Page 26 of What are the Chances

“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.

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