Page 66 of Secondhand Secrets

He worked through the possibilities. That she was less concerned about change, more restless about what she’d seen so far. That she outright hated Boston. Or worse, she figured he was selfish to ask her to stay when she was so new to this wider world.

Not much had ever confused him, but now he couldn’t get a single thought of his in order.

Not so worldly or smart after all, huh?

The cab pulled up to his dad’s house, a house that now, more than ever, didn’t feel like home. His connection with his dad yet another relationship not working.

And even as he paid the driver, Ally pushed her door open, her steps too quick to take her up the stairs to the townhouse’s large and glossy burgundy door. But without a key, she had to wait for him.

He rushed after her, her hands still around her waist in a seeming quest for self-comfort, when all he wanted was to be the one giving her that.

A push of the front door revealed little more than darkness inside, Kelly already asleep and his dad working late, though a muted blue light filled the stairwell.

Ally’s rigid steps led the way, and he lifted a hand to touch her shoulder, only for second thoughts to pull him short. Despite his desire to have her speak, he got the distinct feeling there wasn’t much to say. That or anything said would not be productive.

Not now. Not tonight.

Not when emotions ran so high.

He’d gleaned a little on what had happened at the party from Janice. That someone had spoken unkindly to Ally. That she’d run away to the bathroom ladened with drinks.

But he’d witnessed the hurtful comments directed at her from his dad too. Witnessed her wounded expression and confidence crumble in the wake.

Why do they care so much about what she does?

Why does she?

She paused at the stair’s landing and merely stared at the white-painted door belonging to his bedroom. A bedroom they’d shared up until now.

But she doesn’t what to share tonight.

That alarming thought had him pausing mid-stride, his fingers curling into the banister.

Though he wanted to move on from the landing, he battled the ache of admitting his dreams of loving this woman quickly unraveled.

“Don’t run.” His plea cut sharp against the silence. “Please.”

That last word came as a rough whisper that had her face turning to him in a pale and frozen expression. He abandoned all pride and strode toward her, only for her to jolt away again.

Inspecting her some more, he shook his head and once again drew nothing but blanks. “What did I do?”

She blinked at his question, and the tension over her face slowly collapsed, her chin the next to move on a small tremble. “You were too perfect.”

Her husky delivery, the way her glossy focus stayed on him, her cheeks hollow and the skin around her eyes still red. What should have been a compliment, landed as a heavy blow square in his gut, his entire life refocused as one monumental failure.

He’d been taught to maintain an air of perfection, to do and be his utmost best. But here he stood, that perfection turned against him.

The reason the woman he loved would not love him back.

And still, he didn’t understand.

She shifted toward him, and the tremble of her lip increased until the whole dam broke, and tears rushed down her cheeks, harder than ever. Even as she cried, she stepped forward until she held her palms to his face. “You were too perfect, Chip.”

The pain low in his ribcage morphed into a shuddering sickness. One he sought to quell with something far more tangible. Someone who could put things right. Her.

So he pulled her in, and as if they drew to the same conclusion, her lips simultaneously crashed into his.

If a kiss could make everything right, then this one would.

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