Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Chip stood before the open kiln, his shirt still in his hand, and Ally perched on the couch’s edge, her phone pressed to her ear. The kiln stood shy of waist-height, the door opening more like a lid from the top up, the empty inside insulated with a wall of white, heat-resistant bricks. He squinted at the control panel and tried, but failed, to make sense of what each button did.
“Thanks Aggie.” He peered over to Ally with her lips dipped in a frown, although he tried not to smile because she wore no more than her short skirt and bra, his body thrumming at the sight of her and the knowledge of having just been inside her. “We’ll see you soon.”
She hung up, and he hurried to hide his staring, tugging his shirt on over his head before retrieving her shirt from the couch’s armrest and handing it to her. “Sounds like that went well.”
“Yah, Aggie’s on her way.” She took the shirt but didn’t rush to put it back on. “Thanks”
She tilted her chin up to him, and a quiet pause unfolded. Though he couldn’t say what went through her mind, all he could think about was the hard-to-define shift that seemed to have occurred. Like the connection here had deepened all while he braced for a greater than ever fall.
He leaned over her and caught her lips in a sumptuous kiss, a kiss he imbued with the hollow hope of making her more than a short summer fling, even though he’d come to Harlow with no desire for anything serious.
She obliged the kiss, rising to drape her arms over his shoulders and sinking into his hold, the silken skin over her bare lower back filling his palms only for her to push away from him.
“Nah, ah.” A flurry of hard breaths followed her denial, and she went about jamming her shirt on. “We’re not going to let poor Aggie walk in on round two.”
He let out a laugh and turned for the bright red kettle in the pottery’s tiny kitchenette. “Okay, fine. What about coffee? Is coffee safe?”
An easy chuckle wafted from her general direction. “Sure, but there’s no fridge so no milk.”
He caught her strolling over as if to help, but he shook his head and pointed to a chair tucked under the small, nearby table. “You sit. I’ll make coffee. Straight black still gets a pass from me.”
She frowned but did as told, folding her legs beneath her on her designated chair. Even at school, she’d struggled to sit in chairs the traditional way, contorting her legs into weird shapes that seemed comfortable only to her.
The memory brought a smile to his face, and he ruffled his hair with one hand while depressing the kettle button with the other. More silence passed as he searched the bench’s lower cupboards for cups and processed this room’s distinct earthy scent of potter’s paint.
That smell brought about an unexpected reminder that a world outside his computers and bug-fixing existed. A world of handcrafted art and the woman who made it. The woman he fast fell for and would lose within a week, unless…
He pulled two cups out and placed them on the bench, the thick ceramic walls and mottled mauve and turquoise glaze a blatant Ally Egan creation.
This train of thought prodded him to learn more about something clearly important to her, so he nodded to the kiln and set about making her talk. “How hot do those things get?”
She narrowed her gaze at the kiln in a pensive look. “Well, that one is from Germany, and her name is Brunhilda, so I like to say she’s 1300 degrees Celsius. But if we must stick with local figures, I guess you could say about 2370 Fahrenheit.”
She shot him a smile that produced another chuckle from him. “Your kiln has a name?”
She tilted her head to one side in a way that said, Do you even know me? before adding, “Sure, the name Brunhilda means armed for battle, and trust me, that girl likes to put up a fight. Between bisque and glaze firing, a lot can go wrong.”
“Let me guess”—the kettle dinged, and he went about pouring water into a nearby plunger—“explosions?”
“If I’m not careful, lots of explosions.”
He lifted a glazed cup from the bench and inspected the swirling colors anew. “And how did you get this one to be so glossy and colorful?”
“Hmm…” She rose from her seat and wandered over, a thoughtful indent forming between her brows. “It’s the way the oxides react when heated—cobalt, manganese, potassium—most go on one color and come out something completely different when fired. The turquoise in this cup is made from copper, and the top glaze is essentially powdered glass mixed with water. The glass melts in the kiln and fuses into a high gloss when cooled. Over fire, and you get pinholes all over your work. Under fire and your piece looks like it’s coated in opaque glue.”
“And this one has neither.” He smiled at her, her attention still fixed on the cup in his hand. “Also, the way you describe the interaction between chemicals and heat. Ally, I wasn’t joking when I said you know how to science.”
She blinked up at him, her frown slowly easing. “I never thought of my work like that. Thanks.”
A small laugh escaped her, and her gaze continued to search his face, the bend in her brow and that thought-burdened look returning. “Was it hard leaving Harlow?”
He reeled a little at her question, not sure where the thought came from, though maybe his reference to her work got her thinking about leaving.
As much as he wanted to sweeten the truth, to make leaving seem simple so that she’d love Harlow a little less and him a whole lot more, his conscience got the best of him, and he vowed to share the truth.
“Harder than you’d think.” A lump took up space in his throat, and he spun around to the coffee plunger, hoping the subject would pass once he had coffee to serve.
But then, his next confession slipped out. “People around here seem to think leaving was the admirable thing to do. You know, like I instantly embarked on a bigger and better life, in a bigger and better city. But everything happened so fast, and I wasn’t ready, Ally. Everyone forgets that I watched my mother’s mental state disintegrate before my eyes. That I came home from school one day to find all our possessions strewn across the front lawn, and her bleeding from the countless wounds she’d inflicted on her arms. What if I hadn’t returned when I did? What if I’d done the usual that day and went out with you after school?”
Though he couldn’t see her, he imagined Ally’s stare hitting his back, his attention hooked to the unserved cup waiting on the bench before him.
No matter how much he told himself to move on from that day, the sense of being that same overwhelmed fourteen-year-old never seemed all that far away.
“Chip?” She called to him.
Though he turned, he failed to actually look at her and, instead, stared at the black speckles of rock amongst the floor’s polished concrete. “I had no control over any of it. Not how Mom reacted. Not about dropping everything I knew to move to Boston. Much less, I didn’t want to move to Boston. Especially not to live with Dad and his new woman.”
He swiped up a cup and ferried it over to her, his shoulders easing a little at having something to do.
“I always thought things were better for you there.” Her husky whisper had him meeting her gaze, although the softened sympathy in her eyes made him regret sharing so much. “There were stories about your dad’s career taking a sharp upward turn after leaving our dinky nearest hospital. How he’d bought a huge house in a well-to-do area. That he’d finally met his potential. I’m sorry, Chip, I always just believed the rosier version I’d heard.”
“Well, that version isn’t all wrong.” He leaned a hip to the table and stood before her, his fingers hooked around the robust handle of his coffee cup. “I eventually made new friends and did well in school, but that home in Boston was never my home. Dad was too busy social climbing and working. Even when he was around, I got the distinct impression he only cared about my presence so long as I had some story of success to share.”
“I mean, look at you.” She gestured up and down his body, although the gesture seemed to incorporate more than just a reference to his physical appearance. “It’s not like you fall short.”
“For a man hellbent on sticking his fathering skills to Mom, I did. Dad wanted to raise his ideal version of a man, someone who could do and be it all, an intellectual athlete. Someone less inquisitive, more enterprising. Someone engaging, but aloof. You know, someone like him.”
She gave a scoffing sort of laugh over the rim of her cup. “He doesn’t ask for much, does he?”
Chip laughed at her soothing sarcasm. “Right? Most people think ‘heart surgeon’ and assume he’s a saint by default, but even brainy people in care industries can be wannabe corporate highflyers. Heck, he had me enrolled in baseball classes and private golf tutoring within weeks of landing in Boston. You know, all the things that were meant to help my future impression on the world at large.”
She reached out and clasped the hand he pressed to the table close to her, her uncharacteristic silence seeming to make space for him to process his thoughts.
Ally saw him in ways that his own father never could. She accepted and comforted, two qualities missing most around him in all his years away from Harlow, his more selfish side wishing to hold on to her for that reason alone. To have her help him in ways no career or overbearing father could. Even though he had many other reasons to persuade her to come away with him.
“I never quite fit in his world.”
And Ally will fit in even less. She’ll have to run Dad’s gauntlet, all while I pray she likes Boston enough to want to give up Harlow.
What was I thinking, asking her to come?
“I just wanted to stay home and learn everything I could about the topics that interested me.” He lowered his cup to the table and then pressed his palm to the softness of her cheek. “Which is why your crush on Dean kind of threw me. He has the same tough air my dad always wanted for me. That, and you only ever seemed to like athletes and outdoorsy guys.”
She gave a small chuckle, her eyes glinting their brilliant blue. “I can see how you’ve kind of developed a sore spot.”
He laughed. “Well, thanks.”
“But it’s safe to say you don’t need to worry about any jocks, rugged men, or social climbers.” She started off with another wide smile that slowly softened into something else entirely, her voice turning husky in the end. “I like you a lot more than I’ve ever liked any of them.”
For a long while, he grappled for something to say, ultimately settling on turning her earlier question back to her. “What was Harlow like after I left?”
She gave a small scoff and ticked one corner of her lip upward. “Nowhere near as fun, that’s for sure. You and I were always together, and even when I did find a new rhythm without you, I envied you.”
His brow squished together, and a strain gripped his chest. What did Ally Egan have to be envious of?
“Time and time again, I watched our peers pack up and move. As much as I wanted to do the same, I forfeited any idea that I could do the same. Harlow was just too safe, and my dreams of being an artist, way too risky. ” She gave a tight shrug, the hard bob of her throat denoting anything but ease. “I get that your home life was a mess and mine wasn’t. So, I’m sure it sounds like I’m complaining about nothing, that things were just so comfortable and stable. But most days, it feels like I’m still waiting for my life to start.”
He took his hand back and toyed with the white laminate on the table’s edge for a while. Contemplating her concerns. Weighing up the contrast with his own life.
“First of all”—he set his focus back to her wide and expectant stare—“if it means something to you, then you’re not complaining about nothing. Also, Ally, you have done things. You completed an art course. You have a job at Oak Tree, your potential deal with the Argyles, and a full life here in Harlow. All of those things bring value into the world. Even without all that, you still have decades ahead to start anything you want.”
“Except for being an Olympic level gymnast.” She pointed a finger at him and smiled, her expression seeming to say, I got you on that one.
He laughed and gave her a jovial shake of his head. “Yeah, you’ve probably already aged out of that.”
The serious edge returned to her face, and she puffed out a heavy sigh. “I haven’t travelled, Chip. I haven’t taken any real risks. I used to dream of living in a different city, maybe many different cities. I’ve never felt smart or ready enough to try my hand at something big, and even if I did, Mom and Dad have given Laila and me their entire world. So, there’s this background pressure of feeling that, if I did leave, I better do something amazing, otherwise, any empty-handed return home would be soul crushing and pointless for everyone involved.”
“You mean, kinda like when I left Harlow? Or even what I’m trying to achieve with Stonewall?” He paused and clenched his jaw for a beat, his next words something he’d only now come to admit. “Like everyone is looking at you with a sense that whatever risk you took better have been worth it?’
Her gaze held on him a while, her downturned mouth sending forth sympathy. “Exactly like that. And the time you lose playing those chances, you never get back. I don’t know where to start. I don’t even know if I should .”
Those same thoughts had plagued him about her, the rising risk coupled with the fear that he’d be taking her away. But she deserved more credit than he’d given her thus far. She deserved to see what the world had to offer. To make the choice of where her life would go.
“Let me help you.” Once again, his words surprised him, but if he’d learned anything from this woman, it was that sometimes impulsive moves turned out for the best.
“How are you gonna do that?” She raised a brow and held a mischievous grin.
“I’ll make you a promise. If you ever do get around to busting out of Harlow, no matter what happens between us—if you’re ever lost, scared, or confused—this experienced city slicker will always be just a phone call away.” He pulled her hand from around her coffee cup and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm.
“That’s a big promise, Chip. Not all endings—”
“And you shouldn’t worry about not being able to figure your way around. You’re smart, Ally.” He smiled, fully aware that she’d been about to remind him that many couples parted ways and never spoke again. He didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to believe anything like that could ever happen to them. “You’re keeping up with me just fine, and that’s got to mean something.”
She reached out and poked him in the ribs. “And what about you, Mr. Brave and Worldly? How do you feel about the looming Encode pitch?”
He worked to keep his shoulders from slumping and watched the cheeriness in her expression fade as she grasped his change in mood. “Terrified, Ally. I’m terrified, but I’m going to try anyway. You know why?”
She gave a small shake of her head.
“Because facing the fear is better than being left questioning who I might have been.” He gave a shrug, as though the choice really could be that simple, but the slow churning in his belly warned that he and Ally faced huge, life-altering decisions, and there was nothing simple about the gambit of change coming their way.
A heavy silence drew, with nothing but the bunching of muscles around her eyes, though she shook her head again, the action more decisive this time as her loud intake of breath hinted at renewed focus.
“So then, ask me to come to Boston with you again.” She blinked up at him, her unbroken gaze boring into him, like she was deathly serious.
He gave her a sideways stare, not quite sure of her motivations or whether he should do as told. Then again, he’d been the one to preach on taking risks, so he’d be a hypocrite not to lead by example. “Ahh…want to come to Boston with me?”
Her lips split into a toothy grin, and she offered a quick and repeated nod. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
She tore her hand from his and gave a light Ally squeal, clapping her palms together while he wrestled with his stunned silence.
“Really?” The question half-stuck on its way out, and he cleared his throat against his previous rough delivery. “You mean, you want me to show you around the big smoke? Maybe even come as my date to the Encode dinner?”
Her mouth hung limp for a beat before she snapped it shut and seemed to recover. “That does sound awfully intimidating, but… yes to it all.”