What are the Chances
Page 9
I must be experiencing some form of déjà vu because the next thing I see is a pillow flying toward me. It smacks me against my face and lands in my lap. Without a thought, I toss it to the floor.
“What is it with you and hitting me with pillows?” I ask with a smile.
Laughing, Charlotte tilts her head back, then shakes it back and forth. “I don’t know. Something about hitting you with them is oddly satisfying.”
“I’m glad you get enjoyment out of beatin’ me then.”
“Anyway,” she sighs with a roll of her eyes. “What were your plans for spreading Noodge’s ashes? You know, before I came into your life and messed everything up.”
“You didn’t mess everything up.” I pause, allowing her to feel my sincerity with my words. It’s true, I’m not bothered Charlotte somehow rearranged my plans with her quest to find her family. I was the one who offered, in the first place. I lie back on the bed, my head gently falling against my pillow. Charlotte follows suit, turning toward me as I raise my arms and rest my hands behind my head. Turning my head slightly, I catch her staring at me, her hands tucked under her cheek, her mouth curled into a small smile.
“But,” I explain, “my plan was to spread his ashes over the Cliffs of Moher.”
“Really?” she asks, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Huh. How far away are the cliffs?”
“Only about a forty-five minute drive.”
“Okay.” Her mouth presses into a flat line, and her forehead creases in thought. “Let’s go tomorrow.”
“What?” I halfway sit up, propping up on my elbow, resting my head on my hand. Then this feeling washes over me, it only lasts for a split second, I’m looking down at Charlotte, her hands still pressed between her cheek and pillow, and I feel it—it feels as if we're a couple. A pair in love, negotiating and making plans for the next day. For one unbelievable, fleeting moment, I feel like Charlotte Kelley is mine.
But the sickness soon overtakes me, remembering the picture of Kyle in my phone. I ignore it once again and come back to my conversation with Charlotte.
“What about going to Ballyalla to follow up on Harold’s lead?”
“It can wait another day,” she doesn’t hesitate when she whispers, her voice filling the few inches between our faces.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” she breathes. “I’ve waited twenty-eight years, I can wait another day. I’d rather spend the day with you, paying tribute to Noodge.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Smiling, she slowly closes her eyes and adjusts her face against her hands, deeper into the pillow. Moments pass as I keep my eyes trained on her. Breaking them away, I look up at the ceiling, listening as Charlotte’s breathing deepens, pulling her into a deeper sleep.
When my eyes start to feel heavy, I turn on my side to face Charlotte. As I slide my hands under the pillow and bend my leg, I realize there’s nothing dividing us.
Charlotte didn’t bother building her pillow wall. There’s nothing keeping us separated.
***
The next morning, I wake up with my arm wrapped around one of my mother’s many pillows. I still haven’t opened my eyes and stay in bed longer than I usually would, allowing the sleep to slowly wear off my body. I’m warm with the blankets tangled around my legs and the pillow beneath my arm, but my heart drops and my arm flexes when the pillow beneath my arm moves.
My eyes snap open, and my heart rises in my throat when I realize it isn’t a pillow—it’s Charlotte.
She’s facing me, her arms crossed over her chest, pressed between her body and mine. She hasn’t woken up yet. Selfishly, I don’t wake her. In fact, I don’t even try to move. I don’t condone cheating, never have. Technically, we weren’t doing anything wrong. There literally was nowhere else for us to sleep, and how can you blame someone for doing something in their sleep? It’s not like I had consciously wrapped myself around Charlotte. Does that make me a bad human being?
No, it doesn’t make me a bad human. It does, however, make me a man who woke up with a beautiful woman buried underneath his arm. I savor the feeling, anxiously waiting for the moment she finally wakes up, discovering our glorious predicament. I press my fingertips into the soft flesh of her back. Would she be angry? Would she be happy?
I don’t have to think on it long before Charlotte stirs beneath me, a small hum escaping her throat. Her lips are pressed into a thin line as she inhales a deep breath through her nose. My stomach twists with excitement, and the all too familiar pressure grows beneath my waist. A fraction of an inch closer and I could answer one of the questions that have been lingering inside me since the moment I laid eyes on her. I could press my lips to hers so easily. How can one act be so simple, yet so monumental at the same time?
Slowly, she opens her eyes, and they land on me. As if set in slow motion, her eyes widen. She surprises me, simply staring at me. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even try.
Her lack of reaction catches me off guard, and for a split second, I internally freak out. Not because I feel like I’ve done something wrong, but I’m worried about Charlotte. Is she one of those people who can sleep with her eyes open? Aren’t there people who can do that? Maybe she doesn’t realize what’s going on right now, and she’s in some other state of mind.
Her hands pressed against my chest, my attention turns to the speed of my heart. It’s thrashing within the walls of my chest, and I start to wonder whether Charlotte can hear it. Can people who sleep with their eyes open even hear what’s going on around them? I take a chance, testing my theory.
“Good morning, Char,” I mutter, clearing my throat.
She blinks.
“Good morning,” she hesitates.
Oh good, she’s not one of those freaky people who can sleep with their eyes wide open. I internally sigh with relief.
Her face is filled with questioning surprise, and I want to smile. I want to smile at how beautiful she looks with the sun beaming down on her, my arm wrapped around her small frame. I hold back the smile when she slowly scoots backward, sliding out of the bed. When she finally stands, the next word out of her mouth is the last one I thought I would ever hear after the moment we just shared.
“Coffee.”
“Coffee?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Yes.” Turning away, she frantically walks across the room, heading toward her suitcase. “We’ll need lots of coffee for our trip. Can you start some while I get ready?”
Emerging from the bathroom, she holds her toothbrush in one hand, toothpaste in the other.
Glancing around the room, unsure of what’s happening, I toss the blanket aside and stand up.
“Sure. Of course I can.”
“Great,” she exclaims on a sigh. Grinning, she quickly turns around and shuts the bathroom door behind her.
I don’t leave the room right away, confused about what just happened. She didn’t react the way I thought she would, and she definitely smiled before turning around, hiding herself in the bathroom. The only things I do know for certain are Charlotte wasn’t completely against what happened, and I was tasked with making coffee. Deciding there was only one of those things I can control, I leave Charlotte in the room to go make a damn pot of coffee.
After we each shower, I make sure Noodge is strapped safely in the back seat of my father’s car, and Charlotte and I have a hot cup of coffee for the journey. It’s only a short forty-five minute drive, but I treat it as if we’re about to undertake a massive road trip. My body and heart hum with excitement, knowing I’m going to spend another full day with Charlotte.
Despite my excitement, the knowledge of Kyle’s indiscretion continues to eat away at me. Fifteen minutes into our trip, I push it back for the hundredth time, swallowing the sickness.
I thought Charlotte would act differently toward me after finding herself wrapped up in my arm this morning, but since she emerged from the bedroom, dressed for Noodge’s memorial, she’s acted the same as always—a little demandi
ng, a little dramatic, wrapped up in her signature sweetness. And since we’ve been in the car, I’ve sighed with relief.
Charlotte twists in her seat, taking a glance at Noodge’s urn before looking back at me.
“So, are the cliffs special to you and Noodge? I’m sensing some kind of story behind them,” she giggles.
I tighten my grip around the steering wheel, willing myself to remain focused on the road instead of Charlotte’s gorgeous face.
“One day, when Sam and I were about ten years old, our parents took us to the Cliffs.” I take a deep breath, feeling a grin beginning to surface. “I mean, we’d been several times, but this time was a little different. Sam, being the terrible older brother he was, convinced me to follow him farther down the trail. We snuck away from our parents, and by the time we wanted to go back and find them, we realized we had gone nearly a quarter of the trail by ourselves.”
“Sounds like something Sam would do,” Charlotte laughs and rests her hand on her thigh.
I can’t help noticing she’s inching closer to me, farther away from her side of the door, leaning toward the center console.
“He’s always been such a jerk.” Sending her a wink, I rest my elbow on the center console, leaning toward her. I can’t help it. I’m naturally drawn to her.
“So, how did you get back? And where does Noodge come in to all this?”
Her genuine interest and curiosity will me to continue. The sun drapes across her smooth skin and the blue flower printed sundress she’s wearing.
“Well,” I continue. “It took forever for Sam and me to make our way back to our parents, but when we were about halfway back, we heard a squeal coming from the side of the trail. Following the sound, we realized it was a cat’s meow, not just a cat, but a wee kitten’s meow. You know, like the real high pitched kind. I bent over the side of the trail, down to where the cliff begins to slope, and behind one of the rocks was Noodge. The poor lad was tucked behind the rock.”
“Oh my goodness.” She’s resting her left hand over her chest like she can’t believe the story I’m telling her.
“Without thinking, I climbed down the slope to where Noodge was and scooped him up. I tucked him into the front pocket of my hoodie the entire walk back. It didn’t take me long to come up with his name. He kept sticking his head out of the pocket and nudging my hand with his nose, so I named him Noodge. Once we found our parents, they were frantic. They couldn’t believe we had just wandered off without them.”
“How much trouble did you guys get in?”
“Oh,” I chuckle. “We were grounded for a month.”
Charlotte shakes her head, the grin still plastered on her face. She swipes her tongue across her lips before biting on the corner. My stomach dips, and the desire to kiss her intensifies with every passing second. My willingness to fight my feelings for her is becoming all too difficult to ignore. Slowly but surely, she’s breaking down every last defense I have left.
“You must have really worried your parents then, huh?” She rests her elbow on the center console, her whole arm pushing against mine. I can’t help but notice when she nudges me, almost as if she’s blatantly showing me what she’s doing—as if I didn’t already know.
“It was totally worth the month of grounding though.” I turn to smile at Charlotte, nudging her back with my shoulder. “If Sam hadn’t convinced me to venture out, we never would have found Noodge. He was the best cat and lived a long and happy seventeen years.”
“Well, he had you to take care of him, so I guess his life couldn’t have been that bad.” She nudges my shoulder one more time before picking up her coffee and bringing it to her lips. Even as she takes a sip, her lips are still spread in a smile, the same glint of teasing in her eyes.
Damn, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think Charlotte was trying to tell me something.
Fuck it, I tell myself. It hits me. At some point during the rest of our trip, I’m going to kiss Charlotte.
I knew it was no longer a matter of if but a matter of when.
Charlotte
I TOOK DOWN THE pillow wall. I laid there last night, watching Mason sleep, like a total creeper. His long eyelashes fanned his handsome face, and his ridiculous lips were slightly parted, just the lightest sound of breathing. I watched him in the dark until my eyes hurt, until I could no longer keep them open.
His words lodged themselves into my head and slowly made their way down to my heart. It was more than what Mason said about me deserving better. It was the fact when I walked in on Kyle nearly a year ago, talking with that woman, something in his eyes told me he’d only hung up because of guilt—not because of love.
That look has been in his eyes every day since and was the reason we broke up once before. I left for three months, ready to be done. I convinced myself I was finished. I sure as hell didn’t want to be with someone out of obligation—or rather I didn’t want them to be with me because of it. Then he begged. He begged me for weeks to come back and made up stories about how stupid he was and how brief his online relationship had been. I wanted to stop listening to his excuses, but then he went on to explain how it simply just happened, and he didn’t mean it. How we were meant for each other.
Call me a fool—I don’t like giving up on people—but I was blind as a bat when people had already given up on me.
After spending the day with Mason and feeling him so close last night, I had two revelations. One, I wanted him to kiss me last night and two, I like him… more than I should.
So, I snuck out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom, my phone in hand, quietly shutting the door, and powered it on. Honestly, I’d ignored my cell since I landed and hadn’t told Kyle I had arrived in Ireland safely. He didn’t even know my wallet had been stolen. The fact I hadn’t felt like I needed to call him was another reason I was about to make this call. I checked my notifications, and sure enough, there was nothing from Kyle. Nothing from anyone. Another ugly reminder I was utterly alone in L.A. I'm not necessarily surprised. Why would I be?
I don't allow myself even a moment to think on it any longer. I realized I had already made up my mind a long time ago. After pulling up Kyle's contact information, I pressed the dial button and waited for it to connect. It rang three times before his voicemail came on. That seemed normal, it was eight hours behind in L.A, he was probably still at work. I didn’t want to do this over voicemail, so I kept it simple. “Kyle it’s Char. Call me, we need to talk.” I hung up, hoping he would call me soon—the sooner, the better.
“Here we are, the cliffs are coming up on your left.”
Mason’s voice brings me back to the present, and I turn my head to look out the window. I was excited when Mason mentioned the Cliffs of Moher, a huge tourist spot said to be truly remarkable. Mason parks and we unbuckle, grabbing our jackets and of course, Noodge. Mason carries him as we make our way away across the parking lot toward the luscious green grass.
The cliffs are beyond remarkable. Large gusts of wind hit my face, carrying the taste of the sea with it. My hair flies back, and a chill runs down my arms, but I welcome it. Despite the unsavory weather, plenty of tourists are out and about in rain coats, carrying umbrellas. We seem to be the only ones lacking the appropriate weather gear. The sound of waves crashing below echoes all around us. Mason walks farther toward the edge of the cliff, and my heart speeds up. White-tipped waves peek above the vast blue ocean below us. My heart swells, and a smile forms across my face.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Mason asks, standing next to me, a huge grin spread across his face.
Beautiful? How could I put into words this place somehow existed somewhere inside of me? There was something in the wind and how it blew through my hair, how the smells felt like a memory. My heart synced in perfect tune with this place and calling it beautiful wouldn’t even come close. I’ve fallen in love with Ireland and fear I could be completely at peace here. Instead of saying any of that crazy drabble, I let out an excited sigh.
The water becomes clearer, and the air is thick with ocean spray. I love it. It’s more than anything I’ve ever felt in California, distinctly different. As if someone just told me I’d been breathing artificial air all this time, then told me to inhale and experience my first real breath of fresh air.
“I was thinking we could go down toward one of the smaller cliffs. It’s a little more isolated and private,” Mason says from beside me. His head is dipped, watching our feet. I’m quickly reminded we’re here to spread his cat’s ashes—his friend, his lifelong pet. I have the urge to wrap my arm in his while we walk, to comfort him in some way. I know this has to be difficult for him. I watch the paved path beneath us and weigh how weird it might be to do just that. A second later, I give up the debate and slide my hand around Mason’s bicep, clinging to him as we walk.
He looks surprised as his eyes land where my hand rests. I look away, so he doesn’t see in my eyes I want to touch him more than I already am. Instead, I watch the ocean and the Cliffs. I watch as birds roam the grass and tourists plop down with lunch at a few of the picnic tables. The light drizzle must not be too much of a deterrent for them today. Finally, we arrive at a lower ledge with longer strands of grass growing intermittently with little white flowers.
I release Mason and take a step back to give him some room. He looks down and clears his throat. Noodge’s urn sits in his arms, looking heavy.
“I’m not sure what to do now,” Mason whispers, looking up to search my face. My heart flips at the admission, and I step forward, placing my hands over his.
“You speak from your heart and say goodbye,” I try to encourage him.
He frowns, looking down at our hands. His emotions are written all over his face—he’s battling this.