Page 25 of What are the Chances

The house is quiet and dark. Thankfully, one of the guests left the small table lamp on, the golden yellow light subtle, illuminating the bottom half of our bodies. Shadows dance across Charlotte’s face as she bends over, removing her shoes. Once her shoes are off, she holds them in her hand and silently carries them up the stairs without another word.

I follow her, unsure of where we stand. Today was amazing and probably one of the best days I’ve ever had, especially here, back home. But I can’t shake the feeling four simple words, ‘We should get inside’ has somehow tainted the day. I can’t tell whether she’s annoyed with me or if she’s simply tired from our long day.

When I reach our small room, Charlotte’s shut herself in the bathroom. I can hear her rustling around in her suitcase, and the steady stream of water from the sink fills my ears. I take the opportunity to grab my suitcase and change into a plain t-shirt and pajama pants. I’m already sitting on the bed, climbing under the covers when she emerges from the bathroom.

Tonight she has her hair wrapped into a high messy bun, strands loosely framing her face. Instead of a tank top and shorts, she’s wearing an old, faded black, Ramones t-shirt and white and red striped cotton shorts. The hem of her shorts stops above the middle of her thighs, longer than the ones she wore last night. Even though her outfit isn’t revealing as last night, she’s still irresistibly sexy. This woman could wear a moo-moo and still be the most gorgeous woman in the room.

She slides into the bed beside me, and my nerves calm the moment she flashes a small grin. Good, she isn’t mad at me.

Some of the pillows from last night are piled at the foot of the bed. We’re both sitting up, staring at the pile when Charlotte finally breaks her silence.

“What about Noodge?”

“What?” Her sudden questioning about Noodge leaves me intrigued. It’s not that I’d forgotten why I had come home in the first place or the ceremony I planned to spread his ashes, but with Charlotte and her quest to find her long lost family, I had pushed it aside, figuring I would find some other time to do it.

She bends her legs under the covers and rests her hands in the space between them.

“Didn’t you come to spread his ashes? I realized it earlier today. I didn’t even ask you when you were doing it. I’m completely ruining your trip.” She turns to face me. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I smile.

She turns her head back to face the pile of pillows at our feet.

“I feel like such an eegit.” The corner of her mouth lifts into a smirk, and my body heats.

Irish sounds even better pouring from her mouth. She’s said the word before, in Sam’s car, but something about the way she says it now makes me want to kick all the pillows off the bed and make Charlotte mine. Instead, I clutch the blanket at my side.

“You’re not an eegit, Char.” I ignore the way I keep repeating her voice speaking Irish in my head and distract myself with conversation.

“No, I am,” she insists. “I’ve turned your entire trip around and made it about me. It was selfish of me.”

“Alright, I give.” Shrugging, I toss my head side to side, my stomach fluttering with excitement. “I guess it was kind of a dick move.”

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?”

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