Page 8 of The Risks of Reuniting (Love Connections #1)

Chloe

I consider myself a deep sleeper, but it turns out that all the dogs of Lima want to come out at night and howl to the moon while fighting to defend their territory.

I didn't sleep a wink. As the room fills with light from the small window I wonder what the possibility of getting some earplugs would be.

I'll need them. I can handle a day or two without sleep – which is exactly where I'm currently standing – but after that I will become a bit unhinged. I did not come here to scare people.

"I would give up all my social media followers for some silence," Rachelle moans next to me, and I swing my head her direction. Her blonde hair is spread out over her pillow and she's tossed an arm over her eyes. "Or some chew toys to keep those dogs occupied."

I groan. "How many followers do you have?"

She grins. "A lot."

"Have them send earplugs."

"If this happens for the entire month, I'm going to go feral and join the pack as the new alpha."

I chuckle lightly. "Worst case, we snag some cotton balls from the medical clinic and shove them in our ears tonight."

She peeks one eye out at me, and I can see it's as puffy as mine feel. "It's a deal. "

"So you're an influencer?" I ask her, intrigued. I'm not on social media at all.

She makes a humming noise. "Not really. I'm just really extroverted and gather friends wherever I go. Stranger is a foreign word to me."

I immediately hear my cousin Lucy's voice in my head and smile at her words – even though this isn't a romance. This would be a classic opposites attract situation . According to Lucy, that's not a bad thing, and I hope she's right.

We fall back into silence until an alarm goes off on my phone letting us know it's 7:00 a.m. and we need to get moving.

Breakfast will be served at 7:30 and then the dentist arrives at 8:00.

I stretch and crack a few unhappy joints in the process.

Rachelle stands, gathering her toiletry bag and towels, and heads straight out the door to the bathroom.

Bathroom time around here isn't a luxury affair.

It's a sink with a small mirror, a toilet, a showerhead with no curtain, and the infamous toilet paper garbage can.

There's barely room for one person at a time, and from what I can tell it's not only Rachelle and I who will be sharing it. She was smart to jump and run.

I use the private time to clean up with body wipes and change into one of three pairs of scrubs.

(I'm going to be doing laundry quite often …

and by hand, I suspect.) Then I run my fingers through my hair to shape it back into the messy waves I like.

This pixie cut was the best idea ever. Thankfully I brought a compact mirror, so I pull it out and check my hair before brushing on some light mascara and covering my face with sunscreen.

Were I back in Salt Lake I'd try a little harder, but I didn't come here to make some fashion statement.

I'm here to help people. There's freedom in keeping it simple, and I tuck my make-up kit away just as Rachelle comes back in with a towel wrapped around both her body and her head .

"Did you just run across the alley in only your towel?" I ask, eyes wide.

She shrugs. "It's covering more than my swimsuit would. You'd better hurry, I think I saw someone heading to the bathroom," she says.

I don't need to be told twice. My bladder is already angry with me for having to wait the ten minutes Rachelle took.

I dive across the alleyway and into the bathroom before anyone else makes it.

I close the door and sigh with relief, but it's short-lived as someone knocks hard and says something in rapid Spanish.

I feel bad, but I'm already halfway to using the facilities.

"Ocupada," I call out, hoping that word means what I think it means as I squat over the seatless toilet. Yeah, seatless. It's a basin, and we squat over it.

They reply with more fast words and I get the feeling they need the bathroom rapido.

"Um, momento," I call as their knocking makes the door swing open slightly.

I lean forward to push it closed and hustle to do my business.

When I finished there are two people waiting and I scoot past them, holding my hands out to my side, fingers splayed because I hate that I can't wash them in the bathroom.

I have to use special boiled water back in our room for all washing and brushing.

Thankfully Rachelle and I thought ahead and left some last night.

Rachelle is dressed and brushing her wet hair when I get back to our little room. She's wearing bright pink scrubs with white and blue unicorns scattered around, and a smile tugs at my lips.

"Those are fun," I say, gesturing. "Unicorns. I feel so boring in my plain navy."

She glances up at me from behind already forming blonde waves. "Unicorns bring good luck and make people smile. I'm guessing we'll have a few kids come through too." I nod and move to wash my hands. "That was a quick bathroom break."

"Someone had an urgent need," I reply with a smirk.

"No shower this morning?" she asks. "I had to get all that travel ick off me."

"I'll shower before bed tonight, but I did a quick wash with body wipes."

"What do you think Dr. Joseph will be like?" she asks me, flipping her hair to the other side of her head and brushing in a different direction.

I shrug. "No idea. Probably nice. I don't think bad guys do humanitarian missions."

She grins at me, and I watch her blue eyes light up. "I hope he's young and single."

Surprised, I laugh. "Oh yeah?"

She nods. "It would make a great story. Just imagine meeting a guy on a humanitarian trip in another country. Love at first sight."

"He was helpless against her unicorn scrubs," I smile. "You have to promise to invite me to the wedding."

Rachelle straightens up and shakes her head lightly, and somehow those damp blonde waves fall into place. "Our colors will be blush and bashful," she cracks, referring to the movie Steel Magnolias . "I think you'd look amazing in pink."

We both laugh as we make our way out the door, excited to see what the day has in store for us.

Dr. Joseph is middle-aged, not single, but super nice.

Two strikes, as far as Rachelle is concerned, but one homerun for me.

I'd take nice over just about any other character trait.

He's tall and thin, just like Carlos described him, with brown hair that he styles back from his face, and an expression that tells me he's amused by a lot of what he sees. I can work with that.

I listen attentively as he walks Rachelle and me around the small clinic, opening cupboards and drawers that are labeled in Spanish, and explaining what he expects of us.

Most of it sounds pretty routine other than the fact that we have no schedule and we roll with whatever the day holds.

He's wearing a white lab coat over a T-shirt and cargo shorts, and barely lifts his eyebrows when he sees Rachelle's colorful outfit.

I get the feeling he doesn't ruffle easily.

"Sometimes people aren't here for oral health.

They get confused and come with a cut that needs stitching, or a sinus infection.

We help where we can, and send them to the correct place if we can't," he says as he leans a hip against a countertop and crosses his arms. "I've been here for a month now, and I've gotten pretty good at stopping wounds from bleeding and wrapping them so that the patient can be transported to someone who can do stitches.

I'm also great at splinting broken bones. "

"Unexpected," Rachelle mutters thoughtfully, tugging at her lipstick-covered lower lip.

Dr. Joseph points at her. "Exactly. Prepare for that. "

For the most part it sounds like the clinic is open from 8:30 to 11:30 and then again from 1:00 to 4:00, leaving us an hour and a half for lunch each day.

I've worked dentistry long enough to know that the patients will bleed into the lunch break and we'll hopefully get thirty minutes of that, but I'm good with it.

We have Saturdays and Sundays off, but he says he never turns away someone who shows up on those days, so to not get too attached to weekends.

"You've already been here a month?" Rachelle asks. "How long is your commitment?"

"Three months," he answers.

"You must miss your people," Rachelle responds with a sympathetic face.

He smiles. "It's not easy to be apart, but my wife is supportive and we video call every day."

"I love that for you," Rachelle coos. "It's so sweet. Hey, does anyone call you Dr. J?"

He laughs, and it's contagious, making me smile. "I have a feeling someone is about to."

She nods. "Well, two people, because Chloe is going to call you that too."

Dr. Joseph – or should I say, Dr. J – turns to look at me with a raised eyebrow.

"I . . ." have no idea what to say. I'm professional to the core, and don't know the guy at all.

"You know what," he says, "let's do it. I'll be Dr. J this month. Maybe Dr. J is the guy we never knew we needed."

Rachelle claps her hands together and nods, pointing at me. "What should we call you?"

"Chloe," I respond, deadpan .

At this they both laugh and Rachelle shrugs at him. "I guess it's a win that I got her to use a nickname for you."

"Guess so," he responds. "And what are we calling you?" he asks her.

Rachelle tilts her head playfully and puts a hand against her chest. "The Queen."

"Queenie it is," Dr. J nods once, and Rachelle laughs.

Dr. J jumps back into business, telling us what he expects of us, and before I know it the door is opening and a family comes through.

My heartrate rises slightly as I turn to face them.

Dr. J steps toward them, speaking to them in Spanish and assessing their needs before turning to Rachelle and me, handing out our assignments.

I gather my tools, put a smile on my face, and take a deep breath. My first Peruvian patient. Pinch me.

Wed, May 7