Page 19 of The Risks of Reuniting

"Oh, yeah, Parque de la Reserva, it's a cool place." He flosses between the crown and the teeth next to it, making sure everything is spaced correctly. "What time are you supposed to leave?"

"I think around six. Cesar hired a driver."

"Smart. Never drive in Lima, you can't handle it," he chuckles.

"I'd never dare," I agree.

"You should come with us," Rachelle calls over. "Help us paint the town."

Dr. J hands me the used floss to throw away. "I have a video call with my family and a movie on my phone, and that's about as perfect as it gets."

I smile. Dr. J mentions his wife and kids often and I think it's the sweetest thing that they stay so connected across the miles. Maybe Holt and I should have explored that as an option. But, Dr. J isgone only three months, and Holt's pharmacy program is four years. Four years is a long, long time to live across the country from each other. We've already been apart for ten months and it's felt like an eternity.

I shake my head, not wanting to think about Holt. That ship sailed, and I've been trying to put it behind me for a long time.

Dr. J speaks to the patient while I begin to clean up the tools and prep them for the sterilizer. He helps the patient up and walks him out with a hand on his shoulder and a smile on his face. Humanitarian work really is a great fit for him, and it's been a good learning experience to watch him with the patients.

"Chloe," he says once the patient is gone, "when that chair is cleaned up why don't you take the second cleaning and I'll do an exam on the first child when Queenie is done?"

I nod and get to work alongside Rachelle. Her stomach growls and we both laugh under our breath, making her adorable toadstools dance.

I have an anticucho in one hand, and a plastic cup of maracuya in the other as we walk through the gates into the park. My mouth waters at the smell. It was a long drive to get here, and I was more than ready for dinner. Holt had talked us out of dinner at the humanitarian center, promising us that the street food near the park would be worth the wait.Thankfully he'd brought a few snacks to keep us from going feral on the long drive.

"Okay, remind me again what this is?" Rachelle asks, holding up the anticucho.

To me, it's a meat skewer, and I don't necessarily want to know what kind of meat. I sniff at it, inhaling the scent of spices that are as foreign as my surroundings. Emilia – who was also invited to be part of our group tonight – answers Rachelle with a smile.

"It's marinated meat on a stick. I've been here a few times with my family and we always get these. They're usually made of beef hearts, but we got chicken for you Americans," she teases. "You'll love it."

Grateful it's chicken and not beef heart, I take a bite and immediately grin. "Oh my gosh," I say not caring that my mouth is full. "It's so good."

The unfamiliar spices dance on my tongue and I look at Rachelle to see her grinning while she chews too. It's kind of strange to see each other out of scrubs and in regular street clothes. Rachelle is dressed in dark jeans and a lilac sweater that make her blue eyes pop, and she'd encouraged me to dress up a bit too, which means I'm in athletic pants and a sweatshirt. I didn't bring fancy with me, and I wonder if I would have packed differently if I'd known Holt would be around.

"And this?" Rachelle holds up her cup of orange-colored juice. "Mara-, mara-, what?"

This one I know. I hold up my own cup. "It's maracuya. Passion fruit juice."

What I don't say is how often we had to hunt down maracuya juice for Holt when we were dating because it's his favorite. It's especially good as a frozen, blended drink.

I take a swig and it washes down the anticucho beautifully. Less beautiful are the flashes of memory that come with the familiar taste. Holtlicking it off his lips with a smile, offering me a taste from his cup, telling me I still tasted better. My cheeks flush at the memory and I avoid his gaze at all costs. No one has ever gotten under my skin the way he used to.

"The fountain show starts in fifteen minutes," Holt says, and I can hear the same memories in his voice. "Let's make our way over there."

"What exactly is the show?" Rachelle asks around a mouthful of meat. Her eyes are trained on her phone as she takes a selfie, most likely posting it on her social accounts.

"There's a huge fountain in the middle that they project shows onto," Holt answers. "I think this month it's the history of Peru. I hear it's pretty cool."

I keep eating, and let myself fall back behind the group, taking in all the water features we pass and promising myself we'll come back before we leave. The park is amazing. It's dark out, and the fountains all have lights. Some are white, but others are colored, and it's a treat for my senses. There have to be at least ten of them, but I have a feeling I'm missing some from this side of the park. I can't wait to explore more.

The vibe in the park is happy, and a sense of wonder fills me as I take it all in. I'm in Peru. South America. A foreign country. Me. Chloe Moore, hater of planes. And it hits me how much I've missed out on with my fears. There's an entire beautiful world out here and what if I'd never gotten brave enough to see it? What a tragedy that would have been.

"You coming?" Holt's voice pulls me out of my thoughts and I see that I've fallen far enough behind that he's paused to wait for me. I can make out the others a few yards ahead of him. "Hustle up, buttercup," he teases, his dark eyes sparking under the bill of his ballcap.

He looks like the same young man who approached me two years ago, with his ballcap and his slight grin, and I remember a thousand timesthat he stood waiting for me to catch up. The warm affection on his face telling me I was his favorite person and me believing it. My gosh how I've missed him. I'm terrified to admit it. Saying I miss him makes me vulnerable, and I really can't survive it. I used up all my brave getting here.

I swallow a suddenly dry piece of chicken and hurry right past him and his just-tight-enough shirt and jeans combo, catching up with the group. I find them up against a boundary of bushes that surround the fountain where the projected show will be. They've saved enough room for Holt and me to squeeze in.

I take in the scene around us. People are everywhere. Vendors selling little light-up trinkets that they toss high into the sky, children running around, parents sitting on picnic blankets further back. It's perfect.

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