Page 49 of The Risks of Reuniting

"What about the ocean?" I ask. "We are on the coast."

"It would take a long time to get there, but, yeah, we could hire a car to take us," he responds.

"You don't sound very enthusiastic about that option," I state, opening my eyes and tilting my head his direction.

Rachelle sits between us, but our eyes meet and he shrugs. "It sounds like a lot of work."

"And work is not what we're looking for more of," I mope.

"I have an idea," Cesar slaps his hands against his legs. "Can the chicas help with the door and I will go see? The wood is cut."

Holt nods. "We only have the door left and don't need four of us for that."

It feels like Cesar should be one of the three of who remain, but he stands and dusts off his pants before grabbing his water and food wrappers left from lunch hours ago and heading down the hillside. I watch him go with a lazy, content smile on my face. My body is tired and warm, but I feel good about helping build a home for a family in need.

After a few more minutes Holt stands and offers one hand to both me and Rachelle. Rachelle goes first, and when it's my turn, I take it and allow him to tug me to my feet. In a moment of courage, I don't slow my forward momentum, and end up nearly pressed up against him. I flatten the hand he isn't holding against his chest and smile up at him. He's surprised at first, but then his gaze warms, and I see Rachelle move away silently in my side vision.

"Sorry," I whisper.

His free hand lands on my waist, but he doesn't pull me close and I don't move either.

"It's all good," he breathes.

I smile at him and then step back, moving to the area where Cesar had stacked the cut wood while trying to pretend that my heart isn't going double time.

Holt joins me and Rachelle and explains the process. It basically involves nailing four pieces of wood to form a rectangular frame, and then attaching a piece of plywood to the frame with hinges to form a door. It's crude and rudimentary, but I've seen enough to know that a lot of families use curtains and that this will be a step up. My heart pinches for the millionth time, as I promise myself to never forget this experience and always live my life with gratitude.

The three of us work together with me and Rachelle holding things in place while Holt places and nails everything together. He works quickly and efficiently, not saying much outside of directions, and it's done quicker than I would have expected. Holt moves to the doorway of the dwelling and installs a few hinges in the jam, while Rachelle does the same thing on the door, and within another half-hour there's a working front door. The three of us stand outside with our hands on our hips and satisfaction running through our veins. We did it. Goal accomplished.

Holt surprises me by putting an arm around my shoulders and then Rachelle's and pulling us into a sweaty group hug, his chin resting on my head as we make contact. "Couldn't have done it without the extra help," he says, squeezing us and then releasing. "Thank you so much."

Rachelle giggles and I fight off a blush. He smells warm and familiar and my skin likes the feeling of being up against him.

"We saved you guys," I say, crossing my arms across my chest. "You owe us."

Rachelle agrees. "We accept payment in ice cream cones and chocolate bars."

"Both of which I keep under my bed," Holt answers. "You're in luck."

We chuckle and I point at the top of the tiny house. "What about the roof? It's just beams now."

Holt nods. "Cesar and I will come tomorrow and put the boards and tarp up."

His voice sounds happy, and I can see that sense of satisfaction shine through – probably because I'm feeling some of it too.

Thirty minutes later we drag ourselves through the gate of the center, arms full of tools and supplies, aching from the weight after a full day of work. It's nearly six p.m. and dinner service starts soon. I'm so grateful we didn't miss it, that I feel tears welling. I need food. My arms are like rubber bands as I follow Holt to the side of the courtyard where the tools are stored in a locked shed. Rachelle enters first, and then it's Holt's turn to empty his arms, followed by me. Rachelle ducks out to go wash up a bit as Holt stacks his items. Finally, just when my arms are screaming to lighten my load, Holt turns back and reaches for what I'm carrying.

"You look dead on your feet," he says, taking the box I'm holding.

"It's a happy tired," I answer truthfully. "Feels good."

He nods. "You need to eat."

"That's a fact," I respond easily, running my fingers through my hair.

"You want to sit together?" he asks, and I can tell how casual he's trying to be. He's keeping his back to me, unnecessarily moving things around, his tone uber chill.

I bite at my lip. "Yeah."

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