Chapter Fourteen

The shadows had lengthened by the time Truly climbed the front porch stairs of the McCrory's lake house.

Granted, the place was less of a lake house and more of a lake mansion, taking up at least three lots' worth of well-manicured acreage with grass she'd bet her left tit was regulation length and not a centimeter longer. The siding looked perfectly pressure-washed, not a hint of moss growing on the foundation. Better Homes and Gardens could've given it a centerspread.

It couldn't have been more different from her parents' lived-in two-bedroom cottage with its faded green shutters, crooked door knocker, and chaotically gorgeous flower beds, well-tended but sprawling and wild, like something out of a storybook full of fairies and woodland sprites.

Here went nothing. She held her breath and rang the doorbell.

Of course it was Colin who answered, still wearing those gingham shorts.

"Hi." She nervously shoved the pie tin into his chest. "I made a pie."

His brows rocketed to his hairline. "You made this?"

"It's, like, fifty percent Cool Whip and the crust is store-bought, but yeah, I did." From her tote, she yanked out a bottle of pinot noir and a bottle of chardonnay, both nice vintages from a nearby vineyard. "I wasn't sure if your parents preferred white or red, let alone what would go best with dinner, so I brought both. And then I remembered some people don't drink, hence the pie."

Colin whistled when he saw the labels. "Ma's two juleps deep and Pops has been in his office since five, which means he's had at least one whiskey by now. You could serve 'em Carlo Rossi at this point and they'd smile and nod." He stepped aside. "Come on in."

She slipped the wine back inside the tote, bottles clanking. "You, uh, have a lovely home?"

Colin looked amused. "My grandfather built the place; wanted it to be a getaway for the whole family, hence the size. Grandpa McCrory, that is. Never met my mother's father, but according to Ma, he fancied himself too good for working with his hands."

She slipped out of her Sperrys, adjusting the heel of her right sock when it slipped down her foot, flushing hot because Colin had his eyes trained on her. "I take it you're not close to your mom's side of the family?"

Hard to forget how close the McCrory side of the family was after Caitlin's recount of how they'd all crowded around to watch Colin's solo Sex Sent Me to the ER horror show.

"Nah," he said, gesturing with a tilt of his head for her to follow him down the hall. "Mom's older sister married into some ultra-rich family that owns a bunch of newspapers around the world. I've only met my cousin on that side of the family once, but he was a real prick, so I figure I'm not missing much."

Like the hall, the kitchen was all off-white paint, stainless steel appliances providing the only color. The granite counters were spotless, not a crumb in sight, and the sink? The sink was undermounted and immaculate, the basin free from soap residue and water spots.

Colin set the pie inside the fridge and she placed both bottles of wine beside the sink, not knowing where else to put them.

"So, where's your mom?" she asked, folding the tote and setting that on the counter, too.

"Finishing touches on her hair, she said. You're early."

The clock above the mounted microwave read 7:03. "Your mom said seven."

"Which everyone knows means seven thirty."

"Everyone who?" That was patently ridiculous. "Wine opener?"

She could really go for a drink.

"On your right, top drawer. And I don't know. Probably the same white Anglo-Saxon Protestants who invented beach loafers and Cape Codders and decided names like Bitsie and Muffy were en vogue. Mom's got some weird holdovers from her life before she married Dad."

"Well, my parents always told me if you aren't early, you're late."

He snorted. "Okay, Ricky Bobby."

"Okay, Colie-kins. It's a theater thing. Early is on time, on time is late, and late? That's unacceptable. How was I supposed to know your mom didn't plan on serving dinner promptly at seven? Speaking of"—she held both bottles—"what's on the menu?"

"Waldorf salad accompanied by Muffy McCrory née Fairchild's specialty."

"Which is?"

Colin grimaced. "Creamed chipped beef."

Ew. "Okay, um, I'm guessing that pairs best with..." She cringed. "Red?"

"The only thing creamed chipped beef pairs with is an industrial incinerator." Colin grabbed both bottles from her and made quick work of tearing the foil off the bottle of pinot, before doing the same with the bottle of chardonnay. "And if you can't get your hands on one of those—"

"Lemme guess—store-bought's fine?"

Colin chuckled softly and handed her a glass filled with white wine.

"I missed you."

She narrowly avoiding choking on a mouthful of wine. "You saw me on Saturday—"

"Yeah, and I missed you as soon as I walked out your front door." He crossed his arms. "What's your point?"

Her knees weakened and she slumped against the counter. "I—I ghosted you, I—"

"I don't think it counts as ghosting if it's been under forty-eight hours," he mused.

"Be serious, will you?"

She gasped softly when he set his hands down on the counter, boxing her in, the granite biting into her back. Her heart rabbited inside her chest, pulse skipping.

"Who says I'm not?"

She stared up at him through her lashes. "I figured you'd be upset."

She would be angry. Hell, she was angry. Angry at herself for acting like such a coward. Angry that a tiny part of her wished Colin would be angry with her, too. Not because she was trying to punish herself, but because if he were angry, maybe he'd stop treating her so softly. Maybe they'd argue and maybe he'd be the one who wouldn't answer her texts next time and she could tell Lulu and anyone else who asked that she'd tried.

If denying herself what she actually wanted counted as a form of self-flagellation, maybe she was trying to punish herself.

His expression softened. "You don't owe me anything, Truly."

Her eyes prickled and her sinuses burned. He wasn't supposed to be nice. "Don't I?"

The smile slid off his face. "No." He sounded appalled. "Jesus, no. I figured after Saturday, you either needed space or had changed your mind. If you want me to back off all you have to do is—"

"No." She fisted her hand in his shirt, suddenly terrified by the prospect of him going anywhere. "I don't want that. I don't. I'm sorry, okay? I—" The lump in her throat swelled, making it difficult to swallow. "You're right. I do like you. I like your obscure facts and how your eyes light up when you talk about them, when you share them with me. I like it that you aren't afraid to call me out on my bullshit and that for some reason that's completely beyond me, you haven't given up on me even though I've given you a hundred opportunities and a thousand reasons why. For some reason you like me and most of the time I'm not even sure why, but you do and I like that, too. I pretty much melt when you say my name, it sounds better when you say it, and when I'm with you, it's easy to forget what I'm afraid of, but when I'm not, I guess I have a tendency to get in my head."

And in her own way.

His hands drifted from the counter to her hips. He leaned in, nose brushing hers for one breath, two, and her socked toes curled against the tile floor.

"You want me to tell you why I like you?" he whispered. "I can do that. Gladly."

She strained closer, wanting his lips against hers like she needed her next breath. "Colin, you don't actually have to—"

"You're the most stubborn person I've met in my entire life. You're stubborn and you're proud—"

"Those aren't compliments. Those are—"

"—and you're bossy," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "You're also passionate and when you believe in something, you believe in it with your whole heart. And maybe"—the softest of shuddering sighs escaped him—"I've been looking for someone who believes in me like that."

Finally, finally his lips crashed against hers.

She reached up, burying her fingers in his thick hair, trying to drag him impossibly closer, would crawl inside him if she could. The drag of his lips against hers was slick and hot, the kiss wet and messy, the way she liked, the way a kiss was supposed to be, openmouthed desperation tinged with desire, raw and a little filthy, breathing another person's air into your lungs, swallowing their spit, tangling together until whose parts were whose became a mystery.

The doorbell rang and Truly jolted. "Is someone else joining us?"

He stepped back, his brows drawing down into a frown. "Not that I'm aware—"

Muffy McCrory breezed into the kitchen. "Truly, you're here! And good, you already have a drink. Colin, be a dear and set the table?"

"Are we expecting somebody?" he asked.

"Oh." Muffy paused halfway to the hall. "Did I forget to mention Caleb and Ali are joining us?"

"Did you forget—" A muscle in his jaw twitched, his nostrils flaring softly. "Really, Ma? Again?"

Muffy huffed, hands poised on her narrow hips. "Collie, it's been years."

"Holidays and special occasions," he spoke slowly, with obvious forced restraint. The words sounded practiced, like they'd been said before.

The doorbell rang once more.

"It would be rude to keep your brother waiting," Muffy said, already moving.

"And that would be tragic." Colin spent a moment glaring at the door through which his mother passed. Before Truly could even open her mouth to ask any of the dozen questions on the tip of her tongue, he turned and with the absolute flimsiest smile asked, "Help me set the table?"

***

Everyone was perfectly polite.

"Dinner's delicious, Muffy," Ali—Caleb's wife, she'd discovered—said.

She was pretty and willowy, all peaches and cream skin, her heart-shaped face framed with a halo of springy blond curls. She sat across the table from Colin and to her left—Caleb.

Who Colin had forgotten to mention was his identical twin.

His hair was different, cropped short all over, which made him look older than thirty-two. Or maybe it was the tan that did it, his skin weathered in a way that Colin's wasn't. The sleeves of his plaid overshirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms smattered with small silvery scars. The hand holding his fork was rougher, knuckles thick and scarred, and his pinky had a Band-Aid wrapped around it. He wasn't as handsome as Colin, as far as she was concerned, but clearly his whole rugged lumberjack aesthetic did it for Ali, who sat so close to him she might as well have been in his lap. Atop the table, their free hands sat, fingers tangled together.

Muffy glowed at the praise. "Thank you, sweetheart." Her eyes dropped to Truly's plate and her smile dimmed. "Truly, dear, you've barely touched your chipped beef."

She froze with the tines of her fork buried in the mush Muffy called a meal. "It's, um, it's delicious. I'm just... savoring it."

Colin disguised his snort of laughter with a cough. "Pardon me." He reached for his water. "Tickle in my throat."

"You're not a vegan, are you?" Muffy asked. "Shoot, I didn't even ask about allergies."

"I'm not a vegan. And no allergies."

"Except to cow cod," Colin said, straight-faced. "Truly's allergic to cow cod."

Truly kicked him under the table, landing a glancing blow to his ankle that didn't do much more than make him grin.

Muffy frowned. "Is that a type of fish?"

"Ignore him. He's—he's mistaken." She pasted on a smile and scooped a disgusting heap of chipped beef into her mouth. "Mm, mm. So good."

"Truly, what is it you do?" Ali asked, big blue eyes wide with interest.

She washed the taste of processed meat and milk gravy from her mouth with a sip of crisp white wine. "I'm an author."

Ali gasped excitedly. "An author! Oh, fun! I've always wanted to write a book."

"You could write a book if you wanted to, honey," Caleb said, the most words he'd spoken in a row so far. Loquacious, he was not.

His wife pouted prettily. "If only I weren't so busy."

"I've been telling you, you should just go ahead and quit—"

Ali's lashes fluttered rapidly and the tines of her fork clanged noisily against the gold-rimmed charger beneath her plate. Caleb cut himself off with a cough.

Silence settled over the table. Awkward.

Ali recovered like a pro. "What kind of books do you write?"

She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. "Romance."

"Dreamy!" Ali beamed, all pretty, perfect white teeth. "Anything I might've heard of?"

By all accounts, Ali seemed perfectly nice, all bright smiles and big blinking eyes and endless enthusiasm. Which was why Truly couldn't put her finger on what exactly it was about Colin's sister-in-law that rubbed her the wrong way, only that something about her felt off. Like how Splenda tasted sweet, but wasn't actually sugar.

"I'm not sure." She smiled. "How familiar are you with queer historical romance?"

The rise of Ali's brows was far from subtle. "Not very. But I'd love some recommendations."

"Sure. After dinner, I'd be happy to give you a list."

The conversation petered off, replaced by the sound of cutlery scraping softly against bone china.

Ali cocked her head, a tiny furrow appearing between her brows as she stared contemplatively across the table. Truly smiled back benignly.

Ali's lips parted, then closed. She cleared her throat delicately. "So." It was primal, the way that tiny word made the hair on the back of Truly's neck stand on end. "Are you a member of the community?"

"Jesus Christ," Colin mumbled just loud enough for her to hear and reached for his wine.

"Oh." Muffy fluttered her hands in the air. "Ali, dear, I don't know if that's an appropriate question to—"

"It's fine," Truly said, smiling tightly, insides writhing because it was not an appropriate question to ask, but she'd answer it gladly anyway. "I am."

The is that gonna be a problem was silent and implied.

"That's nice." Ali's eyes flitted between Truly and Colin. "Is that how you and Colin met? At a parade or something?"

Jesus.

"Oh, sure," Colin said, deadpan. "Our mutual friend Dorothy introduced us."

Truly swallowed her laugh and with it, another sip of wine.

"Who's Dorothy?" Muffy frowned. "I thought Caitlin introduced you."

"Oh, Caitie," Ali said, saving Truly from explaining the queer subtext of The Wizard of Oz and Judy Garland to the table. "Caleb and I had hoped she'd be here."

Muffy waved Ali off. "You know Caitlin. Hard to pin that girl down."

"Actually, she had a meeting with several execs at Spotify," Colin said, cutting his eyes at his mother. "Or did she forget to mention that?"

Muffy pursed her lips and stabbed at an apple on her salad plate.

"Mr. McCrory? Colin told me your father built this house. I'm afraid I don't know much about architecture, but the place is beautiful," Truly said, trying to keep the conversation going. These weighted silences made her skin crawl.

"My father was a talented man. Built his business from the ground up." Cormac McCrory shoveled a forkful of chipped beef into his mouth. "How's work, Colin?"

Colin strangled the stem of his wineglass. "Great, Dad. Thanks for actually asking."

Not for the first time tonight, Truly felt more like she'd stepped into a minefield than a dining room.

"Truly—it is Truly, isn't it?" Cormac asked, lifting his glass of whiskey to his lips. "Interesting name."

"The Livingstons," Muffy said, as if that were an explanation.

"Ah," Cormac said, managing to pack an absurd amount of condescension into that tiny word. "Do you like jokes, Truly?"

Beside her, Colin stiffened.

She set her fork down carefully. "If they're funny."

"This one is," Cormac promised, taking a healthy swig of his drink. "Do you know the difference between a lawyer and a jellyfish?"

Across the table, Caleb chuckled under his breath.

Colin heaved a sigh.

Truly felt like she was going to be sick.

"What's the difference, Dad?" Colin asked. "I can't wait to hear this one."

"The difference"—Cormac rested his elbows on the table, eyes on Truly—"is that one is a spineless, gutless blob. The other is a form of sea life."

Colin shoved his plate away.

Truly looked around the table, waiting for someone, anyone, to speak up in his defense.

Everyone was studiously focused on their plates except Caleb, whose shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"Cormac," Muffy chided weakly. "Be nice."

Be nice?Fuck that and fuck everyone at this table.

"I'm sorry." She smiled benignly, reaching under the table and finding Colin's hand. She squeezed his fingers tight. "I don't get it."

Ali dropped her fork.

"Could you explain it to me?" Truly asked sweetly.

"Lawyers are—well they're—" Colin's father turned a shade of red that couldn't be healthy. "Never mind."

"Huh." She shrugged affably. "I guess it must not have been very funny."

Cormac scowled into his whiskey and Truly bit back a smile, a bitter part of her wanting to freeze this moment, frame it, and place it... not in the middle of her proverbial shelf, but somewhere just left of center.

She'd burn a hundred bridges if it meant erasing the frown from Colin's face. Beneath the table, he laced their fingers together and that alone made this moment worth remembering.

"So, Ali." Truly smiled. "What is it you do?"

"I'm a donor relations specialist. Which is fine, but you know." She smiled and shrugged and sipped her water. "It's not a forever thing."

A pointed glance passed between Ali and Caleb, his brows rising. She nodded.

Caleb set his napkin down beside his plate and cleared his throat. "There's actually something Ali and I wanted to say. We're—do you want to say it, babe?"

Ali beamed at Colin and Caleb's parents across the table. "Muffy, Cormac, you're going to be grandparents."

"A baby?" Muffy screeched and stood so fast she knocked the table, her glass toppling over, blessedly empty. "Oh, I'm so happy." She sniffled, rounding the table and dragging Caleb and Ali into a hug.

Mr. McCrory held his nearly empty glass aloft. "Congrats, kid. Knew you had it in you."

The sound of wood screeching against wood made her shiver.

"Congratulations," Colin said, perfectly polite, congenial even, smile fixed. And if she weren't watching him so closely, he might've seemed okay. But she was watching him, was so attuned to Colin that he could've blinked wrong and her spidey-senses would've tingled. His eyes were focused an inch over everyone's heads, gaze distant and smile just this side of too wide to be real. A flimsy veneer. "Excuse me. I'd like to check on the dessert. Be back in a sec."

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Truly had brought a cream pie and he knew it.

But she sat perfectly still, quietly seething with a smile pasted on her face as everyone took his excuse at face value, didn't even question as he strode from the room, shoulders unnaturally stiff.

When he hadn't returned after five minutes and the conversation about potential baby names grew grating, Truly asked after the restroom.

Muffy gave her vague directions to pass through the kitchen, hit the hall, and you can't miss it. Which didn't matter because Truly didn't really need to pee. She was mostly looking for an excuse to find Colin.

... who wasn't in the kitchen. Big shocker there.

He wasn't in the bathroom, either. But she did find a window in the half bath overlooking the drive. It was foggy out for this time of year, but not so foggy she missed the gray-blue BMW backed into the drive, a rainbow sticker on the bumper.

Oh, she knew there was a reason she didn't like that bitch.

Truly tore out of the bathroom, a woman on a fucking mission, daring anyone to get in her way. God only knew what drew her to the French doors at the end of the hall, but she followed her intuition.

Moonlight glinted off Colin's hair, as glossy and dark as the lake. He was down on the dock, bare feet cutting waves in the still water.

Truly shut the door behind her softly and crept down the knoll leading to the dock, cool grass tickling her feet. It wasn't her goal to sneak up on him, but she wasn't exactly looking forward to announcing herself, either.

Until she glimpsed the cigarette between his fingers and saw fucking red.

Her feet slapped against the aged wooden boards of the dock. Colin craned his neck, looking over his shoulder, about a second too late to stop her from reaching down and plucking the cigarette from his hand. She didn't think, just tossed it in the lake with a noise she wasn't ashamed to call a growl.

"The hell?" Colin spun toward her, water rippling around his ankles.

She stomped her heel against the dock, wood trembling beneath her foot. "Those will kill you, you know that?"

"Something's gotta do it," he mumbled, and her blood reached boiling.

"Not on my watch," she spit out. "I swear, Colin—"

"It wasn't even lit. I didn't even bring a lighter."

With that dumb as shit confession hovering in the space between them, the fight drained from her. She sank down to her knees, rough wood biting into her skin as she swiveled, twisting to the side, letting her bare feet skim the surface of the water. "God, I hate you."

She didn't. Not even a little bit. Not at all.

Colin knocked his shoulder against hers. "I like you, too, Truly."

She laughed. "So what? Were you gonna, like, absorb the nicotine through your skin? Was that your security cigarette? Like a blanket but dumber and deadlier?"

He cringed. "I don't even smoke. Not anymore. I quit... God, I don't even remember. Two years ago? Yeah, two years ago." He looked at her, sly smile spreading across his face. "You realize you probably just gave some poor, unsuspecting fish cancer, right?"

"Shut up." She buried her face in her hands and groaned. "If you don't smoke anymore, where did you even get that?"

A moment passed and then another before it registered that her question might've been loaded.

"Ali. Her jacket, I mean. She smokes—smoked? I don't know now because of the..." Colin let out a loud, painful-sounding breath through his nose and gripped the side of the dock, his knuckles turning white. "I figured she'd have a pack on her."

She dragged in a breath and held it until her lungs burned. Here went nothing.

"I saw the rainbow bumper sticker on her car. ‘Puts the A in ally'? You sort of failed to mention your ex-girlfriend is married to your brother. Not that you had to! I know it's not my business."

Colin gave a self-effacing laugh. "When your ex dumps you for a guy that has your same face you know it has everything to do with your personality. With who you are. I guess it's hard not to have a complex about it. I'm over her, I am, but I won't lie and say it's not difficult seeing her do all the things with my brother that we talked about doing one day—getting married, starting a family. And Mom and Dad want to sweep the whole thing under the rug. We were together for three years and they act like we never even dated."

"No offense?" But while they were being one hundred percent, no-holds-barred honest with each other? "Your family sucks."

"None taken," he said, lips twitching. "I went no-contact for a while, but then Mom had a cancer scare about a year ago and... there's a lot of hurt and I know it's not okay, how they act, blindsiding me, trying to force me to mend fences with Caleb. That wasn't the first time Mom's pulled that sort of stunt. My boundaries could admittedly be better." He smiled ruefully. "It's something I'm working on with my therapist."

"That's good," she said. "That you know it's not okay, I mean."

Colin reached down and plucked her hand off her thigh and brought it to his lips, laying a kiss against her knuckles. "Thanks for sticking up for me in there. You didn't have to, but it means a lot to me that you did."

Someone ought to. "Pretty sure your family hates me now."

"They started it." His thumb stroked over her palm, sending a shiver through her. He must've thought she was cold because he draped an arm around her and drew her snuggly against his side. "Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. They don't like you? Their loss. I do. So. Screw 'em."

There wasn't exactly any love lost on her side, either. "If you say so."

He looked at her, then back at the house, an appraising glint in his eye. "I wonder..."

"Hm? You wonder what?"

"How long do you think it would take them to notice if we left?"

"Leave?" She laughed. "Really?"

"You can't tell me you seriously want to go back in there."

Her face must've spoken volumes because he stood and grinned down at her, dark eyes glimmering under the light of the moon.

"Come on." He held out his hand. "Let's get out of here."