Page 75 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

She reached up, burying her fingers in his thick hair, trying to drag him impossibly closer, would crawl inside him if she could. The drag of his lips against hers was slick and hot, the kiss wet and messy, the way she liked, the way a kiss was supposed to be, openmouthed desperation tinged with desire, raw and a little filthy, breathing another person’s air into your lungs, swallowing their spit, tangling together until whose parts were whose became a mystery.

The doorbell rang and Truly jolted. “Is someone else joining us?”

He stepped back, his brows drawing down into a frown. “Not that I’m aware—”

Muffy McCrory breezed into the kitchen. “Truly, you’re here! And good, you already have a drink. Colin, be a dear and set the table?”

“Are we expecting somebody?” he asked.

“Oh.” Muffy paused halfway to the hall. “Did I forget to mention Caleb and Ali are joining us?”

“Did you forget—” A muscle in his jaw twitched, his nostrils flaring softly. “Really, Ma? Again?”

Muffy huffed, hands poised on her narrow hips. “Collie, it’s been years.”

“Holidays and special occasions,” he spoke slowly, with obvious forced restraint. The words sounded practiced, like they’d been said before.

The doorbell rang once more.

“It would be rude to keep your brother waiting,” Muffy said, already moving.

“And that would be tragic.” Colin spent a moment glaring at the door through which his mother passed. Before Truly could even open her mouth to ask any of the dozen questions on the tip of her tongue, he turned and with the absolute flimsiest smile asked, “Help me set the table?”

***

Everyone was perfectly polite.

“Dinner’s delicious, Muffy,” Ali—Caleb’s wife, she’d discovered—said.

She was pretty and willowy, all peaches and cream skin, her heart-shaped face framed with a halo of springy blond curls. She sat across the table from Colin and to her left—Caleb.

Who Colin had forgotten to mention was his identical twin.

His hair was different, cropped short all over, which made him look older than thirty-two. Or maybe it was the tan that did it, his skin weathered in a way that Colin’s wasn’t. The sleeves of his plaid overshirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms smattered with small silvery scars. The hand holding his fork was rougher, knuckles thick and scarred, and his pinky had a Band-Aid wrapped around it. He wasn’t as handsome as Colin, as far as she was concerned, but clearly his whole rugged lumberjack aesthetic did it for Ali, who sat so close to him she might as well have been in his lap. Atop the table, their free hands sat, fingers tangled together.

Muffy glowed at the praise. “Thank you, sweetheart.” Her eyes dropped to Truly’s plate and her smile dimmed. “Truly, dear, you’ve barely touched your chipped beef.”

She froze with the tines of her fork buried in the mush Muffy called a meal. “It’s, um, it’s delicious. I’m just... savoring it.”

Colin disguised his snort of laughter with a cough. “Pardon me.” He reached for his water. “Tickle in my throat.”

“You’re not a vegan, are you?” Muffy asked. “Shoot, I didn’t even ask about allergies.”

“I’m not a vegan. And no allergies.”

“Except to cow cod,” Colin said, straight-faced. “Truly’s allergic to cow cod.”

Truly kicked him under the table, landing a glancing blow to his ankle that didn’t do much more than make him grin.

Muffy frowned. “Is that a type of fish?”

“Ignore him. He’s—he’s mistaken.” She pasted on a smile and scooped a disgusting heap of chipped beef into her mouth. “Mm, mm. So good.”

“Truly, what is it you do?” Ali asked, big blue eyes wide with interest.

She washed the taste of processed meat and milk gravy from her mouth with a sip of crisp white wine. “I’m an author.”

Ali gasped excitedly. “An author! Oh, fun! I’ve always wanted to write a book.”

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