“Do you mind just sliding in front of me, dear boy? I’m quite comfortable, and these knees aren’t what they used to be,” a soft, sweet voice says.
I was so wrapped up in what was happening with my suitcase and the red-headed stranger, I hadn’t noticed I was already sitting next to someone. Once the man finally makes his way into his window seat, I sit back down, making myself comfortable with my new seat mates. Next to me, in the middle seat, is a plump, elderly woman, a book in her lap and a fuzzy, dark blue pillow wrapped around her jewelry-filled neck.
As we wait for the rest of the plane to load, I try to catch the chair thief’s eye, but it’s almost as if he’s purposely avoiding me. His eyes remain focused on the tray table locked in front of him.
Cool, I get it. I could come on a little strong.
Before I can slip my headphones in, hoping to make this long flight a little more bearable, the woman beside me rests her wrinkled hand on my arm.
“I’m Alma,” she introduces. “What are your names? If we’re going to Ireland together, we might as well get to know each other.” She glances at the stranger sitting on her other side before turning back to me.
I smile at the seemingly sweet, elderly woman and watch as my stranger catches my gaze. This was going to be horrible for him but totally great for me.
“I’m Charlotte, nice to meet you.”
Mason
I LEFT THE ANNOYING woman outside the gate as fast as I possibly could, attempting to lose myself among the crowds of passengers beginning to board our flight. She was talkative, neurotic and the exact reason why I hated flying, to begin with. Being trapped inside a small metal tube, thousands of miles in the air, surrounded by hundreds of strangers for hours on end wasn’t exactly my favorite situation. Aside from my dislike of flying, I was dreading going to Ireland. It’s not like I didn’t love the country. I grew up there, it was my home. Not to mention, my entire family still lived in the small town of Ennis, in the same house I had grown up in. So, yeah, it’s not like I didn’t want to go back home, I just despised the means it required me to get there—and the circumstances.
Now, even after I had fled my seat as soon as they began boarding, leaving her sitting beside that stupid outlet, I haven’t broken free from the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. As if the travel gods were somehow conspiring against me, the only thing separating her and me on the hours' long journey was an eighty-year-old woman doused in perfume and jewelry. I turned my body away from the two women, building an invisible wall between their seats and mine. Ready to replace my earbuds and hope to tune out any possible distractions, I stop when I hear the elderly woman beside me.
“I’m Alma. So, what are your names? If we’re going to Ireland together, we might as well get to know each other.”
The exasperatingly beautiful, neurotic woman from earlier reaches out her hand, greeting the sweet travel companion dividing us.
“I’m Charlotte, nice to meet you.”
Damn. After hearing her name, I’m no longer sure I want to be broken free of her. Maybe I could get over her quirkiness and obsessive need to be kind to everyone. Or maybe I could stick to my original plan and make it through this flight with minimal conversation.
“Oh, Charlotte is a lovely name,” Alma says, shaking her hand. Her accent is nearly as thick as mine, and I can tell she’s most likely from the same area of Ireland I am.
Alma glances over her shoulder, delivering me her sweetest smile. “It is a lovely name, isn’t it, lad?”
Charlotte’s eyebrows raise in amusement, and a small chuckle erupts from her throat. She smirks, waiting to hear my response.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, deciding on how to respond. Do I tell the truth or lie? Unwilling to give Charlotte the satisfaction I know she’s expecting, I decide to lie.
“Meh, it’s okay. Typical,” I shrug and lean back in my seat, refocusing my gaze on the window beside me. I watch as two men load the rest of the passenger’s luggage underneath the airplane. At the same time, I hear a scoff rise from Charlotte’s mouth, a small wrinkled hand gently slaps my arm.
“Now, lad, that is no way to speak to a kind girlie, such as this one. You apologize to her at once.” I turn my head, breaking my gaze away from the window. Alma arches her thin, grey eyebrows and points to Charlotte. “Go on, apologize to the woman,” she urges.
Rolling my eyes, I groan internally, feeling as if I’m being scolded by my own grandmother. I don’t know why I’m behaving this way. Maybe it’s the combination of travel and Charlotte. The only thing I do know is she’s managed to stir something inside me—my chest burns with warmth, every inch of my body somehow awakened at the sight of her. I grit my teeth and lazily turn my head. I open my mouth, ready to apologize to poor Charlotte when she interrupts.
She narrows her eyes, and I can see the fire building behind them. Her eyes are light brown with small, intricate flecks of green, and despite the anger building in them, my stomach flips. Her eyes pierce me as the words slip from her gorgeous bright red lips.
“No, it’s okay, Alma. Don’t expect much from him. He’s not much of a talker.”
“Oh?” Alma asks, turning to Charlotte. “You two already know each other?”
I narrow my eyes at Charlotte, cursing myself for letting her have this effect on me. I can’t seem to stop myself from speaking to her as if she’s an annoyance. But to be honest, her presence was growing on me. Somehow, the bitterness laced in her sweet voice has turned me on even more. She’s even sexier than the moment she waved her beautiful hands in my face.
“Yeah,” Charlotte retorts, her narrowed eyes matching mine. She presses her lips in a flat line, and despite her obvious urge to fire back, she hesitates. The skin of her neck stretches as she swallows, obviously pausing to think of an explanation of how we met.
“We met outside the gate when we were waiting to board.”
I’m caught off guard by her discretion. I was sure she was going to complain to Alma about how I was probably the rudest man on planet earth for throwing her belongings onto the floor and stealing her seat. When her now sympathetic eyes shift to Noodge’s urn, still resting on my lap, I see the reason why she didn’t. She remembers the second half of our conversation.
She feels bad for me.
Without even realizing it, my shoulders fall with a sigh, and my chest relaxes. My back aches with relief as I sit back in my seat. Why was I so tense? How was it possible for Charlotte to have such an effect on me when I’ve barely known her an hour?
The cabin door closes, and the plane begins backing away from the gate, moving along the runway and taking its place in line for takeoff. The three of us haven’t spoken a word since Charlotte mentioned how we met. I’m about to speak up when Alma places her hand on my arm, nodding her head toward the front of the plane. The flight attendant holds a small seatbelt in front of her, demonstrating how to properly use. Alma’s body and eyes are focused on the flight attendant, absorbing every bit of information as she goes over the safety procedures as if it’s Alma’s first time flying. I tune her out, having heard the instructions enough times to recite them myself. But I allow Alma the silence she desires and don’t speak a word.
Instead, I turn my attention to the window and the open landscape of the many runways of the Los Angeles airport. I clutch my fingers around Noodge’s urn and think back to an hour ago when I first met Charlotte.
When I had finally made it to my gate, I looked down at my phone and realized I had less than five percent battery left. I needed my phone, there was no way I was going to board the plane with it dead. Quickly, I had scanned the area for an open outlet and found one against the wall. Rows of connected blue vinyl seats filled the small area. Walking closer toward the outlet, a small silver suitcase caught my eye. The suitcase was standing upright in front of the blue vinyl seat, someone obviously using it to mark it as theirs. The seat was filled with a few personal items. I was frustrated and knew it was wrong, but I
shoved the neck pillow and whatever else was in the seat with my arm, listening as they fell onto the floor in one big heap. I shuddered, guilt settling in my stomach, but I pushed it away the minute I sat down, resting Noodge’s urn on my lap and shoving my ear buds into my ears.
With the music filling my ears, I didn’t hear her approach. I didn’t know she was attempting to gain my attention until she waved her beautiful, slender, pale hands in my face.
Annoyed with the interruption and her persistence, I ripped out my ear buds with a huff. The blood drained from my face as she spoke, and even before the words spilled out of her mouth, I regretted treating her belongings with such carelessness. Even still, I physically couldn’t get the words past my throat as she pointed to her items on the floor. Something about the way her light brown hair was swept to the side, loosely tied into a braid, caused my stomach to flip with an unfamiliar feeling. Her full lips were painted a bright red. I tightened my grip on Noodge’s urn, feeling the pressure of my jeans growing as every word passed her mouth. It’s amazing the power her voice already had over me.
She continued speaking to me, but I hadn’t heard more than two words she said. Something about offering to share the outlet, I think. I wanted to listen to what she had to say, but the rest of her body had me distracted. Her dark grey t-shirt hung loose against her body, the fabric stretched against her breasts. I fought the urge to keep my eyes trained on the perfect dip of her V-neck as I took in the rest of her body, mesmerized by the way her black leggings hugged every curve of her hips and legs. She looked comfortable, and her outfit was completely cliché for a thirteen-hour flight. Nonetheless, I had never seen anyone so fucking gorgeous in my life.
My mind began to wander. I started to imagine what her ass looked like in those leggings—I didn’t have to wonder long. She turned around, reclaiming her seat beside me, her pillow and purse now gripped between her perfect fingers. I didn’t even notice I had already moved over, allowing her the room to become my traveling companion.
I didn’t have a traveling companion—other than my dead cat’s ashes, currently sitting in my lap—but somehow, the strange woman sitting beside me thought we were friends all of a sudden, just because we were sharing a simple outlet. She must have been crazy.
She rambled on, questioning me about the box sitting on my lap. It wasn’t until she so blatantly loudly asked—for anyone within a twenty-foot radius of us to hear—if my metal box contained a head—an actual head. What was wrong with this woman? Not only did I wonder where she came up with the idea of me casually carrying around a head, but I questioned what on earth happened to this woman over the course of her life to conjure up such thoughts. No one in their right mind would just assume such morbid ideas.
Although I hated to admit, she was somewhat correct in her assumption. The box didn’t carry a head but the ashes of my late cat, Noodge. After reassuring my new travel companion I was not, in fact, carrying around someone’s head, I explained. The moment I spoke Noodge’s name, I knew the laughter was coming as it always did any time I told someone his name. But I loved my cat, and I missed him so much, I was literally flying halfway across the world to spread his ashes back home.
Just when I thought I could get away from the crazy yet gorgeous woman, she was now seated two seats away from me, Alma sitting between us. I didn’t know how I felt about Charlotte yet, my feelings somehow pulled in two directions.
Taking my mind off Charlotte, I slide my phone from my front pocket and text my brother, making sure he’s still going to be at the airport to pick me up after I land. Once he reassures me he’ll be there, I look up from my lap when the flight attendant requests all electronic devices be set to airplane mode during our ascent. After doing so, I slide my phone back into my pocket.
When I turn my attention back toward the front of the plane, the flight attendant is gone, having taken her seat. Suddenly, the plane stops briefly before a loud noise fills the cabin. Within seconds, the plane begins to pick up speed, and the ground outside my window grows smaller and distant.
With the distance growing between us and the ground, I face forward in my seat, staring at the locked tray table in front of me. I fight the urge to glance in Charlotte’s direction, but as the plane levels off and the seatbelt sign turns off, I lose that battle.
Her legs are crossed, and an open book rests in her lap. I watch as she holds the thin page between her fingers, ready for when she finishes reading the last word, so focused on the story. I watch in awe, stunned with her apparent fascination and satisfaction with her book. I cock my head to the side, trying to read the cover and see what has her so enthralled.
Beside me, Alma smiles, trading glances between the both of us. “You know,” she says as she reaches in her purse. “I don’t believe we caught your name.”
Charlotte looks up from her book and blankly stares in my direction, curiosity pulling her away from her story. Her face is void of emotion, and I’m not sure how to read her at this moment. She’s no longer staring at me with amusement or anger, she’s completely blank.
Pulling out three butterscotch candies, Alma hands one to Charlotte, then me.
Charlotte rests her arms on her open book, saving her spot. Slowly, between pinched fingers, she unravels the butterscotch candy, freeing it from its wrapper.
Her eyes don’t break away from mine as she lifts the candy and pops it into her mouth. Slowly, her face changes, her blank stare disappearing. The corner of her mouth curls into a smirk as she sucks on the piece of candy, tossing it from one side of her mouth to the other with her tongue. The hard candy clicks against her teeth, and her brown eyes flicker with amusement.
The familiar pressure grows in my jeans once more. I clear my throat, staring into Charlotte’s eyes, unwilling to break free from this woman’s spell.
“My name is Mason. Mason McConnell.” From the corner of my eye, I catch Alma’s grin growing wider.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a Mason before. Doesn’t sound like a common Irish name, is it lad?”
My eyes are still locked onto Charlotte’s, I grin and feel a chuckle erupt from my chest.
“No, it’s not. It’s French, actually.”
“It’s a lovely name, nonetheless.” Alma turns to Charlotte, nudging her with her elbow. “Isn’t it a lovely name, Charlotte?”
I stifle a laugh, watching as Charlotte continues to toss the piece of candy around her mouth. Using her tongue, she tucks it on the side of her cheek and shrugs her shoulder.
“Meh, it’s okay,” she quips. “Sounds typical to me.” Her eyes light up, staring me down.
My throat dries, and I attempt to rid myself of the feelings she’s so blatantly already stirred inside me. How am I supposed to survive a thirteen hour flight with this woman looking at me like that?
Fuck. I’m screwed.
Charlotte
I WAS REALLY TRYING to keep my shit together. I had my book out during takeoff, so I could grip the edges without seeming like a newbie flyer. I frantically wanted to look at everyone’s faces and shout if the shaking was normal or not, but I figured everyone’s lack of concern or care was answer enough. Mason in the same row was somehow making this entire situation better, putting me at ease. I’d die a thousand deaths before I ever told anyone, but he and Alma were pretty awesome seat mates.
Alma has just started snoozing, and the sun has dipped behind the clouds, not that I could tell entirely, since I had the aisle seat. Mason keeps his shade shut, so if I wanted to take a peek at the clouds, I would have to chance looking through someone else’s. That just added to my frustration with him. Although if I was really mad at him, I wouldn’t give a damn, but something about Mason has me giving all the damns.
I peek at Noodge, resting in his little urn and feel a small glob of emotion trying to climb up my throat. I blink and turn my face to the air vent instead, trying to get my mind off why an attractive man like Mason would be carrying a dead cat halfway across the world. I want t
o hear his story. I want to pay homage to Noodge. He must have been some cat if Mason was willing to fly thousands of miles for him. I'm not sure if I can fully understand the feeling, seeing as I never had pets growing up. My mom worked two jobs to keep food on the table for me and never had the money or time for animals.
As an adult, I had entertained the idea of getting a dog with my boyfriend, but he was never in the mood to talk about it. He had a demanding job, one that required him to work more than a typical eight-hour day. I understood—at least I told myself I did—but when he did have free time, we hardly talked about important things. For the past six months our relationship had become a routine of binge-watching Netflix and having obligatory sex.
I blink at the dim lights in the cabin as that realization settles over me. I love my boyfriend. I love how he takes care of me, how we met, how sweet and handsome he is. But as time has passed, we’ve become more like roommates with benefits than boyfriend and girlfriend. We never go on dates, and there's nothing mysterious or sweet about our connection anymore. All remnants of a lingering spark have all but disappeared.
Like this trip. This trip I had spent an entire year planning and saving for. He was supposed to come with me, knowing how important it was, but it had taken a backseat to his job; everything did—including me.
I release a shaky sigh and decide I need a distraction from my thoughts. I look over at Mason and see he's moved Noodge to the floor between his feet and pulled out a sleek, silver tablet. Using his case, he has it propped up on top of the tray table attached to the back of the seat in front of him. I remove my neck pillow and quickly glance at Alma. She's still sound asleep and slightly snoring.
What are the Chances Page 2