Page 52 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

Colin laughed and some of the tightness in her chest eased. “Somehow, I don’t have trouble believing that.” His smile faded, his stare softening, less like he was trying to solve her like a puzzle and more like he hoped she’d hand the pieces over. “What do you want, Truly?”

If that wasn’t the million-dollar question, she didn’t know what was.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

He nodded to himself, taking the answer in stride. “Let me know when you find out.”

Chapter Nine

Three days passed without a text from Colin, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss the little ping her phone made, softly vibrating against whatever surface she’d set it on each time he messaged.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss him.

So maybe it wasn’t the wisest decision, but Truly opened Instagram to treat herself to a private dose of Colin McCrory. She could drool over his abs and his arms and his smile from the safety of a screen and as long as she didn’t screw up and text him any screenshots, he’d remain none the wiser that she maybe knew what she wanted more than she was letting on.

In the most abstract sense of the word. The lustiest sense, at least.

Five minutes. She’d peruse his profile for five minutes and put her phone away, get back to work.

Thirty minutes later, somehow, she was 158 weeks deep in Colin’s past, heart squeezing sweetly as she stared at a picture of a girl who couldn’t be older than five perched on Colin’s knee. Her lopsided pigtails brushed his chin as she painted his nails pink, more polish on his skin than on his nails, but Colin smiled soppily, looking for all the world like there was nowhere else he’d rather be than getting a messy manicure from a preschooler whose face was concealed with a giant heart emoji.

The caption simply read, quality time with my best girl.

When she imagined her future, kids were definitely something she wanted. Five years from now, maybe ten, the timeline dependent on if and when she met someone she wanted to have kids with and, to be honest, if said person had good health insurance because, face it, health care in this country sucked.

She was only twenty-seven, in no big hurry to rush into that chapter of her life, but she’d be lying if she said the sight of Colin smiling fondly at that little girl didn’t do something to her ovaries. Metaphorically.

The way her heart simultaneously squeezed and swelled was a lot harder to ignore and even more complicated to unpack. Which was why it took a second to realize the bright red heart staring back at her from beneath Colin’s picture wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

She’d accidentally liked the photo.

The photo from 158 weeks ago.

Shit.

As fast as she could, she clicked that heart again, tension melting from her shoulders as it shifted back to black in the blink of an eye. Oh thank God. Her head flopped against the back of her couch and she covered her face with both hands, muffling her frazzled laugh.

Okay, that was it. Officially no more Insta-stalking for her. The universe need not deliver any more signs. She had more than learned her—

Her phone buzzed against her stomach and her heart, still beating too fast, stuttered and stalled before sinking.

Colin (11:09 p.m.): I saw that.

She whimpered.

Stupid technology. Even stupider lusty thoughts. Stupid her for playing with fire when she knew better.

Truly (11:10 p.m.): Saw what?

Even as she hit send, she cringed.

Colin (11:11 p.m.): Really? That’s how we’re playing it?

How many times could she claim she’d drunk texted him within the span of two weeks before it started to look like she had a drinking problem? She cringed. If she had to ask...

Truly (11:12 p.m.): I was just scrolling my feed.

Colin (11:13 p.m.): A picture of me with my goddaughter from three years ago just happened to appear on your feed?

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