Page 49 of Secondhand Secrets

All but Ally. She sat alone on her outdoor chair, her fingers clawing into the wooden armrests, her wide and baffled gaze flicking over the crowd of visitors before stopping dead on him.

His first instinct was to race over there, but in his momentary shock, Aggie, Maureen, Emilia, and Sheriff Marlin got to her first. All those people.

All far more reliable than he could be. Maybe he had no place in that huddle. Maybe it was unfair to establish himself as a source of comfort in her life. Aggie turned to him, her gaze sage in color and in character, a slight tilt of her head commanding him to gather some courage and come on over.

So, he did. He excused himself from the guys. He crossed the lawn. And the gathering around Ally parted through some unspoken pact to have him be the one to soothe her.

She lifted her watery gaze to him, and a silent beat passed before she rose. Instinct took over, and he wrapped her in his arms, dropping a kiss to her forehead and only disconnecting enough to ask, “Are you okay?”

She slid back and nodded, her throat bobbing in denial of whatever ease her nod conveyed. “I only half-know what just happened.”

She peered over her shoulder to the house, to where her mother had disappeared, the space between Ally’s brow now indented with shallow wrinkles.

His pulse climbed, and his mouth dried at the unspoken things she half-knew about her mother’s sudden exit, and the pure anguish of not knowing had him capturing Ally’s chin and turning her back to him. “Are we okay?”

Her expanding pupils paired with a non-reply, his question seeming to hit a pertinent dilemma while her unsteady nod once more failed to convince.

All signs of chatter and joy left the people around him, and the burn of their stares seared into his skin. He didn’t want to ask her to follow him wherever his career took him. Harlow was her home. She’d said that herself. She’d said that she couldn’t leave the people she loved. This gathering alone attested to the value they added to her life. A value he’d experienced for himself, where his own family fell short. A value he could never hope to replace. Besides, just asking would be too close to a commitment—a commitment he wasn’t sure either one was ready to make. Still, anguish surged into desperation and his once-reliable logic fled.

“Come to Boston with me.”

He clenched his jaw shut, and his insides shifted at his impulsive and completely selfish invitation. Probably the last thing she needed right now. Probably the last thing he needed, too. What about his plans to establish his career ahead of anything personal? And what if she wouldn’t follow him? Would he ever stay here?

That he even posed that question meant that something had just changed, but he didn’t want to analyze what. So, he scrambled to put things right, by adding, “Not to stay. Just a visit to decide what you think of the place. You know, a chance to see somewhere outside of Minnesota?”

Crapola. Her mouth wavered open and closed, but she said nothing, his reasoning not much stronger than his initial invite. Not that he could retract anything now. Heck, did he even want to?

A few creaks escaped her lips all while a new rush of thoughts conspired to convince him that having her accept his offer was suddenly critical.

But the background screech of hinges left Ally’s attention pinned to the house, where her mom and sister soon came strolling out the backdoor. Laila’s hand rested on her mother’s shoulder, and Velma’s chin tilted down, half-obscuring a sheepish smile.

Her cheeks held a red glow, but she extended a small wave to her guests. “Don’t mind me, everyone. Just having a moment.”

Her trudging steps took her across the lawn to her seat, and she gave a wobbly laugh, winking at Ally, which drew a few, relieved chuckles from the engrossed crowd.

Renewed conversations broke around, but the lighter shift in mood couldn’t be applied to him and Ally.

He reached out and pulled her into him, admitting through embrace that their problems had no clear solution. That maybe he’d been wrong to ask for anything more than what they currently shared.

And still, he couldn’t keep from asking because asking was, by far, less excruciating than having to leave her behind.

Twenty-Four

The next day, Chip stood amongst the bustle of children and parents gathered at Aggie’s nursery, a place he hadn’t visited since he’d been a kid. New shade cloths stretched overhead, sun rays piercing the in-between spaces while nearby fountains burbled a soothing and watery song.

The woman of his affection hadn’t yet noticed him and sat at a table surrounded by children, wincing at the green paint Whitney dabbed at the center of her forehead.

An overly enthused beam tugged at his face, and he drew closer. From her fitted pink t-shirt to her short and fluttery green skirt—plus, the fact she didn’t mind Whitney’s form of artistic expression—Ally looked a vision in what was a very Ally moment.

He tracked his gaze down to the skirt again, a scintillating portion of her thigh exposed, though he was quick to wipe his grin away, his current thoughts not right in a family setting.

“How did you know to find me here?” Ally’s bright lilt jolted him from his daydream, and he snapped his attention to her upturned stare.

“The flyers around town tipped me off.” He shrugged, and she squeezed her eyes shut in an I should have figured as much expression.

He jutted his chin to the tables teaming with children, paint, clay, wayward soil, and potted plants. “The flyers also said you’ll be finished soon. So…”

“So you’re staging an ambush?” She smiled, then winced again, another spot of paint hitting her right cheek. “There’s a lot to clean up before I can go anywhere.”

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