "

She shoves me away. "You'd whisk for me any day."

I go around the wall into the living room to find Holt lying on the couch with his arm splayed across his eyes.

I can't tell if he's awake or asleep, but it gives me some tingle-jingles to see him there, in my space, on a couch he helped me pick out.

His feet are bare and his clothes are as wrinkled as mine, and I want to crawl in next to him and avoid going to see our families today. I want more time in our bubble.

His arm shifts and his dark eyes meet mine. His expression is serious and I walk closer to where he lies looking up at me.

"I hear you got the utensil treatment from Allie," I smile down at him.

"That's Allison to you." He yawns. "The armed services should put her to work."

I giggle. "She means well."

"She loves you," he responds.

I nod. "Yeah. Do I want to know what she said?"

He glances at his phone where it's propped on the arm of the couch and sighs. "It mostly involved telling me not to mess this up, and to be prepared to make sacrifices as necessary."

My stomach dives and I sit on the floor next to the couch. "What kind of sacrifices?" I ask, already having a guess. "Like the kind where you give up pharmacy school?" I'd asked him to do that last year – well, at least attend locally – and he'd refused. How had he reacted when Allie said it?

He sits up and places his elbows on his knees, leaning toward me.

"Yeah. There was a real emphasis on me deciding what I can and cannot give up.

" I swallow hard. He lifts his hand and caresses my cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"In case I haven't made this clear in the past week, I know what I can't live without. That's not a question. "

And that's enough for me right now. I can handle the days ahead if I know that's the base we're working off.

"Same," I reply, leaning into his touch. "We'd better get cleaned up and ready to go."

We haul our packs up the stairs and Holt takes the hall bathroom while I take the primary bath.

I wasn't kidding about Peru teaching me to shower quickly, and I'm a little sad now that I'm in my glorious bathroom that I can't indulge in a decadent, hot, water-pressure-filled shower.

But I keep it to the basics, and enjoy going to my closet to pick out fresh clothing that I haven't seen in a month.

I choose a striped T-shirt dress that hits me just above the knees and a pair of slides that will keep my feet comfortable.

As I style my hair and put on more makeup than I have for weeks, I can still feel the exhaustion from the past two days tugging at me.

I needed more than a two-hour nap, and everything is suddenly coming at me so fast with family visits happening.

My hands shake as I put on earrings and a couple different gold chains.

I look at myself in the mirror and make a fierce face.

"Time to go to war," I say to the petite, dark-haired woman looking back at me. "Let's do it."

Holt is quiet on the drive over to his parents' house, looking out the passenger window and taking in the views of the Salt Lake Valley below us.

From the foothills everything spreads far and wide, although the inversion today is making it hard to see great distances.

I assume he's quiet because he's tired, and also because he's as nervy as I am.

At least I hope that's why he's quiet. It could also be because Allie gave him a talking to and he's deep-thinking things.

I remember how he looked at me when I came downstairs after getting ready. He'd given me a once-over, smiled, and pressed the sweetest kiss to my mouth when he'd seen me all dressed up, whispering my beautiful love against my lips.

Poor guy is still wearing his travel clothes, and I'm glad he'll have some other clothing waiting at his parents' house. I'm sure he's ready to be out of plaster-stained jeans and work boots.

We pull up to the ranch-style house in Cottonwood Heights where Holt was raised, and I put my car in park, soaking it all in as Holt reaches for the passenger door to let himself out.

I haven't been here for a long time. Holt lived here while we were dating, working for his dad and commuting to the U.

It kept schooling costs low, and as an only child he didn't have much motivation to leave.

I hope he's right about how his parents feel regarding me being here again.

I don't have to wait long to find out. Holt is at my door, opening it because I was paralyzed in memory, when his mom comes trotting out the front door, arms wide, her smile filling her face, her blonde hair bopping along with her.

She's in a summer dress, and her feet are bare, and she looks younger than she is.

Holt's mother is a beautiful woman, and that's only increased by the adoration on her face as she greets her son.

"Ah, welcome home," she cries. Then, she says a few words to him in Spanish that are for him alone. His mother is American, but she learned Spanish years ago so that they could speak both languages as a family.

By now I've gotten out of the car and she turns to greet me.

I stiffen, not knowing what to expect, but her eyes glisten as she reaches for me and envelops me in a hug.

Sandra Alvarez is a woman of emotion. She experiences life fully – her laughter and tears getting equal time.

I love that about her, and I squeeze her back.

"Welcome Chloe. We've missed you so much," she cries, her delicious perfume wrapping around me.

"Thank you." It's all I can manage over the huge lump in my throat. The scent invokes memory. "It's good to see you."

I'm released when Holt's dad lumbers over, his larger body shielding his wife from the sun.

His dark hair is military short, his black eyes flashing with good humor.

He's wearing the same bowling-style shirt he always does on weekends, and I smile at the palm tree design.

He reaches out a beefy hand and shakes mine, nearly cracking the bones, and I laugh as Holt tells him to take it easy and Sandra slaps at his arm.

"Victor," she scolds lightly. "Be soft."

"Hola, Chloe," he says in his lilting accent. "Bienvenida." Welcome .

Holt gets his luggage from my trunk and we follow his parents inside, Sandra chatting a million miles a minute while Victor brings up the rear. Holt keeps smiling at me over his shoulder, like he can't believe all his favorite people are together, and it makes my stomach flip. I like it too.

Holt gets me settled with his parents in their cozy family room, with their over-stuffed couches and big pillows, and makes us all swear to not say a word while he finds fresh clothing.

Of course, that lasts about two seconds before Sandra is peppering me with questions about how this all came about.

Turns out that while Holt had told them about me being in Peru, it wasn't until earlier today that he'd mentioned we were back together.

I give them the short version, and their expressions shift throughout the telling, echoing my own surprise and dawning realizations.

When Holt returns he's dressed in a button-down shirt and gray khaki slim-fit pants. I don't hate the look. I take him in the same way he'd done to me, and when he sits next to me on the couch and takes my hand, my entire face feels red. I sort of wish we were alone.

"You two must be starving." Sandra jumps up with a knowing look. "I have sandwiches already made. We can eat in here. "

She disappears into the kitchen while Holt chats with his dad about the construction efforts at Lifting Hope and some of his thoughts on the shanty towns climbing the hillside.

My heart is still tender for the people there, and probably always will be.

Sandra slips right back into the flow of conversation when she returns with loaded plates, and Holt and I dig right in, which makes her smile.

The conversation slows as we finish eating, and I know that it's time for the heavy questions.

My stomach sort of wishes I'd eaten less.

Holt and I were too busy being giddy over reconnecting to have those heavy talks.

I don't know how we spent the last week talking nonstop but came away with no concrete plan other than I like you, let's be boyfriend-girlfriend again .

I'm embarrassed – but in a good way where I don't really care that it's embarrassing.

I can't speak for him, but for myself I figured we'd have time once we were back in the States.

Surprise – we're here.

"So . . ." Sandra's face grows apologetic, and I understand that she doesn't really want to ask, but as a mom, she's going to anyway. "What's the plan here?"