Page 50 of Secondhand Secrets

“All good.” He pulled out a chair and sat beside her, waving away Whitney’s slow approach to paint his face too. “I’ll help you.”

Her eyes shone their brilliant blue, causing his heart to do a hard thump beneath his ribcage. “Well, thank you.”

Seeing her here, absorbed in her self-created world of color and fun, a world that contradicted her claims of being a woman incapable of pulling her act together. She had her act together just fine. Only her act looked a million ways different to his, and he couldn’t help but be transfixed.

The mess. The squeals of laughter. Seedlings in pots and splashes of paint. Her presence sat at the core of all this joy, a joy only marred because he’d asked her to come with him to Boston, and she hadn’t yet given him an answer.

Then again, how can I take her away from all this?

“Nice to see you again, Chip.” This time, it was Aggie’s voice that interrupted his thoughts, and she strolled toward him from between a line of tall shelves. “I’m gonna guess your presence means I don’t have to help tidy up?”

He stood and confirmed her theory with a laugh, giving her an obligatory kiss on the cheek when she reached him.

Meanwhile, Ally clapped her hands, her outward gaze vying for the children’s attention. “Judging by the state of this nursery, it’s safe to say you all had an awesome time. Unfortunately, today’s session is over, so anyone with work left in the potting or painting station can take their art home now. Everyone with clay pots waiting to be fired in the kiln, you can come back and collect those in two days.”

The noise level lifted, and children jumped from their seats, scattering in all directions, many to Ally for a goodbye hug before returning to their parents.

“She’s great”—Aggie nudged him in the side with an elbow—“isn’t she?”

He stared at Ally, his heart thudding again because the moment held a hard to define magic, and his time with her seemed to tick faster and faster away.

“She is.”

He suppressed a frown. Maybe because he’d been wrong to ask her to come away with him. Maybe because she had more working for her here than he ever did on his side of the country, forever tripping over himself to make the right choices, all the while not knowing what they were.

He shook the thought off and focused on Ally strolling over while the last child skipped away. “Ready to get to work?”

He nodded, and Aggie gave Ally a farewell pat on the arm. “I’m off to shoot the breeze with whoever I can find at Maynard’s. I’ll set the lock on the nursery gate, just be sure to pull it all the way shut when you leave.”

While Aggie strolled away, Ally turned to a table and began collecting paint palettes, leaving him to figure out the mess strewn across the potting station.

“Ahh…” He stared at the multiple piles of dirt about the tempered glass surface. “Any chance you got a pan and brush stashed around here somewhere?”

She pointed to one of three metal carts, a stack of cleaning equipment nestled on the second shelf. “Over there. But first, let’s load the other carts with whatever’s on the tables. There’ll be less stuff to clean around, and then we can wheel what’s left to the kiln room.”

“Great idea.”

He collected what he could, shifting spades, unused pots, paint palettes, and brushes to a cart. Fifteen minutes of comfortable silence passed before everything was loaded and the tables wiped down.

Soon, he pushed the heaviest cart toward the pottery shed, Ally leading the way to a small, white building with two windows and a tiny wedge of wood holding the solitary door open.

He wrangled his cart inside, the room’s bright airiness catching him off guard. Despite the limited space, the muddy scent of clay added an uncomplicated mood—like memories of childhood—mixed with his ability to just see Ally spending all her spare time here. In her place of retreat.

“We’ll leave the wet clay pots on the cart to dry, and I’ll come in tomorrow to fire them.” Ally parked her cart against a wall and turned to him with a smile. “They’ll explode in the kiln if I do it earlier.”

“Exploding pots?” He left his cart next to Ally’s and peered about the room, taking in more details—the set of wall-to-ceiling shelves that supported her creations in various stages of completion, a two-person, magenta couch tucked along a side wall, the contrasting marigold and lapis blue cushions scattered on top.

He strode deeper into the room and eyed an octagonal machine he assumed was the kiln, the thing tucked into a corner not far from a small kitchenette, complete with kettle and sink.

“I’m sure exploding pots will bring about more than a few tears.” She pulled her purse from atop the kitchenette bench. “And that’s just the children.”

She let out a quick laugh and produced a hand mirror from her bag, her expression dropping the moment she brought the mirror to face level.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She flicked her wide-eyed gaze to him, and he tried not to laugh.

“What?” He shrugged, raising his hands and professing innocence. “I thought you looked cute.”

“Cute?” Her voice shouted out in an aghast tone, and she twisted the kitchenette’s tap to a heavy flow. “Half my face is painted green!”

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