Page 27 of The Risks of Reuniting

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 hisbrain 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 parentswould 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."

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