Page 71 of What are the Chances

“There just is, you have to trust me. Hang on a little longer. I talked to him a few days ago. Just give him time,” Sam practically begs, turning his body toward me, his eyes pleading with me to listen and not push this any further. He lets out a heavy sigh and turns toward me fully, his hands on his hips. “Look, Charlotte, this is all my fault.”

I swat him away and move toward the fridge.

“Sam, you’ve already apologized like a million times.” He had, and it hurt at first. It took him a week of saying sorry about the text mishap to finally get me to agree to have a heart-to-heart talk with him. During that heart to heart, he was vulnerable and even cried a little bit.

“But now you’re askin’ to be set up on outings and what not, and I feel like I ruined whatever you guys could have had,” Sam says with exasperation. I feel his irritation in my bones, just like the damn weather here.

“Sam, you didn’t. I promise. I just needed time to find myself.” I shrug my shoulders, trying to shrug away the heaviness of how much I miss Mason.

“And have you then?” Sam nods toward me, his hands still in place on his hips. Emily clears her throat, likely sensing the emotion in the room.

“Found myself? I think so…” I lift my shoulder, not sure how to respond to his accusatory question.

“Then maybe you should call him and tell him that,” Sam says in a firm voice. I swallow the thick, disgusting taste of humility and realize he’s right.

***

I’m sitting on a park bench, wet from the rain and drizzle of sea spray. I’ve been coming to the cliffs frequently since moving here. They remind me of Mason. I bring my phone out and kick my leg that’s thrown over the other. I stare at the screen, not caring spray and drizzle is likely ruining it.

Mason’s contact info has been pulled up for the last twenty minutes, and all I’ve done is stare at his picture. Sam’s words rush back through my head, and all I want to do is curl up into a ball of blankets and cry. He’s right. I need to call Mason and at least tell him I’m done needing space. But the tone of his voice and determined look in his eye that day on the plane repeat through my mind.

He’s done now. My mind screams it at me, but still, I owe it to him and to me to make this call.

I press down on the green button, let it dial, and place the phone to my ear. It rings and rings and rings… I’m about to hang up when his voicemail picks up. Panicked and terrified, I hang up. I can’t leave my feelings in his mailbox, not after he reprimanded me for doing so with Kyle. I clutch the phone in my hand, closing my eyes tight. My number will be on his phone if he hasn’t deleted it, that is. If he wants to talk to me, he will.

***

“Why on earth would I let ya work here, girl?” Bern narrows his eyes at me and waits for me to respond. I sit taller and lean in, forcing him to scoot back an inch or two.

“I’m quick on my feet, can keep up with demands, waited tables for two years while I was in college, learn fast, and I can handle myself,” I state resolutely. What on earth made me walk into the Irish Lily and ask for a job as a waitress, I have no freaking clue. But I did, and here I am, interviewing with Bern.

I just need something, and this looks like a good enough place to start. Bern’s bushy eyebrows move as he assesses my resume. He clears his throat and lets out a heavy sigh.

“The only reason I’m sayin’ yes is because we’re expecting a large group comin’ in for a brew fest. That’s it. We’ll use that as a trial basis, then evaluate it after that.” Bern stands and sticks out his hand, and I eagerly shake it.

“You won’t be sorry, and thank you so much.” I try to calm the hell down and excitedly leave the bar.

Things are finally falling into place. I’d purchased a brand-new camera and started dabbling again, taking pictures. It was therapeutic to do something just for me. Something I liked to do that had no attachments to anyone else. I had looked into starting a business and even asking for clients, but it was like stepping up to the edge of a diving board. Exhilarating, scary, and too intense. I wasn’t ready to jump, which is why I was groveling to Bern for a job.

Next, I just need my own apartment.

I try to ignore how one week from that conversation with Sam is turning into two and how my phone still hasn’t had Mason’s name come across it. I cling to what Sam told me, but he hasn’t uttered a word of encouragement since.

I found myself a little apartment above a bakery. It smells like heaven seven days a week, so the fact there aren’t three fireplaces, a glass roof, or a wall heater on each wall is easily looked over.

It’s Tuesday, and my thirteenth shift at the Irish Lily. I leisurely make my way down the steps leading to the door, shake my umbrella out, and close it. I push the door open and stand frozen in place.

Sitting on a wooden stool at the bar is Mason. My heart picks up speed, ready to clamor out of my chest at the sight of the man who stole it all those weeks ago. I mean, I can’t be too angry with him, he was only doing what I’d asked. But my fucking eyes that process reality and shit move to the person next to him. She has long blonde hair, big boobs, and she’s gripping Mason’s forearm as he makes a joke. He looks happy, tan from all that Californian sun, his hair lighter too. Everything about him looks fresher, cleaner, better.

A sob works its way into my lungs as I stand there, watching the two of them laugh and throw back drinks. Like this is hilarious. Like they are on a date. Like I don’t exist.

I turn away from the door and head back home. There’s no way I can go to work, let alone come to terms with the fact Mason is in Ireland with someone else. He’s here, but not for me. He moved on, just like I thought.

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