Chapter Six

Truly arrived at the studio before Colin.

"Come in, make yourself at home." Caitlin all but shoved her down onto the couch, the very same couch where she'd lost her cool three weeks prior. "Can I get you something? Maybe that martini this time? Don't tell my brother, but I've got it all—gin, vodka, olives, twists. Name it."

Truly laughed. "I'm good, thanks."

As tempting as it was to take Caitlin up on her offer, she wanted to keep her head about her more than ever.

Caitlin took a seat kitty-corner to her on the chaise side of the sectional. "You have no clue how surprised I was when my brother told me he'd convinced you to give me another chance."

Probably as surprised as Truly was when she'd agreed. "It wasn't you who needed the second chance. But your brother and I talked it out. It's... water under the bridge."

"Thank God." Caitlin beamed. "I was trying to play it cool last time, didn't want to gush, you know? But you're seriously my favorite author. Like, you renewed my hope in love."

Caitlin was what? Twenty-two? What exactly was there to renew?

"I mean it. You're my icon."

Icon? Truly snorted. "That's way too generous of you."

"Hardly. You're amazing. And my brother—"

The studio door opened, and Colin shouldered his way inside, eyes immediately landing on Truly. A smile lit up his face and wow, the Chipotle she'd had for lunch was not agreeing with her. That was why her stomach somersaulted. Bad beans or expired sour cream... too much fiber. "Hey."

"Speak of the devil," Caitlin said. "You're late."

"By what? A minute? Kiss my ass. I brought you coffee."

"Did you even get my order right?"

Colin sighed, aggrieved, broad shoulders rising and falling, and her stomach flipped all over again. Bad beans for sure. "Iced venti sugar cookie latte with three pumps hazelnut syrup and sugar cookie cold foam."

"Sprinkles?" Caitlin asked, reserving judgment.

"You and your fucking sprinkles." He huffed. "It's May, Caitlin, and while it might be Christmas year-round for you, it's not at the coffee shop."

Caitlin's bottom lip jutted out. "Whatever."

"So, I had to stop at the grocery store on the way over here to buy you your goddamn red and green sprinkles." Colin thrust the drink at Caitlin. "You're welcome."

Caitlin made grabby hands. "Best big brother, ever."

Colin laughed. "You want to really show your appreciation? Say that in front of Caleb the next time I'm around."

Caitlin grinned. "Consider it done."

"Who's Caleb?" Truly asked.

"Our brother," Caitlin said.

Colin shook an iced drink in Truly's face. "Here."

She studied the Sharpie scribble along the side of the plastic cup. Iced quad grande oat milk latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup. She took the coffee from him. "What is this?"

"Other than an egregious amount of caffeine?" Colin dropped the gym bag he was carrying and sat beside her. "It's your order, isn't it?"

"You knew that how?"

"He fished it out of the garbage after you left," Caitlin said, tapping away at her phone. "Like the total freak he is."

"Jesus H. Christ, Caitlin," he complained. "Is nothing sacred?"

"Whoops." She looked up from her phone and grinned, chewing on her straw. "Was I not supposed to say that?"

Truly stifled a laugh. "Circling back to you being a stalker..."

"How'd I know you were going to say that?" He groaned, head flopped back, and eyes pinched shut as if he were in pain. "I just wanted to do something nice, okay?" He cracked open one eye. "Consider it a gesture of goodwill."

She took a sip and—oh, yeah. That was the shit. Nectar of the gods in a plastic cup. "As long as you continue to use your creeper powers for good, not evil, who am I to complain?" Truly swallowed another mouthful of iced coffee deliciousness and with it, a groan. So good. "Whatever you're preemptively apologizing for? Consider it forgiven."

"Bold of you to assume I'll be the one apologizing today," Colin said. "But on the off chance things do get heated..."

He unzipped his gym bag.

"No one wants to sniff your sweaty gym socks." Caitlin wrinkled her nose.

"Hey," he warned. "I bet my gym socks could fetch a high price on some fetish site."

Caitlin gagged. "I don't wanna yuck anyone's yum, but barf."

Truly covered her giggle with another sip of her latte.

"You'll be eating those words when my gym sock OnlyFans makes us millions."

"I'll pay you to say the words gym sock OnlyFans at our next family dinner." Caitlin chortled. "Mom'll have a conniption fit."

"As if she doesn't have one every time we all get together?" Colin's smile was thin, his voice tight. Curiously so.

Caitlin wiped tears from her eyes. "Yeah, but about normal things. Like how we're both awful disappointments and she wishes we were more like her precious Caleb. Not her son selling his sweaty socks on the internet for kinksters to fap into."

In what universe were Colin, a successful lawyer, and Caitlin, a semi-famous internet personality, awful disappointments? They both had health insurance, which was a sad, sad barometer for success, but more than Truly could claim.

Colin rolled his eyes. "I didn't bring my gym socks. I didn't even go to the gym today."

Truly leaned forward, peering curiously into the bag that contained a—football helmet? No, two football helmets. "Um."

Without warning, Colin grabbed the smaller of the two helmets, a scuffed mustard-yellow eyesore, and plopped it onto her head. It smelled faintly of gym socks.

Truly glared.

"You know." Colin grinned. "In case things come to blows."

***

"You guys cool if we take five?" Caitlin rattled the ice in her otherwise empty coffee cup. "Truly? You want to do that weird thing girls do where we go to the bathroom together and listen to each other pee? I promise to tell you embarrassing stories about my brother."

Colin yanked off his helmet. "You're a menace."

"That just might be the kindest thing you've ever said to me." Caitlin pretended to wipe away a tear. "Truly?"

As tempting as the offer was...

"I'm good." She held up her half-full coffee. "But rain check on those stories?"

"You got it." Caitlin winked on her way out the door. "Don't kill each other while I'm gone. It would be a bitch to get bloodstains out of this carpet."

The studio door shut, leaving Truly alone with Colin.

"Sisters." Colin sighed.

"Can't live with them, can't live without them?"

Colin looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I once tried to surrender Caitlin to the fire department, so can't say I didn't try to live without her."

She tugged off her helmet and set it down on the cushion beside her. "I thought Caitlin was kidding when she told me that."

"Nah." He grinned. "Guilty as charged."

"Come on," she cajoled. "Having a little sister must've had its perks. Occasional hero worship, at least."

He laughed. "Let me guess—no younger siblings?"

"Only child," she admitted.

"Ah." He nodded. "Should've known."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hard to say." He cocked his head, studying her. That squirmy feeling in her stomach returned, the one she got each time Colin stared at her. As if with every question she asked him, he managed to peel back another one of her layers. "I guess you just have that look about you."

"Look about me?" She dared him to say something offensive. That she seemed spoiled or bossy or maladjusted or any of the other stereotypes she'd heard about only children. "What sort of look?"

"Like you've never known the pleasure of waking up to a spit-covered finger in your ear before? That look."

She laughed, shoulders relaxing. She hadn't woken up to that. Small favors. "That does sound disgusting."

"You have no idea."

"You have a brother, too? Older or younger?"

"Twin, actually." He studied the dent at the back of his helmet. "Technically, I'm twelve minutes older. Last time I ever came first at anything."

He laughed, passing it off as a joke, but Truly wasn't an idiot.

Which was why she didn't push. People didn't often like to have their bruises pressed.

"And your parents? Do they live around here?"

"Sure. They still live over in Woodinville where I grew up."

"Ah, Woodinville." She nodded. "Nice place. Um, good wine."

"Oh, yeah. The wine really was the highlight of my childhood."

She sputtered. "I'm trying here."

"Trying? My, my, Truly St. James," he admonished, tutting softly. "You wouldn't happen to be trying to get to know me, would you?"

"Yeah, well, you aren't exactly making it easy." She huffed, eyeing the orange eyesore on Colin's lap. "Maybe you should put that helmet back on."

"Is that a threat?" He smiled, a hint of teeth appearing between his full pink lips.

She crossed her arms and looked away from his mouth, his face, his—everything.

"More like a warning."

"Hey." He bumped her with his elbow, a gentle nudge. "I'm teasing you. It's a thing people do."

"Oh what, like pigtail pulling?" She scoffed. "Only child here, remember? I wasn't exactly raised to play nicely with others."

Colin hadn't moved his arm and it was warm against hers, heat bleeding through the cotton of his shirt. Her sundress left her own arm bare, and goose bumps rose along her skin, not because she was cold but because there was something startlingly intimate about feeling Colin's shoulder brush hers with every breath he took.

"Maybe I don't want to play nicely with you."

That was—he was—she—play—with—hnggg?

Her brain glitched.

Holy shit.

Had Colin McCrory just come on to her?

Her heart stuttered then sped, hurling itself against her rib cage.

She wasn't an idiot.

They'd flirted. Pigtail pulling. But that's all it had been. Nonsense.

This felt different. Like he was suggesting more. Proposing their flirting actually lead to something.

For the second time in less than a minute, her mind glitched, thoughts of what that something might be clogging up her brain like a traffic jam.

Colin winced and—why was he wincing? Oh yeah, that's right, because he wasn't inside her head. Because he'd probably taken her silence as a rejection rather than speechlessness.

She opened her mouth—

"You know, I just meant, you're not very good at small talk."

Oh. Ouch. Never mind, not hitting on her. Just casually insulting her.

"Shit, that came out wrong. You aren't bad at small talk, I just meant... do you really want to talk about my brother or where my parents live, or do you want to ask me whatever it is you've clearly been dying to ask?"

"I was raised with manners, you know," she said, finding her footing after the one-two punch of believing she was being hit on, only to realize... not so much. Honestly, she didn't even know anymore. "I didn't think asking point-blank about potential childhood trauma would be very polite."

He flashed her another smile. "I think I like you better rude."

She stomped ruthlessly on the fluttering in her stomach. "Well, since you asked. Are your parents still together?"

Colin nodded and settled deeper into the couch. She found herself sliding farther into his side. The cushion was uneven, that was why, but it also felt a little like Colin had his own gravitational field. "Married thirty-two years."

"Happily?"

At that, he laughed. "You really don't fuck around, do you?"

"Hey, you're the one who said I could—"

Colin McCrory had the gall to press his finger against her lips, physically shushing her. Screw personal space, right?

For a second, she was tempted to meet his daring with her own, to nip the tip of his finger, maybe press the tip of her tongue against the pad. She could only imagine what his face would do, how his big brown eyes would grow huge, might even darken from chestnut to chocolate.

A strange thrill shot through her and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed to not act on that unwelcome, intrusive thought.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing." He lowered his hand, index finger grazing her chin. Her lips tingled where he'd touched. "I'm impressed, to be honest. You go straight for the throat. Anyone ever tell you you're brutal?"

"Maybe." No one had ever made it sound like a compliment before. "But whatever," she said, flippant tone at odds with her racing heart. "You like me better rude, remember?"

Colin nodded slowly. "Yeah. I guess my parents are happy."

"You guess?"

"I mean, I've never asked?"

It wasn't something someone should have to ask to know. It was obvious. Or it should be.

She frowned.

Maybe not. What did she know, right? "Huh."

"Next question?"

"You're assuming I have one."

Colin simply stared at her.

Truly rolled her eyes and swallowed hard. "Fine. What about you? Have you ever been married?"

"No," he answered without hesitation.

Hm. Interesting.

"Not what you were expecting? You've got sort of a..." He pointed at the space between her brows. "Wrinkle happening there."

She smacked his hand aside. "It's rude to talk about a lady's wrinkles."

His teeth sank into his bottom lip, doing a piss-poor job of hiding his smile. "My sincerest apologies."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised, is all."

"That I've never been married?" He held a hand to his chest, no longer even trying to hide his smile. "I'm flattered you think I'm such a catch."

She elbowed him in the side, not nearly hard enough for the theatrical oof he let out. "I'm surprised you've never been divorced, actually."

He sputtered out a laugh that trailed off into a pained groan. "You're killing me."

For being killed, he sure sounded like he was enjoying himself.

"No offense. I'm just trying to understand what's wrong with you."

"Oh, sure." He laughed. "No offense."

"You know what I mean."

His brows rose. "Do I?"

"Don't act like you don't have baggage. No one reaches the age of twenty-five without at least a carry-on's worth of issues. And you're—how old are you?"

"Thirty-two," he said, looking thoughtful. "So what's wrong with you?"

She wasn't blind to her own flaws. If anything, writing romance and constantly creating realistically flawed characters from scratch had made her intensely aware of her own. But that didn't mean she relished talking about her own imperfections. If that made her a hypocrite, add it to the list. "We're not talking about me. We're talking about you."

"Fine. What is it about me that screams flawed to you?"

It wasn't so much flawed as it was, well... "Let me back up."

"By all means." He swept out a hand, giving her the floor.

"When I come up with my characters, I think about what's happened in their past to make them who they are. They have wounds that cause them to develop fears, and those fears lead to false beliefs. Misperceptions about who they are and the world around them and—and love. Obviously. Everything they do, every choice they make, it all comes back to that. What they want, what they're willing to do to get it, their personality traits, the choices they make, even their jobs. Sometimes especially their job. And I don't think we, as people, are any different."

She grabbed her coffee off the table and shoved her straw down into the ice, crushing the cubes to bits. "Being a romance writer is more than what I do. It's who I am." To the point where her self-worth was tied up in it, which couldn't be healthy, but that was for her to unpack some other time and maybe under the guidance of a trusted professional. "And you're a divorce attorney—"

"Family lawyer," he corrected. "But sure, that's part of it."

"I'm trying to understand why."

His teeth grazed his bottom lip. "Sometimes a job is just a job, Truly."

She frowned. Sometimes, sure.

"Don't get me wrong. I like what I do."

How could anyone enjoy being a divorce lawyer? Family lawyer. Whatever. "See, I don't get that. No offense, but what you do sounds awful."

Day in, day out, all that divorce. It made her queasy.

"Truly." He bumped his shoulder against hers. "You do realize I'm not the grim reaper of relationships, right?"

Well. Of course not. That would be ridiculous. Even if the thought of Colin carrying a scythe into a courtroom did make her smile. "No, but I assume divorce tends to bring out the worst in people. Couples fighting, their lives and love reduced to assets. Kids caught in the middle, bargaining chips. Doesn't it all get exhausting?"

How had he not lost all faith in love?

The clock on the wall over the door continued to tick faithfully as Colin silently weighed her words, or maybe his, with a thoughtful frown.

"Divorce can absolutely bring out the worst in people, but just because it can doesn't mean that it always does," he finally said. "I've been doing this for seven years. I know I haven't seen it all, but I've seen enough to know that sometimes letting someone go can be the greatest gesture of love a person can make."

His answer was predictably heavy, less predictably poignant. Something to chew on, even if she didn't necessarily agree with it. Or like it.

"Some days, some cases, are worse than others. Mediation, listening to couples bicker over who gets what, that's never fun. Washington's a no-fault state, meaning neither spouse has to prove the other is to blame for the separation, but that doesn't mean my clients don't like to air their grievances. I get told a lot, more than I need to know, more than I want to know." He ran his knuckles along his jaw, the faint shadow of scruff there rasping softly against his skin. "But I also handle adoption and guardianship cases, so it's not all doom and gloom. It's just my job." He smirked. "Doesn't hurt that I'm damn good at what I do."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?" she taunted, teasing a two-way street. "Arguing?"

"So, you admit it?" He flashed his teeth, smile triumphant. "You think I'm good at arguing?"

She had implied that, hadn't she? "Point proven, I suppose."

His smile softened into something slightly less smug, but no less mischievous.

"What?" She looked at him askance. "Do I have something on my face?"

He laughed. "Other than that persistent wrinkle between your brows?"

She smacked his arm, a little harder than she probably ought to have, too playful, too familiar for two people who were practically strangers, but Colin just laughed harder. "What did I say about mentioning those?"

He caught her hand before she could smack him again. Caught it and held it and didn't let it go. "I'm sorry."

Prove it, she wanted to say. Show me just how sorry you are.

If thinking the words was weird, saying them out loud would've been—unhinged. Her sense of self-preservation wasn't anything to scoff at, so the only halfway decent explanation for her temporary foray into insanity had to be that Colin was still holding her hand.

She tugged her hand from his and tucked her fingers beneath her thigh for good measure, shoring up her—newly—tenuous self-control. All the while dutifully ignoring how her body had gone bloodless, half of it gathering in her cheeks, the rest rushing down. "You were saying?"

"I was going to ask if you're the only one allowed to ask questions," Colin said, looking so much calmer, cooler, more collected than she felt. Like her touch hadn't just woken something within him the same way his had her.

Maybe Lulu was right. Maybe Truly needed to get laid.

Skin-starved was a thing, wasn't it? Maybe that was it, maybe she was just skin-starved. That made infinitely more sense than Colin's skin, in particular, being a drug. It had nothing to do with him at all. Skin was skin was skin and Colin just happened to be the one who had touched her. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong person.

The thought was a cold comfort when it felt like she had an auxiliary heartbeat between her thighs. "Was there, um, something you wanted to ask me?"

"How long were you and your ex together?"

An ill-timed inhale had her sputtering, coughing. "That's what you want to know?"

"Turnabout's fair play," he said. "If I have flaws, surely you do, too."

She was really starting to regret explaining her thought process. "Six years."

His brows rose. "That's a long time."

Long enough that she'd convinced herself Justin was the one. Amazing how easy it was to lie to yourself when you desperately wanted something.

"I guess it is. Next question?"

"Assuming I have one?" He volleyed her own words back at her, serving them to her with a knowing smile.

"Ha, ha." She jostled him lightly, careful to keep her hands to herself this time. "Just ask."

"Okay, fine. Where'd you grow up?"

"Shut up." She laughed.

"I'm serious! Unlike you, I actually want to know the answer to that question."

"Ouch. And you call me brutal?" She held a hand to her chest in mock affront. Beneath her palm, her heart rabbited. "I was curious, too."

Colin arched a single brow, calling bullshit without opening his mouth.

"I was! I was just, you know, more curious about other stuff." Her ears burned. For some bizarre reason, copping to curiosity felt different than being curious. Like it was one thing to push and prod and press Colin, to put him on the spot, a horse of a totally different color to admit that she'd spent time thinking about him, enough to want to puzzle him out.

"If you don't answer the question, you're going to make me think you're hiding something. Witness protection? Nah, that doesn't feel right. I bet you're on the lam."

"The lam?" She snorted. "What are you, a 1920s mobster? Who says that—the lam?"

What a dork.

He shut one eye and pursed his lips. "I've got your number, St. James. Bet you're wanted in, like, twenty states."

"Wanted for what?"

She dared him to say something disgustingly corny like being criminally sexy or arrestingly beautiful. Stealing hearts or having killer wit.

"Given what I know about you?" Colin's eyes raked over her, appraising in a way that made her squirm inside. "Killing a man, obviously."

"You realize blue balls aren't lethal, don't you?"

The look he gave her was gratifying, narrowed eyes glinting in the glow of the ring light his sister had left on, lips thinned like he was struggling not to laugh. "You're not at all what I expected, St. James."

If anything was criminal, it was the way he said her name, emphasis on saint. Teasing her with her own name, a name she'd chosen, a name that sounded sacrilegious rolling off his tongue. The way he made her feel with a single look?

Truly was no saint.

She disguised her shiver with a long sip of iced coffee. "You're... maybe not what I expected, either, Colin McCrory."

"Oh yeah?" He grinned. "Realizing I'm not so bad after all, huh?"

"No," she deadpanned. "You're worse."

His tongue clicked against the back of his teeth. "Just when we were starting to get along. So?"

"So, what?"

"Where are you from?"

Oh, right. "I grew up in Laurelhurst."

"And I already know your parents are still together."

Her heart shrunk and sank inside her chest.

"Um, no. They're separated, actually." She stabbed at the ice in her cup, sending milky coffee splattering against the lid. "It's—it's new."

Air hissed between his teeth, his grimace sharp. "I'm sorry. That's... damn."

"Yeah. Damn." An awkward laugh escaped her. "But you see couples separate all the time, so I'm sure it's nothing new for you."

He could stop looking at her like that, eyes gentle like he could tell how—how hopeless she felt. How heartbroken.

"How are you coping? Do you have someone to talk to? What about your friend? The, uh, scary one?"

"Who? Lulu?" She laughed. "Don't let her hear you call her that. Her ego doesn't need inflating."

"Neither does my dick, for the record."

That was the wrong moment to take a drink, iced coffee burning in the inside of her nose. Colin pressed a wad of tissues into her hand, and she blotted her face. "That's nice?"

"I meant because Lulu tried to sell me a penis pump the other day and I said I wasn't in the market for one, not because I already have one, but because I'm not in need of, you know"—Colin cleared his throat—"help with the, uh, inflating? Engorgement?" He made a vague downward gesture. "Not that there's any shame in needing assistance! But I don't. And I'm going to stop talking right now. In three, two..."

Colin mimed zipping his lips.

She hid her smile behind her napkin. "Good to know all your systems are a go, McCrory."

He groaned. "Can we please forget I said that?"

"And hamper my joy?" She tutted. "You're delusional."

"So glad you find my humiliation amusing."

"I really, truly do," she said. "But don't worry. We can keep this strictly confidential. Just between you and me."

"Oh good. For a second there I was worried you'd immortalize my shame in the pages of one of your books."

"Hey now. I would at least change your name first. Protect the innocent and all that."

Colin swayed to the side, his shoulder knocking into hers. "What if I'm not so innocent? You ever think about that?"

Another thrill shot through her, making her swallow hard and grip her knees, her whole body buzzing, and not from the caffeine. Did she think about that? More often than she was willing to admit on pain of death. "I'll definitely use your real name, then."

His smile softened. "Seriously—do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm sure your penis is nice, Colin, but I don't know if we need to discuss it."

"Your parents." He laughed. "I'm talking about your parents."

"I doubt I can afford your hourly rate, whatever it is."

"Come on. I'll give you the friends and family discount."

"Oh, so we're friends now, are we?"

"Considering we were just talking about my dick, I hope so."

"You don't really want to hear about my parents."

"I asked, didn't I?" He nudged her with his arm. "Come on. I'm a great listener and not to brag, but the Truly St. James said she was impressed by me."

She snorted. "The bar was on the floor, trust me."

He clutched his chest dramatically and she laughed.

As loath as she was to admit it, as a divorce lawyer, Colin did have experience she didn't. With as many failed marriages as he undoubtedly had encountered in his career, maybe he could provide an alternative perspective. Help her see the forest for the trees.

"Okay, this is going to sound corny, but my parents have always been able to look at each other across a crowded room and have a whole conversation with just their eyes. No words. A single glance. While all my friends were dreaming of Prince Charming or whoever, I was dreaming of someone who would look at me the way my dad looked at my mom. Someone who would love me the way he loved her. I don't know how you go from him buying her sunflowers every week and her secretly taking cooking classes so she could make this obscure soup his great-grandmother made him when he was little to them telling me that maybe they've grown apart. Maybe they don't belong together anymore. It doesn't make sense. There should've been signs, right? People don't decide to separate without there being signs."

"Is it possible you only saw what they wanted you to see?"

She frowned. "Are you suggesting their marriage wasn't as perfect behind closed doors?"

"A lot of parents hide the truth from their children, even their grown children, because they believe they're protecting them. I'm not saying that's what's happening, but..." He rapped his knuckles against his knee and winced. "Do you think it's possible you only saw what you wanted to see?"

She hugged her arms around herself. "You think I'm looking at their marriage through rose-colored glasses?"

He smiled softly. "Only you can answer that question, Truly."

"Wow."

His brows rose, his forehead scrunching. "What?"

"That was rather insightful." She pretended to glower. "I kind of hate it."

Colin laughed. "I'll try to be less astute next time."

She smiled and—she was smiling. She was talking about her parents possibly divorcing, and she was smiling.

Just like that, her face fell. "Insightfulness aside, I don't think that's it."

"No?"

"They don't fight. They've never fought. And okay, maybe it's possible I've put their relationship on a pedestal, but only because if any relationship deserves to be on one, it's theirs. But I'd notice if they were suddenly at each other's throats."

"Hm."

There he went again. "What does that mean? Hm?"

"Maybe that's the problem. Look, I don't know your parents, but communication problems contribute to over twenty percent of divorces. If you consider underlying causes, that number is probably significantly higher. Sure, that can often mean fighting too much, but a lack of communication can be just as lethal to a relationship as poor communication."

She scowled. "I understand the significance of communication." She wasn't new. But in what universe was conflict an indicator of relationship success? "Are you seriously telling me you think it's a bad thing my parents don't fight?"

Coming from the guy who claimed to like her better rude, maybe she shouldn't be surprised.

"I'm not suggesting your parents ought to be having screaming matches," he said. "But disagreements are natural. Normal. The fact that you've never seen them fight makes me think they're either keeping those arguments behind closed doors or sacrificing communication for the pretense of peace. But peace doesn't mean the absence of conflict. That's not realistic. It's about being able to have those inevitable disagreements without being contemptuous or defensive. You're telling me you and your ex—Jake?—never fought?"

At first, no, they hadn't. For the first year, year and a half, she'd have been hard-pressed to name a single meaningful flaw of Justin's, a flaw she couldn't see past or couldn't embrace as a perfect imperfection. His snoring? Charming. His inability to match his socks? Adorable. The fact that he was often late, claiming the need to scribble down a new chord progression? A sign of his creative genius.

Of course, the honeymoon period had ended, just like she'd known it would. His snoring had gotten old, his mismatched socks started to look sloppy, and his constant tardiness led her to buy him an absurdly expensive watch with her first-ever book advance, a watch that gathered dust on his desk because it wasn't metal enough. Still, she shrugged off how, on occasion, Justin would party with his friends all night and be so hungover the next day that he'd cancel a date. Or how he'd still been drunk the morning he met her parents or how he hated going anywhere he couldn't wear jeans and that he always bitched about how expensive going to the movies was and why couldn't they just torrent something at home?

Choking down the little things didn't make them go away; the problems snowballed, and her frustration mounted, ire leeching out in eye rolls and snark and passive-aggressive quips, pretending to be asleep when Justin would stumble home at three in the morning because she didn't want him touching her when he was wasted and reeking of bottom-shelf tequila and cheap perfume, but she didn't want to argue, either. Especially when he wouldn't remember in the morning, when she'd be the only one weighed down by the aftermath of a fight.

Because when they did fight? Those fights never led to any sense of harmony let alone to resolution. Change. Growth. They only left her feeling like a failure because happy couples? Happy couples didn't fight. Her parents didn't.

"His name's Justin," she said. "And we're hardly a great example. Clearly."

Colin held up his hands. "Fair enough."

Fair enough wasn't good enough. He couldn't just make her question what she thought to be true and leave it at fair enough.

"What would you say?" she asked. "If my mom or dad walked into your office? Or any other couple who was... considering their options."

Colin pressed his shoulders back against the couch and sighed. "By the time most people are ready to seek legal representation, their marriages have been effectively over for months, if not years. But sometimes that's not true. You're right. Sometimes people do just want to understand their options. They don't always know who else to talk to. Which is why I always ask my clients if they've gone through any marital counseling. If they think there's a chance of reconciliation. Because if there is, even a small one, I always encourage them to consider."

"Couple's counseling, huh? You actually recommend that to your clients? Doesn't sound like a great business model to me."

Colin laughed. "If I was in it strictly for the money, I'd have gone into corporate law."

"Because divorce law is so altruistic."

"Family law. And I never claimed to be a saint. The divorce cases I handle are my least favorite, but they're what allow me to take on pro bono adoption and child custody cases while still paying my rent."

Pro bono adoption cases? Well, she'd be damned. Maybe this man was a saint.

"Look, I appreciate the insight. Really, I do. It's good advice. But I already suggested they talk to someone. And they shot me down." Technically, she'd implied they should speak to a sex therapist, but she had a feeling they wouldn't be keen on going to the regular sort, either. "I'm just frustrated. They belong together. I know it. I only wish I could make them see it." Remember it. "If I thought I could lock them in a room together until they worked things out, and get away with it? I probably would."

Colin laughed. "Bet you wish you were the one with the twin right about now."

"I—what?" She didn't follow.

"You know, The Parent Trap? Lindsay Lohan? Twins separated at birth who meet at summer camp and switch places?"

"I'm familiar with Nancy Meyers's oeuvre. I just don't know what it has to do with me or my parents."

"You know! They, uh..." He snapped his fingers twice before shooting finger guns at her. "They re-create the night their parents met on the boat to rekindle the"—he razzle-dazzled his fingers, putting Sparky Polastri's spirit fingers to shame—"spark and later, they refuse to reveal who's who until the whole family goes on a camping trip and—I sound crazy." Colin palmed his face and laughed. "Sorry, it's just, you were talking about locking your parents in a room together and my brain jumped to The Parent Trap."

"Better that than Gerald's Game, I guess."

He laughed, a rich, deep sound that did not make her shiver. "Yeah, I'm going to have to advise that you don't handcuff your parents together. That would be crazy."

"No crazier than having some secret identical twin from whom I'd been separated at birth." She sighed. "And seeing as I don't have one of those—"

"That you know of."

"Cute."

He grinned. "I try."

Colin McCrory didn't have to try to be cute. He just was. And he knew it. Which should've lessened the effect his smile had on her and yet.

"I can't exactly Parent Trap my parents by myself. I mean, that would be insane."

Colin laughed, dark eyes crinkling and the smile lines along the sides of his mouth deepening and don't even get her started on his dimples. "Pretty wild. Assuming you could even pull it off."

"Right?" Her voice cracked. Stupid, pretty dimples. Stupid, pretty eyes. Stupid, pretty everything. You'd think she'd never kissed a pretty boy, let alone gotten railed by one. "So wild."

Except...

What if she could pull off her very own Parent Trap?

Would it really be that difficult to convince Mom and Dad—separately, obviously—to be in the same place, at the same time?

If anyone was in the position to do it, Truly was.

She'd have to get them somewhere remote. But not too remote. She was shooting for Nancy Meyers, not Stephen King. Somewhere Mom and Dad would have no choice but to talk. Somewhere they'd be reminded of what Truly already knew to be unequivocally true—that they belonged together.

Dennis Quaid and Natasha Richardson had a boat, the Queen Elizabeth II, and her parents had—

The lake house.

Six hundred magical square feet located directly on Lake Chelan. Two bedrooms, one teeny-tiny bath, and the ittiest-bittiest still glamorous kitchen that Nancy Meyers would've drooled over. Landlocked, lake-life paradise.

Truly was a freaking genius.

From the time she was two until she was twenty, she'd spent a month each summer in Chelan with her parents. Then she'd started seeing Justin and summers that had once meant sunburns and marshmallows roasted over a fire, watching her parents always touch, shameless in their inability to keep their hands off each other, became days spent drafting in the back of a van that smelled like BO and nights spent sleeping in grody motels in Puerto Vallarta, Panama City, Pensacola, Daytona Beach. Anywhere Justin's band could plug an amp in and play for wasted college kids because he had gas money from his daddy and a dream.

A dream Truly had supported body, mind, soul, heart, and wallet because that gas money? Only went so far when it was spent on drinks instead of actual gas.

Just the thought of a summer spent in Chelan sent a pang of longing through her. If she missed the lake house, there was no way Mom and Dad didn't. Right?

How hard could it be to convince them to spend a little time with their only child?

She'd have to spin it just so. Ask Mom to spend two or three weeks tasting her way with Truly through north-central Washington's wine country. Guilt Dad into the father-daughter vacation he'd owed her since the time he got food poisoning the week he was supposed to chaperone her senior trip to DC. Tell them both, separately, that she needed a little time outside the city to get over Justin. That the fresh lake air was just what she needed to power through her deadline.

Maybe it was underhanded, but Truly cared. Cared so much she didn't give much of a damn about right or wrong as long as it worked. All's well that ends well. Her parents might be giving up on their marriage, but Truly?

She'd be damned if she did the same.