Page 4 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

A pitfall of having two hundred thousand followers who’d witnessed your relationship milestones and very public engagement announcement meant being unable to let that relationship go quietly into the good night. She couldn’t just stop posting about Justin. Not without an explanation.

Lulu made a soft, sympathetic sound. “Fuck Instagram. You can worry about that later. Look, I’m not trying to tell you that you don’t know what you’re feeling, but do you think it’s possible you’re in shock? Like, maybe you haven’t fully processed?”

She made a right onto Denny Way. “I don’t think so?”

Lulu sighed. “Okay, let me call Benny and see if he minds if I close early. You go home, get comfy, get that weird-ass potato peel book club movie you love queued up on Netflix, and I’ll head over to yours with a bottle or three as soon as I get off. We can get wine drunk and you can tell Mama Lulu all about how over it you really are. Sound good?”

“It’s The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and you know it.” She smiled. “And yeah, that sounds great except you’ve got Mai’s recital tonight at seven, remember?”

“Shit... do you want me to call Dan?”

Truly recoiled in horror, accidentally tapping her brake. Lulu’s ex? God no. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to miss out on your weekend with Mai. I’m not heartless.”

Lulu grumbled. “You weren’t asking, I was offering. But hey, if you’re good with a PG night, I could bring the kids over later and we could, I don’t know, have a sleepover and binge Paw Patrol. I probably shouldn’t drink too much, but you could, like, take a shot every time Mayor Humdinger comes up with an evil plan. With enough episodes, I can guarantee you’ll black out.”

As much as Truly adored her godchildren, the fact that she, a childless twenty-seven-year-old, knew who Mayor Humdinger was verged on tragic.

“No offense, but I have zero desire to turn a children’s show into a drinking game.” Again. Been there, done that, spent the night praying to the porcelain goddess. “Rain check? Don’t feel bad—I’ve got that podcast I told you about and I’m almost at the studio. Plus, I’ve got brunch with my parents tomorrow and despite it happening over a year ago, Dad still hasn’t stopped teasing me about the last time I showed up hungover.”

“I must’ve heard you wrong, because it sounded like you said you were going to work, but I know that can’t be right since you just found out your fiancé’s been dicking around on you.”

“Yeah, and?” She wasn’t hemorrhaging or concussed or experiencing a family emergency; she had no reason to cancel a professional engagement less than an hour in advance.

“Cancel! Go home!”

“And do what? Wallow? No thank you.”

Lulu sighed. “Next weekend? I’m taking you out on the town so we can find you some pretty little piece of ass because the best way to get over someone is to get your back blown out by someone new.”

“It’s a date.” She had zero intention of rebounding with anyone, but she wasn’t about to argue with Lulu when she was on a schedule. “Give the kids a hug from Auntie Truly, okay?”

“Of course. And good luck with your podcast. Break a leg or whatever? I don’t know. Try to have a good time.”

“Thanks, Lu.” Truly ended the call.

A good time was probably a reach, but at least there was no way this day could get any worse.

Chapter Two

“Truly St. James, in the flesh.” Caitlin McCrory—tattooed, pink-haired goddess, and host of Unhinged—smiled from the open doorway of Studio 615. “Huge fan. I can’t tell you how many friends I’ve bullied into reading your books. A Duchess in Disguise?” Caitlin kissed her fingertips. “Life-changing.”

A blush crept into her cheeks. “I’m so happy you loved it. And sorry I’m late. The elevator’s out of order.”

“God no, you’re right on time.” Caitlin swept out a hand, gesturing Truly through the door. She wandered over to the gleaming silver bar cart wedged between an impressive stack of vinyl records and a desk covered in an array of computer equipment, leaving Truly unmoored in the middle of the room. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Hot tea? A martini, maybe? I know it’s only after three, but it’s after five o’clock somewhere, right?”

She rattled the ice in her latte. “I’m good, thanks.”

Coffee, in retrospect, was not her brightest idea. The jitters were beginning to set in, and the abundance of caffeine circulating through her bloodstream wasn’t helping. Podcasts—any promo that required she speak—made her nervous on a good day. And this? Was a no good, terrible, very bad day.

Caitlin snagged a bottle of smartwater off the bar cart. “Have a seat. Make yourself at home. Just watch for the mic cords so you don’t trip.”

Truly took a seat on the plush-looking neon-yellow velvet sectional that was nestled against the cobalt accent wall, three fluffy-looking Barbie-pink microphones positioned nearby.

“I know this is far from your first rodeo, but do you have any questions while I finish setting up and we wait for—speak of the devil.” Caitlin set her hands on her leather-pant-clad hips. “You’re late, asswipe.”

She didn’t know what the guy standing in the doorway had done to Caitlin to earn a greeting that abrasive, but fuck was he gorgeous. All mole-splattered skin and brown doe-eyes framed with black lashes so thick that at first glance she’d have sworn he was wearing eyeliner. Actually, no, brown wasn’t right. Her eyes were brown, but his were the color of the tiger’s-eye wedged in her front pocket, the one she’d handpicked out of a big crate of polished stones on a fifth-grade field trip to Greenwater. The same stone she brought with her to every event for good luck. Dark penny shot through with tawny and gold. Chestnut hair fell in swooping waves across his forehead and grazed the collar of the lavender sweater-vest he wore over a plain white tee that hugged his biceps.

“Hi.” Tiny creases formed at the corners of his eyes when he smiled and offered her his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Colin.”

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