Page 14 of Secondhand Secrets

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.

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