Secondhand secrets, p.4
Secondhand Secrets, page 4
“Holy crapola!” Right on time, her older sister by two years, Laila, bolted down the stairs on a thundering gallop. “What happened to Chip?”
While Chip laughed and made a point of looking Laila over in her cashier uniform of black chinos under a white shirt and burgundy vest. “What happened to you?”
She threw her arms around him, the action muffling her next words. “Too much, Chip. Way too much.”
Ally pulled her focus from the way Chip’s white t-shirt stretched over his back muscles and expended her energy on tugging aggressively at her cardigan sleeves, then tossing the removed garment on top of her bag. Bare feet. Bare arms. Much better.
Meanwhile, Laila’s four-year-old daughter, Whitney, padded behind her mother, her blinking brown gaze pinned on Chip. “Who’s this?”
“Just an old family friend, Muffin.” Laila scruffed a hand over Whitney’s curly auburn hair, turning her focus back to Chip. “I’m grabbing a bite to eat, then I’m off for the long drive to my overnight shift over in Marston. Mama and Pa look after this one while I clock up the hours.”
Laila gave him a stiff smile and shook her head, maybe because the years had been kind to him and less so to her.
Though Laila had always had a certain classic appeal that Ally didn’t—these days, now that Whitney’s dad wasn’t around—Laila toiled double-time, working odd hours at the nearest twenty-four-hour grocery store while studying sonography, just to fill the financial gaps.
Ally could barely remember when her sister didn’t look overworked.
Meanwhile, the last time anyone in Harlow saw Chip, he’d been a skinny fourteen-year-old, with limbs too long for the rest of his body, his nose often buried in a book. By some freak of nature, he’d grown into his height, and his narrow features filled out to a striking “boy next door” sort of appeal.
And as if to mirror Ally’s thoughts on his changes, Laila chimed in with, “What about you? Married? Kids?”
“Too much to do first.” Chip was quick to laugh and shake his head. “Marriage and kids are a long way off.”
Despite Ally’s recent vow to also stop caring about settling down, his air of finality brought a pang to her chest… Not that she had all that much time to dwell on her feelings.
“Chip, buddy!” Ally’s father rounded the kitchen counter, likely fresh from tinkering with something in his tucked-away den. “Vel tracked you down after all.”
“Surprise.” Chip accepted her dad’s strong handshake. “I didn’t plan on an entire Egan reunion, that’s for sure.”
“Well, you should’ve.” Her mom squeezed in and pushed Chip toward the kitchen. “We’ve been waiting for ten years to have you back at our table. If only your sister were here, too.”
“We don’t have enough seats.” Instantly regretting the quip and what it revealed about her feelings on Sarah, Ally bit down on her lower lip and promised to shut up for a while.
Chip turned and stared at her, his narrow-eyed skepticism stirring a nervous energy within her, prompting her focus on pulling out a chair and ignoring him altogether.
Did he know about her problems with his sister? And why did the mere awareness of his gaze make her tummy lurch, flip, and flutter?
“Ally?” The abrupt sound of her name dragged her focus to her mother. “Not there, you sit over here. Next to Chip.”
Ally frowned down at the chair beneath her hands, her fingers curled around the top of the brown wood frame. “But I always sit next to Laila.”
“Not tonight.” Despite being the shortest person in the room, her mom pressed down on Chip’s shoulders and strong-armed him into a seat before eyeballing Ally and stabbing a finger at the chair next to him. “Sit. You and Laila can chin-wag together any other night.”
Ally groaned and shuffled toward her designated seat, once again apologizing under her breath to Chip. “Mom likes to come on strong.”
She sat next to him and tried to escape the electricity seeming to ping within the small space between them. Did he feel it too? Or did that energy exist only in her mind?
Not the first time I’ve imagined a connection.
Given this was Chip, her “imagining” came with a strong edge of terror. Especially since his trace of body heat on her arm made her skin tingle, leaving her with regrets over removing her cardigan.
“It’s okay.” His low whisper—light but somehow molten—had her peering at his hazel stare, fluttering about her face. “I remember.”
She snatched her focus away and dug her elbows into the table, the reluctant tension in her belly giving way to her shoulder’s slight tremble. Though she tried to contain her burgeoning snicker, Chip did no such thing, his chuckle loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Oh, see, now look at you two.” Her mom lowered a bowl of salad to the table, her smile practically glowing.
Unchecked laughter cracked past Ally’s lips, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, which only forced her humor to escape through the tears gathering in her eyes. Chip’s amusement grew louder, drawing her attention back to him and an exchange of mutual elbow nudges played out at the private joke.
His familiar levity overrode her confusion, and she relaxed a little. With everyone now seated and Whitney already chomping on a bread roll, the prospect of food added another welcome diversion.
So, Ally whiled away dinner by dipping out of the chatter and allowing her parents a chance to grill Chip over his years away while pinning her mind on slipping more and more food into her mouth.
Unfortunately, Laila’s repeated sidelong stares from across the table reduced the places Ally could look, her sister’s scrutiny a gut-churning clue she suspected something.
The harder Laila stared, the hotter Ally’s cheeks got, her pale complexion already known to make her emotions all too easy to read. Especially for someone who knew her as well as Laila.
Even though Whitney’s birth meant they didn’t hang out alone much anymore, Laila had witnessed every one of Ally’s wild misadventures. Her years of perpetual singledom. Her failed crushes. Dean’s rejection.
No doubt Laila already predicted Ally falling for Chip too. Heck, Ally could see it happening as well—but maybe, just maybe—this one time, she’d succeed in letting things be.
He’s not here long. I’ll ride this one out and be okay.
Lots of men and women are just friends, right?
Besides, in light of our past, his rejection would downright crush me.
I’m NOT doing that!
The meal drew to a close, and Chip pushed his plate away, his bare arm brushing hers, though given the tight seating, not for the first time. She leaned away from his touch and tried to settle the solid thud of her heartbeat in her ears.
Her mom stood and clapped her hands, new excitement lighting her eyes. “Well, Ronny and I have a surprise for Chip, but we need him to leave the room for a few minutes while we set it all up.”
Chip turned to Ally, his eyes wide, while he mouthed the word, “What?”
She shrugged to indicate she had no idea what her parents planned while her dad now rose, quick to collect his plate and ferry it to the sink, while addressing her mom. “Where should we put him, Vel?”
Laila dragged her all-knowing stare over Ally, again. Not a good sign. So, Ally twisted to her mom and pitched a deflective joke. “Maybe we could fold him up and slide him into the utensils drawer?”
“Oh, Ally.” Her mom shook her head and tsked, pulling more plates from the table. “So silly.”
“Maybe he can wait in Ally’s room?” Laila raised a brow at Ally, her saccharine smile posed above the rim of her water glass. “It’s upstairs, outta the way, not littered with Whit’s toys.”
Ally opened her mouth to protest, but her mom got in first. “Great idea!”
“No, it’s not!” Ally’s voice shot free and high, her hard glare on her mom a hollow threat over what she’d do if this plan went ahead.
The woman just rolled her eyes. “Oh, Al, ease up. It’s only for a few minutes.”
“Yeah.” Laila stood, the conversation-ending move yanking this choice even more out of Ally’s hands. “You two spent enough time up there as kids.”
Her sister strode toward her thick work jacket hanging on a hook by the front door, soon jamming her arms through the jacket’s holes. “Maybe you can show him the pottery you’ve been working on these last years. You’ve got some talent there, Al.”
“What about my privacy?” Ally threw her hands higher and peered around the room at all her treacherous family members. “It’s not like I’m still a child.”
“Yeah, about that”—Laila threw Ally a wink and wrenched the door open, quick to call out from the landing—“you can thank me later, Sis.”
Seven
Chip only ever set out to walk Ally home from work, never once expecting his entire evening would be taken hostage. First, to an Egan family dinner, and now, with this journey upstairs to Ally’s room, while her parents worked downstairs on some secret surprise.
Each step left him with an increasingly twitchy feeling all over, like he’d bitten off more than he could chew, and that this day would never end.
Then again, this is Harlow. They might not set me free before morning.
Oh, Lord Vader. Please, help me!
Ally turned at the top landing, and he tried not to pause while she waited for him to catch up. “As you probably remember, my room’s not the biggest space in the world.”
He met her at the top, her close proximity a reminder of why he wanted this day to end. Being this close to her was dangerous, especially since he still hadn’t learned much about who she’d become in the years apart. Only that old feelings died hard, and even those feelings likely remained one-sided.
Her parents’ voices floated from the living room, Vel Egan muttering, “Oh, sugar. Where did you put it?”
Next came the sounds of rummaging, which inexplicably left Chip more concerned about their surprise.
“I don’t know, woman.” Ronny’s gruff tone followed the light slam of a wooden cupboard door. “You had it last!”
Ally’s eyes widened, although they held a habitual brightness, and her lips curled upward. “We should go. Otherwise, we’ll be stuck with the soul-crushing decision to ruin whatever plan they’re hatching in order to break up the squabbling.”
She stepped away and opened the door to her bedroom, guiding him through the threshold and onto another trek through the past.
Just like in the past, an assault of color hit him, less the pink and lilac “teenage dream” from those days, more a mature palette of rose, violet, and magenta—those vibrant colors and the slight clutter announcing that a woman and artist lived here.
A fluttery sensation filled his stomach, his words lost with the slow wander of his gaze. This place. They’d spent so much time here together. On so many occasions back then, he’d insisted they hang out at her home over his.
He’d wanted the escape. Wanted to experience a functional family. And the Egans had delivered that in abundance. Then at some point, that need for escape evolved into something else altogether.
His attention fell to the jewel-toned rug over the bare floorboards, his body recalling the rug’s distinct spring as they’d sprawled across those thick, woolly fibers. They’d played board games, listened to music, and finished homework; his later visits were punctuated with the extra effort of shutting down his desires to stare, or worse, to lean in and kiss her… At least there’s one upside to the awkwardness of youth.
“I’ve changed some things in here.” Her voice pulled his focus to her slight shrug, her hands gesturing out to the room at large. “Some, not so much.”
“There are some noticeable differences.” He strolled over to an array of ceramic vessels lined along her deep windowsill and picked up a bright orange vase with muted-pink polka dots, the quirky collection a nice contrast to the hyperclassical theme inside his dad’s home. “This is one of yours?”
She gave a small nod and joined him, taking the vase from his hands and turning it over in hers—her fingers long and thin, her nails short and painted in a happy shade of watermelon red. “Just a side project. Yah know, something to do with my boredom, which I guess I have a lot of being here in Harlow.”
Her gaze flicked up to him, one cheek tugging in a repressed hint that this was more than just “something to do.”
Having grown up around her hours of drawing and crafting while he’d studied, he leveled his focus on her, not accepting her attempt to minimize her talents. “You’ll have to explain your process. Your work is beautiful, and I wouldn’t know where to start with making anything like that on my own.”
Her brows lifted, allowing new light to catch in her eyes, her lips parting only for her to startle at a celebratory holler from her parents downstairs.
Clearly, they’d found what they’d been looking for, although their sudden joy broke the moment between him and their daughter.
As if to snap out of some daze, Ally shook her head and blinked down at the vase, slow to eventually extend an arm and return it to the window shelf. “Well, Aggie let me set up a studio in a spare shed out back of her nursery. Right now, I aim for functional pieces over anything purely decorative, which makes it easier for her to upsell vases, plant pots, occasional outdoor wall hangings, and the like to the nursery’s customers.”
Her attention slipped from one piece to the other on the ceramic-filled shelf, as though seeing each one anew. Her side profile, with her hair tucked behind one ear, highlighted the small diamond studs in her lobes as well as the subtle shift of the long tendon running down the side of her neck.
A soft prickle ran over his skin, a lighter sign of attraction paired with the sinking weight in his chest. Hello, regret. He’d spent years berating himself for missing her. For his grief over leaving. He’d dismissed so many emotions as no more than the vapid imaginings of a hormonal boy… but maybe that boy had been on to something.
Not wanting her to catch him staring, he peered over to a dark wood makeup table against a farther wall, where an array of pink glass bottles sat around a bundle of makeup brushes sticking out of a turquoise earthenware jar. A jar he’d bet she’d made too.
An easy smile pulled at his lips. Those feminine touches. The handmade art. He’d entered alien territory and loved every second of being in her space.
He turned back to her watching him, her unexpected beam soon coupled with a laugh. He responded with a sidelong stare, certain he’d missed something. “What? What is it?”
Her laughter stopped, and her lips bent into a thoughtful frown. “It’s just… every time I get to thinking on how much you’ve changed, you throw some little reminder of what’s the same. Like just now, you flash that same old geeky smile of yours, and I’m back to being thirteen again. Those were good times, weren’t they?”
The slight lift at the end of her sentence pointed to her experiencing a moment of reckoning—the clash of murky memories and the equally confusing present. They still got along well enough, past ties maybe pulling them closer still… but… what to do with it all?
So, he narrowed his eyes and made sure to leave out any real malice, certain she would understand his lighthearted attempt to ease her concerns. “How does one smile ‘geeky’?”
She laughed again, heartier this time, her head tilting back to expose the creamy-white skin of her throat. “I don’t know, you just do. It’s this big geeky grin, like everything is right and fascinating in the world, and you’re all sweet as pie and full of innocence.”
He gave an amused, huffing sort of laugh, although the weight on his chest pressed harder. Sweet and innocent? Not the description he wanted from her. Still, he picked up another vase—a green one this time, with teal stripes and a wavy rim—leaving room for her to fill the conversation.
“You used to shoot me that same smile back in class, yah know?” True to form, Ally Egan took up the offer to add more words. “Remember? Like when you’d let me copy math work fresh out of your book?”
“Yeah, I remember.” Rationing the moments he got to eye her, he inspected the vase, maximizing another chance for humor. “I also remember the day Mrs. Davis caught you cheating.”
“Me? Cheat?” Her rising pitch pulled him back to her, her arms now crossed in a fake show of attitude. “You helped me cheat.”
He put this vase down and turned to her fully, leveling an unruffled expression. “Not my fault you got so confident with your copying that you went ahead and wrote my name at the top of your test.”
“Oh no, you remember that? How embarrassing!” She gave a weak shriek and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking from a new wave of laughter. “Oh, and then I had to go to the principal’s office and explain.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen your face turn redder.” He chuckled along with her, only for another memory to dull his joy. “Remember how you spent that last summer pining over Gerry Gibbons?”
Though he pitched forth a smile and delivered the question like some kind of joke, even he couldn’t deny the rasp to his tone or the long pause while Ally’s expression dimmed. “Yeah.”
The silence continued, thick, oppressive, and hard to escape. He picked out a new vase in a dramatic wine shade, once again pretending this conversation mattered less to him than it did. Gerry. A typical football player type. Muscle as thick as the brain in his head.
And then there were her feelings for Dean. Another alpha male, though, with far more working for him than Gerry ever showed potential for. Surely, she’d never thought of either man’s grin as geeky. So, maybe she had a type. One that excluded Chip.
Another memory washed him over, just days after he’d arrived in Boston, when his father prodded at his skinny, fourteen-year-old biceps. You’ll have to work on these. That brain of yours is an asset, Son, but it’s not enough.
A week hadn’t passed before he’d been enrolled into every local sporting team his schedule would allow. Smarts weren’t enough. He wasn’t enough.
