Page 84 of Secondhand Secrets

She snapped her eyes open to her sister in the seat beside her, although Ally’s smile remained. “Just what I was thinking. Though this spot has always been nice, just… the mill… not so much.”

“Right?” Laila laughed and twisted closer in her seat. “But only Emilia could turn a pile of rubble into a classy riverside wedding venue. Can you just imagine how much work she and Blaine had to do?”

Ally giggled. “From all his complaining, I’m gonna guess Blaine did most of the dirty work. I hear the council loved the idea and are keen to hold more of these in the future to draw out-of-towners looking for a country wedding. So they helped some.”

“Ahh”—Laila pointed a finger—“but Emilia would have been the visionary.”

“Damn right.” Ally paused, grateful for Emilia’s vision. Without her, Ally wouldn’t have a new channel for her pottery, and Harlow wouldn’t have a new wedding venue, with all the extra money that would flow to local businesses from each event. “Hey, remember how we used to come here while Daddy would fish in the river? This place was nothing but a spot to play house and catch some shade, but five minutes in this town and Emilia envisioned opportunities none of us did.”

“Sure”—Laila jutted her chin to the empty seat to Ally’s right—“but I would have thought six weeks would have been enough time to ‘envision’ Chip not showing up.”

Though Laila meant well, the mention of Chip’s name made Ally drop her focus to the sea-foam fabric of her long dress draped over her lap, her heart seeming to shrink a little. But Laila had a point. After all the tears Ally had cried in Emilia’s presence, she should have known not to count on Chip being here. So, what gave?

Whitney strolled over from her turn with Aggie on the dance floor, stopping at Laila’s side and tugging at her arm. She wanted her mom to come dance.

Laila reached out a hand and squeezed Ally’s shoulder, her lips pressed into a sympathetic line while resisting Whitney’s distraction a moment longer. “Don’t think bad of the bride, okay? Maybe you’re not the only one wishful thinking.”

Ally opened her mouth, ready to assert that she had no “wishful thoughts” when it came to Chip Overton. But the restrictive lump in her throat, the one that grew every time someone mentioned his name, said that was a lie.

Either way, her chance for debate disappeared along with her sister, who swept Whitney into her arms and carried the child back inside.

Ally pulled her gaze absentmindedly away from her sister and onto Adrian Ramos. The man sat two empty spots away—and with Laila and Whitney gone—she had a clear view of him staring at her sister’s swaying back.

Ally’s lips parted in surprise, mixed with a need to question his line of sight, but he erased that option with the shift of his gaze to her, his raised brow and unperturbed expression seeming to say, What of it?

She chuckled to herself and shook her head. With Ramos’s distinctly masculine features and glowing bronze skin against the contrast of his bright white shirt, a number of women here seemed happy to have him around. Heck, in any other timeline, Ally would have been happy too.

But she’d had her turn at ill-fated attraction and still couldn’t imagine looking at another man the way she had Chip. Besides, Ramos’s presence came with a depressing reflection of Harlow’s current state of upheaval, the entire town anticipating the Syndicate’s next move.

She wanted to keep her distance from anything to do with the ugly violence she’d experienced just weeks ago. Even if Ramos did insist he only stayed in Harlow because he liked the place.

No one truly believed him.

He’d come as added protection. He’d come for his friends.

Ally narrowed her eyes at him but decided to let things be. If Laila proved anything over the years, it was her ability to survive just about any hardship. Dubious men included.

Only with Laila gone from the table, Ally now sat as a remote island between multiple empty seats. Except, unlike an island, she had legs and could escape Ramos’s stare-off and the frightful silence of being alone.

So she pushed her chair back and rose, twisting to make her way to the bar, only to stop because another man stood before her.

She didn’t dare look him in the eyes, so her attention stuck on his open, white collar and his golden skin in between. The scent of his peppermint and sandalwood cologne made her eyelids want to flutter shut. So she could breathe him in a moment before reality came crashing in.

But closing her eyes would give too much away, so the best she could do was allow his name to tumble from her lips. Less a question. More an inarguable truth.

“Chip.”

With just one word, she frowned and dared to lift her gaze to him, where those hazel eyes partnered with his lax cheeks and still expression.

Her breath caught, and her pulse thundered in her ears, halting her ability to question his presence.

It’s Emilia’s wedding, and he was invited. He has just as much right to attend.

Her attention skipped to the empty chair next to hers. His chair.

No way. She wouldn’t spend the next hours with him at her side, which prompted her next decision to wide-step around him and power toward her new home for this event. The bar.

She’d seek something harder than the white wine at her table. Stock up on canapés and get chatting with the bar staff. This could work. This could definitely work.

---