Page 15 of What are the Chances

“What?” I ask.

“Kelley is one of the most common names in all of Ireland, girlie,” the bartender answers first, planting his hands on the bar and leaning forward. “Nice haystack you’ve got yourself there,” he adds with a smirk. “Good luck finding the needle.”

All three men laugh and return to their drinking. All the while my face flushes with embarrassment, and a thin sheet of moisture forms along my palms.

Of course, I would have one of the most common last names in all of Ireland. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy to track down my only living relatives. I resist the urge to cry and instead, opt to pay for my drink and head over to a local hotel. Or is it a hostel? Whatever they’re called, I want to find one, and quickly, so I can cry in peace. I don’t have my luggage, but I’ll make do with what I have for the night and plan to get my things tomorrow from Mason.

“Um… how much for the beer?” I ask, pulling out my purse.

“That’ll be five,” the bartender says over his shoulder.

I duck my head, still embarrassed and thumb through the contents of my purse looking for my euros. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach when I realize my wallet isn’t in there. Shit.

This isn’t happening. This is not happening right now. Panic wells in my chest, and my face heats with fire. I hunt for my wallet again, shoving my hand inside the deep pockets of my purse, but regardless of how many times I move the random receipts and tube of Chapstick aside, I don’t find my hot pink wallet. Anxiety pushing forward, still unconvinced, I frantically dump the entire purse out on the counter. Lipstick, Chapstick, two pens, pennies, a few nickels—all clatter onto the glossy, wood surface of the bar but still, no wallet. And not a single euro. Fuck.

I gulp and slowly look up at the bartender, staring at him wide-eyed, willing away the tears already welling in my eyes.

His bushy eyebrows draw together as he watches my pathetic display of discovery. Zoning in on the mess I’ve made on the counter, he quickly snaps his head to the back door, piecing together the same thing I had. Although I hate to admit, it hadn’t taken me long to figure out the man who had sat next to me, reeking of whiskey, had most likely stolen my wallet.

“Are you staying around here, local?” the bartender asks. His voice is suddenly gentle and concerned, probably sensing my potential meltdown.

I fight to keep the tears from falling and push my eyes tightly together. I’m not ready to lose it in front of these strangers. I nod in agreement and share probably more than I should, but I have no way to pay for my beer. I only hope my eagerness to be honest will somehow help.

“I’m staying over in Roslevan with some friends,” I manage to say.

The bartender pulls out a pad of paper and with a heavy sigh he sets it in front of me. “Write the address here. I’ll drive you and settle it with them.”

I freeze, processing this man’s offer to help. I’m all for strapping on my big girl panties and taking control of my situation. At the same time, I haven’t really proven myself otherwise until this point, even to myself. I had refused Mason’s help and look where I am now. Although I had refused Mason’s help, I reasoned with the common sense still buried in my mind.

Did this man really expect me to get into his car alone with him?

Sensing my hesitation, he waits for me to write the address, pushing the pad closer. “Come on.” he urges. “I don’t have all day.”

“Um, I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. I don’t want to get into a car with you. Can’t I wash dishes or something to pay for the beer?” I stumble through my response, shame quickly filling my mouth with a bitter taste. This wasn’t necessarily my fault, yet I still feel the sting of guilt worm its way through me.

“How about we take my wife with us, so you aren’t so worried?” he asks. “It’s just, I have a feelin’ ye won’t be able to pay for a cabbie back. Don’t want ye walkin’ now that it’s getting closer to dark. It won’t be safe.” His blue eyes soften, and he even gives me a half smile. The mention of his wife puts me at ease, so I accept and write the address to Sam’s I thankfully still had in my text messages.

True to his word, Bern introduces himself properly, then his wife, Lydia. We pile into his delivery truck, all three of us on the bench, scrunched together and drive to Roslevan. Bern was right about how quickly it would turn dark. We haven’t even left the city limits when the sun sets in the sky. I tightly clutch onto my purse, willing the truck not to take any nefarious turns or strange detours. I really don’t want to add kidnapping to my list of issues. Eventually, we pull in front of the beautiful stone house and perfectly manicured lawn, and I sigh with relief. Bern opens his door to get out. I look over and shake Lydia’s hand.

“It was nice to meet you.”

“Good luck to ye, sweet girlie,” she smiles and takes my hand. “It was nice meeting you.”

I silently wish I had more time with Lydia. On the drive over, I had told her a bit about my story, but when I mentioned my last name, she winced, just like the men at the bar, reinforcing the whole needle in a haystack image in my mind.

I slide out of the truck and head toward the door with Bern trailing behind me. I softly knock, wishing I could turn around and head to a hotel. I don’t want to face Mason and prove to him I, in fact, needed help. I certainly don’t want to see that same look on his face, the one where I was suddenly his obligation and responsibility.

A few seconds pass before the door swings open. Mason is standing there with a tight white t-shirt and a pair of sweats hanging low on his perfectly narrow hips. I hate how good-looking he is. I hate his perfectly disheveled, gorgeous thick hair and how it always seems like he’d expertly run his fingers through it. I also hate his strong jaw and those strangely perfect lips.

I blink and push away how one look from him already makes me feel.

He curiously trades glances between Bern and me, awkwardly standing on his front porch.

I thought about the many reactions Mason might have with my sudden reappearance with Bern in tow. Considering the reaction he’s giving me, I can confidently say, it was one which was unexpected.

“Sorry, to bother ye, but she couldn’t pay, so I brought her home. She owes me five euro for her beer,” Bern finally speaks up when he realizes I’m not going to.

Mason’s eyes swing to mine, and I panic again, feeling the need to defend myself.

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