Page 94 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

Colin chuckled, seemingly unbothered by her father’s gun jumping. “Gonna take a lot more than that to scare me off,” he whispered. He turned back to her father. “I’m guessing you know the show?”

“Know it?” Dad scoffed as he stood, wincing when his knee crunched. “I caught my older sister sneaking out and demanded she take me with her otherwise I’d tattle to Mommy and Daddy. I was nine when I first stepped inside Astor Place Theatre, fingers clutching her coattails, drinking it all in.” Dad sighed dreamily. “I didn’t understand half of what was happening on that stage, but God if I didn’t love every goddamn second of it.”

Earnest enthusiasm lit up Colin’s whole face, making his eyes sparkle. “The original 1975 production? You saw it?”

“Hell yes, I did. That night was revolutionary for me.” Dad grinned. “I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. You drink wine, Colin?”

“I do, sir.”

“White or red?”

“Whatever you think will go best with dinner.”

“That’s a good boy.” Dad nodded. “We’ll open a bottle of Chianti Classico. You sit, assuming you can in those pants.”

“Dad.”

“I’ve got eyes,” he said, defensive. “Your boy’s got junk in his trunk.”

Colin’s face went neon. “Um, thank you?”

“Polite. I like that, too. You two sit. Take a load off. Google some songs, if you need a refresher, kid. Because when we sit down to eat?” Dad grinned. “Let the games begin.”

***

“Bullshit.”

Truly glanced between Colin and the cards she’d discarded in the center of the table. She arched a single brow. “You sure about that?”

Colin narrowed his eyes. “You heard me. Bullshit.”

“Oh ho!” Dad laughed. “You heard him. He called bullshit.”

Truly smirked. “Go on. Flip ’em over.”

A flicker of doubt crossed his face, his brow creasing as he reached for the cards she’d tossed down. He flipped them over, revealing one, two, three jacks.

Colin dropped his head back and groaned.

“Read ’em and weep, McCrory, read ’em and weep.” She shoved the discard pile toward him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He gathered the cards up and added them to the half a deck he already held in his hands, unable to bullshit to save his life. “Two queens.”

“Bullshit.” Dad grinned.

Colin laughed and took the cards he’d only just discarded back. His inability to lie was almost as endearing as his willingness to lose graciously.

After dinner, during which Colin had managed to hold his own—his musical knowledge was only slightly better than average, but what he lacked in skill, he more than made up for in enthusiasm; even when his phone battery ran low, he borrowed a charger and took a seat on the floor beside the outlet, plate balanced on his knees so he could keep googling lyrics—they’d adjourned to the back patio with a deck of cards.

An hour and three games of Bullshit later and Truly felt hopeful in a way she hadn’t in weeks.

“You’re a terrible liar, Stan.” Mom flung a card at Dad, giggling when it smacked him in the face.

“Some would consider that a virtue.” Dad added the card to his hand and topped off Mom’s glass of wine. “Not all of us are gifted thespians, dear. Even fewer of us are Tony award–winning actresses.”

“Tony award–winning?” Colin rested his elbows on the table. “And I’m only now hearing about this? You’ve been holding out on me, Diane.”

Mom blushed prettily.

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