Page 13 of Secondhand Secrets

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.

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