Page 7 of Secondhand Secrets

In so many ways, she looked like him. Her general facial features plus her tall, lean build. Except for her hair, which was much longer, straighter, and honey toned to his deeper bronze.

“Who’d have thought”—he shook his head and speared some salad from his plate—“Sarah Overton, falling head over heels, much less for an out-of-towner.”

She picked up a paper napkin, scrunched it, and then tossed it at his chest. “Like you can talk, Mr. Perpetually Single.”

He laughed and tossed the napkin back at her, the thing quick to land just shy of her plate. “Perpetually Single? Settling down straight out of high school is more a Harlow thing, remember?”

“And you’re out of college now, twenty-four and still a bachelor, which makes you a geriatric single by local standards.” She tossed the napkin back, a white blur through the air that he caught a moment before it hit his face.

“And you only got engaged today.” He threw the napkin again. “And older than me. That makes you a bonafide old maid.”

A slow smirk took over Dean’s face, his focus directed to Sarah clutching the napkin in her palm, her lips parted in a stupefied stare. “Do I need to remind you I was engaged to Blaine for a moment there? No need to put me out to pasture just yet.”

“No one’s doing that.” Dean outstretched a hand, collecting the napkin before it could make another trip across the table, a solid chuckle belying his amusement. “Now, you two settle down. And Sarah, let the man have his fun while he can.”

Her eyes narrowed toward her fiancé before she unleashed a series of playful pinches to his shoulder. “You saying I’m not fun? I’m plenty fun.”

Dean laughed and tried to swat her away, abandoning that idea for pulling her onto his lap and covering her in a spate of kisses.

Genuinely happy for his sister, Chip averted his gaze and allowed her time to enjoy the cozy moment. She no longer had to battle life in Harlow alone. A life of running the old family business—Harlow’s one and only bar, Maynard’s—where she’d parleyed her dreams of playing international tennis so that those with limited work options here could keep their job. All while he’d been whisked away to live with his dad in Boston.

Meanwhile, Chip never engaged in much more than a few short-term flings, his focus set on his studies and not wasting his chance at a world beyond what Sarah had. He owed her. Owed himself. And he wasn’t totally free from the trauma of coming from a fractured family. Nor his desire for a future that looked nothing like his past.

But Sarah and Dean’s relationship offered hope. She’d survived. Found contentment. Maybe Chip would get there too.

His thoughts inexplicably slipped to Ally. Maybe because of their recent encounter. Or because he’d never been so close to anyone as he’d been to her. Or because the age-old pain of being pried away lingered in the ache now filling his stomach.

But other things endured beyond those more bitter memories, like the ease with which they’d talked today and his instant calm in her presence.

That said, maturity brought complexity and understanding, and he never made a big decision without doing a little research. So, he’d find out more. More about her. More about how they fit together now. Or even whether they fit together at all.

Four

The very next afternoon, Chip began his fact-finding mission on Ally. The majority of his day had already been spent trying to untangle a particularly complex algorithm at home.

Now, the low sun exuded its orange glow across Harlow’s Main Street, the surrounding smell of dry earth and summer grass rising up to reward his hard-fought victory in escaping his work.

That smell. This street’s century-old stores. The lack of foot traffic. Every contrasting detail to Boston pulled at his childhood memories of Harlow.

There’d been skipping down this brickwork sidewalk. The regular pursuit of candy at Frank and Maureen Cooper’s general store. And of course, Ally always at Chip’s side.

Though a few unfamiliar shops now lined the strip, one thing that hadn’t changed was the late afternoon closures. As always, Harlow lived and worked at its own pace. No twenty-four-hour convenience stores. And forget about buying anything on a Sunday.

Not that he’d left his house for the shopping, anyway.

“Chip?”

Bingo. That bright, feminine lilt, and her tone twisting his name upward into a question. Ally’s voice was already imprinted on his memory. He didn’t need to redirect his gaze off the storefront to his side to know who spoke.

Though she wore a frown and pulled the doors to Oak Tree Furniture closed behind her, he leveled a smile and waved, the jovial ting of the door’s bell conspiring right along with him.

“Hey, Ally.” He played casual and strolled closer, a light sensation working through his muscles at the chance to speak her name. To the woman herself. After so many years.

Her open surprise faded, and a slow smile spread over her face. Like she was genuinely glad to see him. Good. Very good. Especially now he stood close enough to indulge in the faint scent of candy and sunshine floating off her skin, her perfume matching her look and energy. Delightful. Sweet. As did her silver blue eyes shining up at him.

Like new cut crystal.

“Ten years of nothing, and now two run-ins in as many days.” Her smile weakened, and she narrowed her eyes. “That’s some strange karma, dontcha think?”

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