Page 75 of The Risks of Reuniting

Poor guy is still wearing his travel clothes, and I'm glad he'll have some other clothing waiting at his parents' house. I'm sure he's ready to be out of plaster-stained jeans and work boots.

We pull up to the ranch-style house in Cottonwood Heights where Holt was raised, and I put my car in park, soaking it all in as Holt reaches for the passenger door to let himself out. I haven't been here for a long time. Holt lived here while we were dating, working for his dad and commuting to the U. It kept schooling costs low, and as an only child he didn't have much motivation to leave. I hope he's right about how his parents feel regarding me being here again.

I don't have to wait long to find out. Holt is at my door, opening it because I was paralyzed in memory, when his mom comes trotting out the front door, arms wide, her smile filling her face, her blonde hair bopping along with her. She's in a summer dress, and her feet are bare, and she looks younger than she is. Holt's mother is a beautiful woman, and that's only increased by the adoration on her face as she greets her son.

"Ah, welcome home," she cries. Then, she says a few words to him in Spanish that are for him alone. His mother is American, but she learned Spanish years ago so that they could speak both languages as a family.

By now I've gotten out of the car and she turns to greet me. I stiffen, not knowing what to expect, but her eyes glisten as she reaches for me and envelops me in a hug. Sandra Alvarez is a woman of emotion. She experiences life fully – her laughter and tears getting equal time. I love that about her, and I squeeze her back.

"Welcome Chloe. We've missed you so much," she cries, her delicious perfumewrapping around me.

"Thank you." It's all I can manage over the huge lump in my throat. The scent invokes memory. "It's good to see you."

I'm released when Holt's dad lumbers over, his larger body shielding his wife from the sun. His dark hair is military short, his black eyes flashing with good humor. He's wearing the same bowling-style shirt he always does on weekends, and I smile at the palm tree design. He reaches out a beefy hand and shakes mine, nearly cracking the bones, and I laugh as Holt tells him to take it easy and Sandra slaps at his arm.

"Victor," she scolds lightly. "Be soft."

"Hola, Chloe," he says in his lilting accent. "Bienvenida."Welcome.

Holt gets his luggage from my trunk and we follow his parents inside, Sandra chatting a million miles a minute while Victor brings up the rear. Holt keeps smiling at me over his shoulder, like he can't believe all his favorite people are together, and it makes my stomach flip. I like it too.

Holt gets me settled with his parents in their cozy family room, with their over-stuffed couches and big pillows, and makes us all swear to not say a word while he finds fresh clothing. Of course, that lasts about two seconds before Sandra is peppering me with questions about how this all came about. Turns out that while Holt had told them about me being in Peru, it wasn't until earlier today that he'd mentioned we were back together. I give them the short version, and their expressions shift throughout the telling, echoing my own surprise and dawning realizations.

When Holt returns he's dressed in a button-down shirt and gray khaki slim-fit pants. I don't hate the look. I take him in the same way he'd done to me, and when he sits next to me on the couch and takes my hand, my entire face feels red. I sort of wish we were alone.

"You two must be starving." Sandra jumps up with a knowing look. "I have sandwiches already made. We can eat in here."

She disappears into the kitchen while Holt chats with his dad about the construction efforts at Lifting Hope and some of his thoughts on the shanty towns climbing the hillside. My heart is still tender for the people there, and probably always will be. Sandra slips right back into the flow of conversation when she returns with loaded plates, and Holt and I dig right in, which makes her smile.

The conversation slows as we finish eating, and I know that it's time for the heavy questions. My stomach sort of wishes I'd eaten less. Holt and I were too busy being giddy over reconnecting to have those heavy talks. I don't know how we spent the last week talking nonstop but came away with no concrete plan other thanI like you, let's be boyfriend-girlfriend again. I'm embarrassed – but in a good way where I don't really care that it's embarrassing. I can't speak for him, but for myself I figured we'd have time once we were back in the States.

Surprise – we're here.

"So . . ." Sandra's face grows apologetic, and I understand that she doesn't really want to ask, but as a mom, she's going to anyway. "What's the plan here?"

I thought a lot about it while we showered at my place, and I figured that the truth is all we can do, so I say, "We have a lot to figure out still . . . "

But Holt puts his hand on my knee, stopping me, and looks at me rather than his parents.

"We do have a lot to figure out, and I don't know how you feel, but I think it makes the most sense for me to move back to Salt Lake," he states.

I look at him. "What?"

He squeezes my knee. "I'm not making a decision until we've hashed out all the options, but I think a good start would be seeing if I can getinto the U and transfer back. I was accepted once. I think I could get accepted again," he adds.

Sandra smiles, obviously thrilled with the idea of her baby being close again. Victor and I exchange a look and both frown, understanding each other perfectly.

"Can you transfer out once you're in the program?" Victor asks, voicing my same concern.

Holt's face is earnest, his hand warm on my leg as he looks to his father. "I'd like to meet with admissions while I'm here this month and find out."

"And if the answer is no?" Victor asks.

Holt swallows hard and looks back at me. "I will still choose Chloe. I'll figure out something different . . ."

"Absolutely not!" I nearly shout. "You are not giving up your pharmacy school dreams for me." The words fly out, a visceral reaction, and I realize the truth of them.

"Well, we're not doing long distance," Holt argues.

---