Page 11 of Secondhand Secrets

Since Ally wasn’t an option, he focused on Velma again, a woman who’d spent about as much time with him as his own mother, the moment more poignant given his move to Boston meant his mom had all but disappeared from his life.

“Great to see you, Mrs. Egan.” He offered a genuine smile, hoping his appreciation showed.

“Now, none of that ‘Mrs. Egan’ stuff. Velma suits me just fine, boy.” She took his hand and tugged. “Maureen called and said she saw you on Main Street with my Ally, so I figured you might be headed this way and came out to invite you to dinner.”

“Mom, no”—Ally’s hand fell from her eyes, eyes that now pulled wide—“you’re embarrassing him.”

He flicked his attention to Velma, to the distinct drop of her grin and her shoulder-length bronze waves pushing in the light breeze, that small movement highlighting her stunned stillness. “I… I just thought, what with you living in Sarah’s house on your own… you might need a good feed.”

He might have laughed at her presumption that he’d never learned to cook well enough to survive, but the deepened lines between her brows spoke of genuine worry that she’d somehow caused him discomfort.

And sure enough, Ally only meant to let him off the hook, to allow him the exit he’d planned on. But in the wake of all his years away, and after her treating him as one of her own, Velma Egan really did deserve more than his hurried escape.

So, he conjured his old knowledge of basic Minnesotan values when it came to dinner invitations and reshuffled his plans.

“You know, Velma, I’ve always loved your cooking.” He held Ally’s bag out to her and waited for her to take it, his smile not moving from her mother because she’d also handed him the chance to relive yet another bright moment from his past. Dinner at the Egans. “Nothing could keep me away from joining you.”

Six

Ally hung back on the porch’s edge, her shoulders slumped, and her fingers chilled as her mother pushed the front door open and allowed Chip into the house.

“So sweet seeing you two back together again.” Her mom peered over her shoulder and beamed back at Ally, who did her best not to pitch forth an annoyed scowl. Her feet took her inside, although her mind longed to run in the opposite direction. Just so she wouldn’t have to witness whatever happened next.

Suddenly, she inspected her home with new eyes. As if she were Chip, viewing this place for the first time in a decade.

The homely beige walls and wood paneling. An average-sized dwelling with a large couch and T.V. The two oversized furnishings made the place seem even smaller than “average.”

Not much had changed in the decade since Chip’s last visit, while so much about him seemed so evolved. She still didn’t know how she felt about his “evolution,” either, though the high ache in her tummy spoke some indelible truth on this latest exchange.

Their twenty-minute stroll from Oak Tree to her house had been a quick joyride through the past. One she’d wanted to end maybe less than him. And that right there was her problem.

A far too large part of her rejoiced in his return.

She grumbled past her mother and uttered a deflective, “You make it sound like we’re married.”

The door clicked closed, and she went about kicking her shoes under the cushion-covered bench along the entry’s side wall.

“Well, you never know, dear.” Her mom patted Ally’s shoulder and strolled past.

Soon after, Ally spun around to mouth an apology to Chip. The outer corners of his lips pulled into a slow smile, even though his stare seemed less jovial, more analytical—like he sought to discover what she really felt about her mother’s innuendo.

Delightfully barefoot, she shook her head and went about dumping her bag onto the same bench her shoes now lived under, the bag’s heavy thud a satisfying statement on how much she wasn’t into this whole setup.

Setup. What a great description of how she felt, and she’d no doubt have to endure more as other family members discovered tonight’s visitor.

“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.

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