Chapter 8
One year later
Hunter finished eating the breakfast sweet potato and screwed on tight the thermos full of coffee he had made for Dimas and himself. He stood by the window and gazed out into the cool, damp Lima morning. Already traffic started picking up, but on the sidewalks here and there men and women walked their dogs. Dimas had wanted to leave earlier to catch Valparaíso as the sun hit the water, but they woke up later than they had planned. They agreed to tour one of the poet Pablo Neruda’s house and stop at one of the wineries on their way to the coast.
“You ready to go, babe?” Dimas asked. His freshly showered hair glistened in the light. “Ready to see the other sites of Peru?”
“Yes.” Hunter smiled as he kissed his fiancé. “Remind me to grab the small bag of food your
