Page 76 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

“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?”

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