Page 9 of Secondhand Secrets

He noted the spring in her step and the defiant lift of her chin, actions denoting lighthearted strength. “I’d like to see you try, but maybe you could first fill me in on what you’ve been doing for the last ten years?”

Her lips parted as if ready to speak, only for her to press them together and pause. Soon, she turned her attention to the road ahead. “Just a typical Harlow existence, I guess. I did a short general art course over in Marston after high school, then floundered with not much to do for a while before Blaine offered me work at Oak Tree.”

“You took an art course?” Of course, she’d be an artist. But then… “So, why are you working at Oak Tree?”

“Oak Tree pays my bills. Art… well, I guess it’s cheap therapy.” She gave a quick shrug and kicked at the rocky track below her bright red and purple flat shoes, the rocks making a light skittering sound. “Anyway, what about you? I hear you’re a hotshot software developer now?”

She lifted her gaze, her question, along with her new focus on him, indicated reluctance to talk about her stuff.

She’s not happy.

“People round here keep saying that.” He gave a tight chuckle and glanced to the open field to Ally’s right, black and white Holstein cows grazing farther away. A very Harlow scene. “But much to my dad’s disapproval, I’ve foregone a well-paying job to work on my own project.”

“Oh, he must be pissed.” Her eyes lit up again, like she remembered his dad—more precisely, his overbearing nature. “You said something at the game about being here for work.”

“Yep, but use that term loosely because I’m making literally no money right now.” Though he forced a light expression, he pushed his hands into his pockets and pulled his attention from her. Even being a “poor artist,” she had a job and, therefore, more than him. “Since Sarah moved in with Dean, I figured I’d make use of having a house all to myself. It’s free on space and rent.”

She gave a light chuckle. “Boston not quite enough for yah?”

Her Minnesotan accent prompted a new smile, his accent having mostly faded some time ago. “I still live with Dad. Let’s just say, things are never easy there.”

“Ahuh” She peered over at him, another hesitant pause before speaking again. “He still with that woman?”

“If by that woman, you mean, the woman he left my mom for, then yes. He’s still with Kelly.”

Focusing on the summer breeze whooshing in his ears, he hoped for an end to any more talk on Kelly. Though he’d never held much against her, her emergence had broken his already dysfunctional family and left his relationship with his dad splintered.

Now, all three merely tolerated each other and only because Chip needed his dad’s money to survive. Meanwhile, his dad had an unyielding drive to see Chip prove something to the world. Though never once had Chip gotten the impression anything he did, or might achieve, would be enough.

So of course, he wanted to end this shallow alliance as quickly as possible. Preferably in exchange for Stonewall’s success.

If that didn’t happen, then he’d have little choice but to yield to his dad’s vision. To sacrifice his aspirations in return for a secure job, wheeling and dealing to climb corporate ladders, making other people’s ideas and dreams come true.

“How long are you Harlow?” Though she stared at the ground, the previous silence hinted that she cared about his answer.

Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

He squinted at the sun, soaking in the landscape once more and drawing out his reply, perhaps on the off chance his hunch about her affection might be right.

“It’s hard to say. I have no hurry to return to Boston, although I’ve applied for a few funding programs. So if something happens with those, I might need to go back.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, her expression dimmed at the hint he might not be in town for long, although that too could have been his wishful thinking. At least, the low churn in his stomach said as much.

Even if his future could never be so far from a major city, leaving Harlow again would undoubtedly hurt.

“Knowing you, Chip”—her smile returned, though a little twisted and forced—“you’ll get that funding, and there’s gonna come a day when a whole bunch of people will fall over themselves to throw money your way.”

He let out a laugh, and she joined him, hers milder with a slight bend.

“Ally, are you okay?” He stopped walking and waited for her to do the same.

Her attention lifted to him, one corner of her lip ticked upward while she swatted a hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “Just that I seem to be a dying breed in these parts.”

Hoping to soften the mood, he gave a light chuckle. “You look far from dying.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Most people our age have moved away or gotten married. Sometimes I have visions of being the last person in Harlow altogether.”

Moved away or gotten married?

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