Page 33 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

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.

Chapter Seven

“Babe, I love you, but this is quite possibly the dumbest idea you’ve ever had.”

Truly snatched her pint glass from Lulu with a glare, accidentally sloshing beer on the table. This whole bar was grody—floors sticky with God knew what, band posters stapled on top of each other an inch thick off the wall, graffiti covering the bathroom stalls, layers of lipstick kisses on the mirror, cigarette smoke drifting inside from the alley. Some spilled beer would go unnoticed.

“What’s so dumb about wanting my parents to be happy?” she shouted over the noise. Music was too generous to call whatever was happening on the stage, but that’s what they got for going out for drinks on a Monday. Subpar, shitty bands. But sitters were cheaper on weekdays than weekends so Truly couldn’t really complain.

Lulu frowned and pointed at her ear. “What?”

Mercifully, the guitarist’s earsplitting riff ended, and the music stopped, the song over. Truly could hear herself think again. “I said, what’s so dumb about wanting my parents to be happy?”

Dad had been an easy sell. Not only did he have plenty of PTO saved, the Lake Chelan Concert Hall was hosting a one-night-only production of Repo! The Genetic Opera, one of Dad’s all-time favorites. All Truly had had to do was look at him with big eyes and a slightly jutted lower lip over FaceTime, ask if he’d be interested in spending a little quality father-daughter time in Chelan, and he’d readily agreed.

Mom had been slightly harder to convince, claiming to be extraordinarily busy with the fund-raiser the horticulture society was planning, but as soon as Truly had mentioned that the annual Lake Chelan Arts Festival was coming up and it would be fun to get out of the city, drink a little wine, and hit up the silent auction? Mom had folded like a house of cards.

Stage two of Operation Get Mom and Dad Back Together was a go. In a little over two weeks, they’d all be in Chelan and she’d be one step closer to achieving her goal.

---