She stared, studying the way he held himself, spine rigid, jaw clenched, eyes wide, lips pressed into a flat line. He barely blinked, almost like he was trying to impress some meaning upon her with his eyes. Communicate with her telepathically.
It was the second chance she hadn’t realized how desperately she wanted until Colin was standing right there in front of her, staring at her.
Truly turned to Muffy and smiled. “What should I bring?”
Chapter Fourteen
The shadows had lengthened by the time Truly climbed the front porch stairs of the McCrory’s lake house.
Granted, the place was less of a lake house and more of a lake mansion, taking up at least three lots’ worth of well-manicured acreage with grass she’d bet her left tit was regulation length and not a centimeter longer. The siding looked perfectly pressure-washed, not a hint of moss growing on the foundation. Better Homes and Gardens could’ve given it a centerspread.
It couldn’t have been more different from her parents’ lived-in two-bedroom cottage with its faded green shutters, crooked door knocker, and chaotically gorgeous flower beds, well-tended but sprawling and wild, like something out of a storybook full of fairies and woodland sprites.
Here went nothing. She held her breath and rang the doorbell.
Of course it was Colin who answered, still wearing those gingham shorts.
“Hi.” She nervously shoved the pie tin into his chest. “I made a pie.”
His brows rocketed to his hairline. “You made this?”
“It’s, like, fifty percent Cool Whip and the crust is store-bought, but yeah, I did.” From her tote, she yanked out a bottle of pinot noir and a bottle of chardonnay, both nice vintages from a nearby vineyard. “I wasn’t sure if your parents preferred white or red, let alone what would go best with dinner, so I brought both. And then I remembered some people don’t drink, hence the pie.”
Colin whistled when he saw the labels. “Ma’s two juleps deep and Pops has been in his office since five, which means he’s had at least one whiskey by now. You could serve ’em Carlo Rossi at this point and they’d smile and nod.” He stepped aside. “Come on in.”
She slipped the wine back inside the tote, bottles clanking. “You, uh, have a lovely home?”
Colin looked amused. “My grandfather built the place; wanted it to be a getaway for the whole family, hence the size. Grandpa McCrory, that is. Never met my mother’s father, but according to Ma, he fancied himself too good for working with his hands.”
She slipped out of her Sperrys, adjusting the heel of her right sock when it slipped down her foot, flushing hot because Colin had his eyes trained on her. “I take it you’re not close to your mom’s side of the family?”
Hard to forget how close the McCrory side of the family was after Caitlin’s recount of how they’d all crowded around to watch Colin’s solo Sex Sent Me to the ER horror show.
“Nah,” he said, gesturing with a tilt of his head for her to follow him down the hall. “Mom’s older sister married into some ultra-rich family that owns a bunch of newspapers around the world. I’ve only met my cousin on that side of the family once, but he was a real prick, so I figure I’m not missing much.”
Like the hall, the kitchen was all off-white paint, stainless steel appliances providing the only color. The granite counters were spotless, not a crumb in sight, and the sink? The sink was undermounted and immaculate, the basin free from soap residue and water spots.
Colin set the pie inside the fridge and she placed both bottles of wine beside the sink, not knowing where else to put them.
“So, where’s your mom?” she asked, folding the tote and setting that on the counter, too.
“Finishing touches on her hair, she said. You’re early.”
The clock above the mounted microwave read 7:03. “Your mom said seven.”
“Which everyone knows means seven thirty.”
“Everyone who?” That was patently ridiculous. “Wine opener?”
She could really go for a drink.
“On your right, top drawer. And I don’t know. Probably the same white Anglo-Saxon Protestants who invented beach loafers and Cape Codders and decided names like Bitsie and Muffy were en vogue. Mom’s got some weird holdovers from her life before she married Dad.”
“Well, my parents always told me if you aren’t early, you’re late.”
He snorted. “Okay, Ricky Bobby.”
“Okay, Colie-kins. It’s a theater thing. Early is on time, on time is late, and late? That’s unacceptable. How was I supposed to know your mom didn’t plan on serving dinner promptly at seven? Speaking of”—she held both bottles—“what’s on the menu?”