Page 36 of What are the Chances

“So, what’s the plan?” I ask after shoveling bits of egg into my mouth. Mason sips his coffee and watches me with amusement and slowly answers.

“Well, I’m going to shower after this, then dress. We’re taking my father’s car over to Ballyalla.”

I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, maybe that we could take a detour to a spa first or something. I hate how nervous I am. This feels like my first real lead, and if this person doesn’t know who I am or about my family, I’ll be devastated.

“You okay?” Mason’s eyes narrow a fraction, causing his dark eyebrows to come together.

“Just a little nervous,” I nod, tipping back my cup for another swig of coffee. His reach to grab my hand has my heart rate picking up. Threading his fingers through mine, he stares at me.

“What if this one doesn’t work? What if you don’t find anyone you were looking for? What will you do next?”

His tone is soft, but I can feel the concern behind it. We just met each other, slept together, and now things are shifting. I want to know his plans as well but don’t want to ruin anything by pushing.

So instead of begging Mason to marry me or something ridiculous like that, I just lift my shoulder once, indicating I have no idea because I really don’t. I’m a muddled mess. Mason’s lips form into a thin line, a quick storm passing through those green eyes before he stands up and stretches.

“Alright. Well, I’m headed upstairs to shower.”

“I’ll clean up down here while you get ready,” I smile, gesturing toward the dishes. He gives me a small smile and nod before he walks toward the stairs.

***

Rolling green hills spread out on either side of the car for miles and miles. The trip from Roslevan to the edge of Ennis where Ballyalla is located is only about fifteen minutes. Or at least that’s what Mason’s phone says. I’m squeezing the wide, rectangular device harder than I probably should. Glancing down at my lap for the hundredth time, I see our little yellow navigation route, still heading the same direction, bringing us closer and closer to the address typed into the search bar. I had to internally pep talk myself into looking out the window, smiling and keeping up with the conversation Mason was carrying. I think he was trying to help with my nerves, telling me stories of him, Sam, and Noodge.

“We couldn’t find the scamper. Our Ma had warned us already about losin’ Noodge. If we couldn’t keep track of the cat, we’d never be allowed to get another pet again… and we’d get five lashes each with our Da’s belt.” I peek over and see a ghost of a smile grace his lips. He shakes his head back and forth, down shifting to third gear as the car in front of us slows.

“What happened?” I ask, hoping his story will distract me from how close we are now—six miles left. I swallow and wait for Mason to continue.

“Sam and I make up this big plan to sneak out after our parents go to bed. It’s pitch black outside, and we dress in all black to blend in. We sneak downstairs and exit out the back door, all quiet like and tiptoe through the front lawn when all of a sudden, a bright light hits us in the face.” That small smile has erupted into a full-blown grin, and it’s infectious. I’m smiling too, waiting to hear what happened.

“Who was it?” I ask expectantly.

“It was our da, shinin’ a flashlight in our eyes. We were scared shitless. He made a big show of catchin’ us sneakin’ out.” Mason’s Irish accent gets more intense when he talks about his childhood. It’s as if the longer he stays in Ireland, the more his accent unconsciously grows thicker. It’s hot.

I look out at the green hills and stonework houses, trying to erase how much an effect that accent has on me. Everything here looks so old and like it belongs in the movie, PS I Love You. I smile and look back at Mason who’s beaming.

“So, how did you guys get to keep Noodge then, where was he?”

Mason situates his body in the seat and puts on his blinker, the sound causing an entire swarm of butterflies to flutter beyond my chest until they’re in my throat. I search the road in front of us, nothing but green meeting me as I frantically search our surroundings. I look down at the screen, and it shows there are only two miles left. Oh God.

“Ma and Da make a big feckin’ show of us getting in trouble, being grounded, doin’ extra washin’ and chores. We try explainin’ Noodge got out, we weren’t tryin’ to run away or anythin’. Sam starts to cry, and finally, my mother breaks and pulls Noodge out from under her sweater. She starts laughin’, sayin’ the cat had been curled up in her room all day. She knew where he was the entire time we were secretly lookin’ for him before we even went to bed. She said it got us out of her hair for the afternoon, so she didn’t see the harm in it.” Mason looks over at me, the smile plastered on his handsome face is like a sledge hammer to my gut.

I’m falling for him. Shit, I’m falling so fucking hard. I try to focus again on the story and push aside the alarming new feelings I just admitted having. A giggle erupts from my anxiety ridden throat as I picture little Mason and Sam getting pranked by their parents.

“I want to meet your parents,” I blurt without thinking and immediately wish I hadn’t said it. Heat threatens to consume my face as the seconds tick by in silence. I resist the urge to pull my sweater up over my face until the car stops moving. Mason finally lets out a restrained sigh and pulls my hand into his.

“I would love nothing more than for you to meet them. They’d love you, Char,” he softly promises with a squeeze of his hand. My heart is galloping in my chest. I never met Kyle’s family, not a single time. I never really wanted to. I was desperate for family, but he rarely called his mother or sisters, and they never called him.

I squeeze Mason’s large hand back and let the feelings rattling around my chest settle in my stomach. Hopefully, like a Big Mac or milkshake, I’ll digest them, and they’ll leave my body in some capacity—I can’t do love again. Not so soon and not when I should be focused on me. I lived in Kyle’s shadow, like a wraith, for years. I wasted away into nothing with no friends, except his and no hobbies, except his. I don’t even know my favorite kind of ice cream. I’m not Julia Roberts-Runaway Bride bad—I mean I know what kind of eggs I like and all that—it’s just nothing else has been only mine.

Mason drives slowly down a dirt road. The town of Ballyalla isn’t really a town so much as an outskirt, mostly just farmland. The GPS directs us to the next house on our left. Our wheels lightly crunch gravel as the car turns into a narrow driveway a small, red hatchback parked under a carport. The house looks like a small cottage out of a storybook—tall, stone chimney, small windows with white shutters, dark grey stone and mortar shaping the rest of the house. The door, however, is red. I take a deep breath and open my door. Mason walks around the car and takes my hand.

A sense of calm comes over me, so much so, I snuggle into Mason’s shoulder, fully willing to let him take the brunt of my anxiety. He walks up to the door and knocks three times. We wait fifteen agonizing seconds where the sun chooses to peek in and out of the thickening clouds like a game of hide and seek. The wind has picked up, and a cold chill runs up my arms. Finally, the door swings open, and standing on the threshold is our seat mate from our flight, Alma.

Her watery blue eyes search the remote space between my body and Mason’s. It takes only a second before recognition seems to sink in, and she smiles wide.

“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t my two flight mates,” she exclaims excitedly before confusion sets in. Mason and I look at each other, unsure how this was even possible. Mason pulls out his phone and touches the map icon, then looks at the house, but there’s no number listed.

“How on earth did ya find me, anyhow?” Alma squints at the small batch of sun temporarily shining through the clouds. Mason coughs uncomfortably, and I stare, scrambling for an answer.

---