“She’s not my girlfriend,” I choke out. My stomach dips, hearing his reference to Charlotte being my girlfriend.
“Could have fooled me.” Shrugging, he takes another spoonful of his breakfast, opening the newspaper resting in the middle of the table.
I stare at Danny for a moment, wondering how in the hell he came up with the assumption Charlotte was my girlfriend. He’s never even seen the two of us together yet. He’s been here one day, so have Charlotte and me.
Leaving Danny to his breakfast, I slide on my worn Converse shoes and open the sliding door leading to the garden. As I’m weaving in and out of my mother’s herbs and flowers, I spot Charlotte sitting underneath my childhood tree, her legs crossed and her back resting against the bark. The same book she was reading on the flight rests in her lap, open to the middle. As I draw closer to her, she doesn’t break away from her reading. My chest warms, amazed at how enthralled she becomes when it comes to reading a story. Without saying a word, I sit down beside her, my knee brushing against hers. When I glance over, she looks up from her book, finally noticing me.
“Morning,” she grins.
“Good morning.” A small laugh bubbles up from my throat. Taking a deep breath, I’m thankful yet disappointed she’s no longer wearing her small tank top and shorts from last night. Instead, she’s wearing a black and white plaid shirt and dark skinny jeans, her brown hair tied up in a high messy bun. Regardless, I can’t help but notice how gorgeous she looks even when dressed so casually.
Squinting against the morning sun, I stare out into the bed of roses in front of me.
“Did you sleep well?” I smirk, hoping she knows I’m referring to her attempt at keeping us separated.
“I did,” she beams.
When I turn to look into her eyes, I can see the spark hidden within them. She’s thinking about those pillows too.
She closes her book, but keeps one finger held between the pages, keeping her place. Looking up, she follows my gaze, fixating on the beds of flowers as well.
“Mason,” she whispers.
I break away from the flowers and turn my head. She’s still staring straight ahead, but her eyes tense, thoughts building behind them.
“What am I going to do about my wallet? I don’t have my ID, I don’t have any money. I don’t have anything.” She turns her attention to her book, still resting in her lap. Dog-earing her page, she closes it and runs her palm down the cover.
“Did you call your bank to cancel your cards?”
“Yeah.” She swallows and takes a deep breath. “It was the first thing I did when I woke up.”
“Good.” I feel a bit better knowing the asshole won’t be able to use her cards. “I’m not sure there’s much else you can do, but we’ll figure something out. You still have your passport though, right?”
“Thankfully, yes. I didn’t bring it with me to the marketplace. I can’t even imagine what kind of mess that could have been.”
I nod but don’t know what to say, knowing no amount of words can comfort her. I can’t promise her we’ll find her wallet, I don’t think we’ll be able to. But the question of what Charlotte was doing down at that pub still eats away at my curiosity. I pick a blade of grass, twirling it between my fingers.
“What were you doing down at that pub, anyway?” As the seconds pass with no answer, I add, “I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t want to talk to me about it, and it’s none of my business, but I’m just trying to understand. I wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear someone had robbed you.”
She pauses, staring into my eyes. Her breathing suddenly fills the open space between us, her small breaths becoming shallower with every rush of air between her bare lips.
“I’m an only child.” Clearing her throat, she briefly closes her eyes before she continues. “My dad left when I was two, and my mom died when I was thirteen. After losing my mom, I was forced to live with an estranged cousin of my mothers. She was old and died about two years after she took me in. After that, I was sent to live with some estranged uncle who drank too much and was hardly home. I never really thought much about not having family, but after being with Kyle for a bit, I realized I wanted my own family to turn to. So, last year I took one of those ancestry DNA kits and found out I’m over sixty percent Irish with my family originating in the Ennis area. Since Kyle was the one who urged me to get the kit in the first place, I asked him if we could plan a trip here together since he went to college here and knew Sam.”
A burning sensation grows beneath my skin at her mention of Kyle. Looking at Charlotte, you’d never guess she had grown up without a family. She’s so put together and obviously knows how to take care of herself. Well, except for last night, but I don’t hold the one night against her.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mother.” I’m not sure what else to say. Charlotte doesn’t seem emotional about it since it’s been about fifteen years. Still, they're the only words I can think to say.
She sends me a small nod of appreciation. “Anyway,” she sighs. “I made the trip even though I was coming by myself. I knew I had Sam here, so I wasn’t too worried about it.”
“Sam,” I scoff. I shake my head in disapproval. How could Sam and Kyle do this to Charlotte? How could the most important people in her life leave her stranded in a country she’s never been to?
Ignoring my remark, she continues. “I went down to the pub to find out if I could find someone who knew anyone with the same last name.”
I think back to the first time I met Charlotte on our flight from L.A. when she had introduced herself to Alma. She had only mentioned her first name.
“What’s your last name? Maybe I could help you.”
“Kelley,” she says, wincing, almost as if she already knows my response.
Laughing, I press my hand against my chest and tilt my head back. The morning sun warms my face as I look up into the tree hanging above us. Once I’m able to control myself, I lean my back against the tree and smile at Charlotte. Her eyes are narrowed, obviously filled with anger, her lips pressed tightly together, annoyance written all over her face.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but that is one of the most common Irish names to ever exist. It’s right up there with my name, McConnell.”
“Sure, laugh it up.” Rolling her eyes, she stands up and dusts off her pants. “You’re just like the men down at that pub.” She grips her book between her fingers and begins making her way back to the house, not stopping as she continues. “You know what? I don’t need you, and I don’t need them. It’s like I said yesterday, I can find my own way.”
Jogging to catch up to her, I grab her elbow, urging her to stop.
“Char, please. Wait up.”
Stopping, her eyes dart from my hand on her elbow to my face. Suddenly, her face softens slightly, and the fire leaves her eyes.
“I’m doing this no matter what,” she grits out. “With or without help.”
I stare into her eyes, watching as they well with tears. I can tell Charlotte’s a strong woman, and despite having her wallet stolen, I know she could handle herself. But as my fingers grip the unbelievably soft, smooth skin of her arm, I can’t imagine not spending more time with her. I can’t imagine her exploring Ireland without me, finding the answers she’s been searching for. And I can’t imagine having to spend an entire day without her, only to wait until we lie in a bed together, divided by pillows. If Sam and Kyle won’t be there for her, I sure as hell will.
“Listen,” I breathe. “I’m sorry. I’ll go with you.”
“What?” she asks, her eyes searching mine.
“I’ll help you find your family.”
“I don’t understand.” She glances around the garden as if it somehow will answer the questions floating inside her brain. “Why would you want to help me? I thought I was an inconvenience.”
My stomach twists at her comment. I think back to yesterday when Charlotte had overheard me yelling at Sam how I couldn’t sta
nd to be around her. I didn’t know it then, but I was lying, and I would be lying now if I told her the same thing.
“What can I say?” Shrugging, I smirk and let go of her elbow. “You’re kind of growing on me.”
Charlotte
THE SUN IS OUT, pouring into every little nook and cranny of the landscape, kissing it with warmth and infusing it with happiness. I’m grateful for the sunglasses I have perched on my face, hiding how often my gaze wanders over Mason’s face and body. He’s wearing a dark green Henley with the sleeves rolled up, showcasing forearms corded with muscles accountants shouldn’t have. Every time he moves, his shirt shifts, revealing his chest, abs, and the other unfair things someone with the world’s most boring job shouldn’t have. Seriously, he probably sits in some boring, whitewashed cubicle all day, typing numbers into a computer. He must spend every minute of his free time at the gym. Who knows? The shirt is insanely inappropriate, and the further we walk into town, the closer I get to ducking into a tourist shop just to buy him the baggiest shirt I can find.
He has a pair of dark sunglasses and dark blue jeans that fit into him snugly and perfectly. I wish I could snag a burlap sack, toss it over him, and douse the image he’s creating with his come-visit-Ireland-because-of-hunks-like-this look he has going on. It doesn’t help matters at all he’s stopped treating me with animosity. No, he’s being absurdly nice, sweet even, and it’s the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. I can already tell my mind is crossing the line from detesting Mason to thinking outrageously inappropriate thoughts—I’m starting to think of him as a friend. A friend who also happens to be insanely gorgeous.
“Okay, I’m a wee bit out of habit, so forgive me,” Mason says, his finger pointing at a dot on the small tourist map he found at the visitor center. “But I’m pretty sure the church we’re looking for is up here and around the corner.” He glances over at me but keeps his finger in place. I lean over a fraction, the movement causing us to step to the side of the sidewalk and stop.
I try to follow Mason’s finger, but all the blue and red lines along the map aren’t making any sense. It also could have something to do with the fact Mason’s cedar scent is suddenly overwhelming my senses. Was I half animal or something? I have the deepest urge to stick my nose to his throat and inhale until it hurts. He’s literally clouding my judgment. God, I’m strange.
Trying to snap out of it, I shake my head and correct myself, giving him a wide berth.
“I’ll have to take your word for it. I’m not sure what to look at,” I resign, urging myself to move forward.
The street is bustling with activity, which makes walking with any kind of distance from Mason difficult. He follows me and keeps his gait loose and low-key like he has all the time in the world to find this church. To be honest, I feel like we do. I was on a mission to find my family, but I’m past the point of pretending I’m not enjoying Mason’s company.
We turn the corner and there ahead is the large church Mason had promised.
Pointy.
It’s the first thing I think as I ogle the old, stone building. It has a substantial, pointed roof with a large bell at the top. Mason picks up his steps, grabbing my hand as we draw closer.
“Come on, let’s see if anyone can help us,” he says over his shoulder. “They’re supposed to have business hours, but who knows.” He powers forward, and I can’t help but feel my chest fill with warmth. His eyes are lit with excitement, his body obviously buzzing with curiosity of what we might find out. His excitement only intensifies mine.
I try to relax and calm myself. We’re about to ask if we can examine some of the older historical records the church has been entrusted with. Once upon a time, nearly everyone in town attended one church before there were multiple, and this was the oldest one standing. The records act as a census, showing plot locations, family connections, and more. It’s a start, and if this doesn’t work, there’s the library containing older census records and an actual heritage center outside the city limits.
Mason has all these ideas to help me find the answers I came here for. His eagerness to help is a vibrant thing, buzzing under my skin. That mixed with my growing attraction to him and sleeping next to him at night is a problem—a very confusing problem. One I need to be cautious of and treat like a dangerous disease that could be caught if the correct precautions aren’t taken.
#
We’ve spent the last hour pouring over a large, dusty, leather-bound book. I didn’t expect Mason to actually help me read all the names. I thought he’d lie down in a pew or something and take a power nap, but he was right next to me, scanning page after page. I sit back a fraction and watch him as he skims through another page. A rogue piece of hair falls slightly over his forehead, and his beautiful eyes narrow, reading the words printed along each page. Deep in thought, he continues gnawing on his pencil, and damn if I couldn’t break my eyes away from his lips.
My stomach dips, and guilt assaults me. I have no right looking at him like this. I have a boyfriend at home. One I was still learning to forgive, but he’s there just the same.
“I think we should head out,” Mason says, standing up from his chair. “We have a lead that will take us over to Killoo. It’ll take a good bit of the day to get there.” He raises his arms, stretching his body, his Henley lifting up, showing those abs and the lower V dipping below his jeans.
I swallow and shut my eyes, closing the large book with a bit of a thud. I slowly stand and follow Mason out of the large building.
“What’s the plan?” I ask, readjusting my sunglasses. “If it will take us a while, should we call for a ride?”
Mason looks in one direction down the street, then swings his head to scan the other, obviously searching for something. A second later, he’s jogging over to a man who’s loading flowers into the back of a small delivery truck. I stay where I am, crossing my arms over my stomach, butterflies dancing in my belly as I watch Mason. From what I’m able to tell, it looks like he’s trying to convince the florist to drive us, pointing to me, then the truck.
A moment later, after the gentleman with the flowers agrees to whatever Mason asked, Mason jogs back over to me with a brilliant smile on his face.
“Found us a ride,” he breathes.
I look past him at the small truck. From the looks of it, it could barely fit the driver.
“Are we sitting in the back?” I ask, shading my eyes to get a better look at our new mode of transportation.
“Uh, no,” Mason gives a half-hearted laugh. “Where we’re headed has a bit of an incline, so riding in the back won’t be possible.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, pressing his lips together in a flat line. “We’re going to share a seat.”
He doesn’t bother waiting for my reaction, instead, he grabs my hand and leads me over to the light green truck filled with every flower imaginable. To be honest, it reminds me of Mason’s mother’s garden.
“Mason!” I whisper-yell, trying to regain his attention. “That’s not legal. We can’t share a seat.”
“This is Ireland, not America,” he explains over his shoulder. “We won’t get in trouble. Besides, you want to walk there?”
We stop in front of the truck’s passenger door, the delivery man already inside. I swallow my nerves and let Mason open the door. If we’re doing this, I’m not going to make the first move. If I don’t, I’m not making any choices. And if I’m not the one making any choices, I can’t be found guilty. Right?
Mason steps up and situates himself in the small seat beside the driver. This truck was surely designed for clowns. There was no way I was going to be sitting on his lap the entire way.
I eye the proximity to the driver and how little room there is for me in the cab. I begin to shake my head, ready for a convincing argument about calling an Uber or the many cab options when Mason reaches out and tugs on my hand.
“I don’t think this is a very good idea,” I say warily, still standing in the street. I’m not o
nly thinking of how tight the ride will be but also about Kyle—and not in the way a typical girlfriend should when thinking about her boyfriend. All the ways I should be thinking about Kyle and how wrong it would be for me to sit on another man’s lap, I’m thinking how I wish Kyle wasn’t even an issue to begin with.
“Come on, it’ll be fine.” Mason rolls his eyes, tugging on my hand again. He pulls me, and I awkwardly land halfway on his lap. Placing his hands on my hips, he moves me so I’m sitting fully on his legs, against his chest. With just enough space between us and the door, he leans over and squeezes it shut.
Clasping my hands in my lap, over my purse, I hold my breath as the truck lurches forward, settling into gear. The driver is a solid man, looking to be in his late fifties, early sixties. The small frown buried underneath his thick grey mustache makes me feel uneasy. I hope we haven’t put him out of his way.
I curl myself further into Mason as much as I can, attempting to steady myself. His body is sturdy and warm, and I find myself comforted the closer I am. I try to listen to what the two of them are talking about, but they’re speaking in pure Irish dialect, and my ears are busy thrumming from my erratic heartbeat.
Suddenly, we’re in the country and quickly approaching a hill, one I was sure we were going to avoid. It looks like one of those hills that belongs in an episode of Unsolved Mysteries. I don’t have a chance to ask if we’re taking a different route because a second later, my stomach drops and nausea rises in my throat. The entire truck catches air as we nosedive down the incline.
The road isn’t paved, all dirt, covered in ruts and holes. The truck shakes as we head down the side of the mountain. I’m starting to lose it the further down we go. Squeezing my eyes shut, I feel the truck hit hole after hole, dip after dip. After another significant dip, I open my eyes, only to find myself spotting a sharp curve up ahead. Our driver’s still talking about local livestock or some shit like that, seemingly unfazed with our quite literal rocky situation, showing no signs of slowing down.
What are the Chances Page 7