Page 5 of The Risks of Reuniting

Thankfully, a regular looking airport station appears again and the train stops abruptly, nearly taking me down once more.

"Atlanta, settle it down," I say out loud. "What's your hurry?"

The doors open on a screech and I hustle off, afraid I'll get shipped back to the main airport if I dillydally at all. I follow the signs to a large open area with shops and food stalls, and check my watch to see that I still have thirty minutes before boarding will start. I toy with getting a snack, but decide I'd rather not tempt the universe after it so kindly digested my pizza. Instead I opt to find a seat and doom-scroll on my phone. Once I board that plane to Lima I'm going to be in close quarters with a stranger for over six hours. I should take the break while I have it.

I look through a list my cousin Lucy sent of romance novels I might like to read while I travel. She's my go-to for book recommendations, and she never lets me down. I only wish I had more time because the list keeps growing while I'm not checking any off.

I'm sitting down at my gate, facing a window with a view of misty fog and large airplanes, when I hear a voice that immediately crawls right up my spine and makes my head tingle. A voice I haven't heard in ten months. A voice that still reverberates in my dreams.

"Chloe?" he says, sounding unsure.

I understand his hesitation. The last time we saw each other, the moment was heated and hurtful things were flung back and forth. Not only that, but my back is to him, and I've chopped my dark brown hair into a pixie cut since we saw each other last. Mostly, though, he'd never expect to see me in Atlanta, much less in an airport. He knows I'm not a flyer. In fact, my dedication to staying in my comfort zone was one of the biggest reasons we fell apart.

That and the fact that he left me. You know, minor detail.

I think about not turning around. I think about it long enough that he takes matters into his own hands and comes around to face me. He's wearing his same style of jeans and t-shirt he always wore, looking casually fashionable. His brown hair is shorter too, shaved on the sides and wavy on top. The well-trimmed beard on his face is new. His hazel eyes under dark brows, however, are exactly the same, painfully reminding me of every time I'd looked into them. I swallow as he says my name a second time.

"Holy . . ." he pauses and rubs a hand over his face. It's so quiet in this little bubble that I can hear the beard hair scratch against his palm. "I thought I saw you walk by, but I was sure I'd imagined you." His voice is rough and awkward. "You look different. You chopped your hair."

I manage a tight smile.As if my pixie-style hair is the only thing that's changed.My lips tremble a little and I clear my throat to speak.

"Hi, Holt," I say in a voice I hope sounds unaffected.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his eyes wide with the same shock I feel.

I don't want to answer that question. He's going to have a second shock pretty quickly here. See, Holt's father is Peruvian, and he is definitely going to wonder why I'd be going there when I hadn't ever gone with him on any of his family trips to the country he loves. Or why I chose Peru out of all the places in the world. I'm sort of embarrassed, actually. I don't want to look like some desperate ex, reaching for any sliver of connection to the man who left me.

But his eyes are steady and watchful, and I can feel his curiosity washing over me.

I'm cringing inside as I manage to say, "I'm, uh, heading to Peru, actually." I clear my throat, again. "I'm doing a humanitarian trip – dental stuff,"I hurry to add.

His hand drops from his face and his eyes grow large. Yep. Shocked. Of course he would be. There's history here, and he's very familiar with all the reasons I shouldn't be standing in front of him telling him this.

I watch with fascination as his lips tug up, some of his usual good humor sparking in his eyes. "Me too."

Confused, my brow drops. "What?"

"Yeah, I'm heading to Peru on a humanitarian trip."

My chest tightens and I clench my fingers into a fist to try to keep from overreacting. During my research I'd found there were several groups providing humanitarian relief in Peru. It's a big country. The odds of us ending up together are tiny. There were dozens of towns and villages needing help.

I'll just make sure I heard him correctly. "What?"

He shifts the bag he's carrying in one hand. "I'm going to Peru, too. Doing some humanitarian work. Construction mostly. I'll be helping to update and stabilize housing."

That makes sense. His dad is a contractor and Holt worked for him for years to pay for his undergrad degree. Holt and his knowledge would be a big asset to a humanitarian effort. I only hope he'll be doing amazing work far, far away from me.

"Where?" I manage. "What city?"

"Lima."

My heart speeds up, which should be impossible. "Oh."

Of course he's not going to one of the outer cities or villages that has volunteer opportunities. Of course we're both situated in Lima. Although, Lima is huge, there's still hope.

He grins, and it makes me feel things I don't want to feel. "I take it that 'oh' means you're going to Lima also?" I nod. "Is the company LiftingHope Worldwide?"

I drop my head forward into my hands. "Oh my gosh." Hope is lost.

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