Page 16 of Tangled up in You

We move the seats back a bit and put the coffee table against the wall out of the way. With how uncomfortable our conversation got earlier, no one has said a word except to communicate how to set up the living room.

Once we’re done, Kent tries to break up the tension by asking, “Anyone want a drink? Not anything crazy like last night because even I’m too old to handle that shit again, but I could use a beer, and Melanie, Oliver got you wine.”

Melanie furrows her eyebrows. “How did you know I like wine?”

“Your mom told me once when we ran into each other at the store. We were both buying beer,” I say.

Melanie scoffs with a smile. “That probably started with, ‘Melanie likes wine more than beer. I don’t know where she gets it from.’”

“Yep. That was it.” I chuckle. “So, you want some?”

“Sure.”

Kent and I head into the kitchen. We use the flashlights on our phones to see. He fills a cooler with all the ice in the freezer and a large case of beer while I pour Melanie a glass of moscato. I put the rest of the bottled wine in the cooler before we carry everything back to the living room.

“Let’s play a game,” Kent suggests as I pass Melanie her drink.

“No drinking games.” Melanie groans. “I can’t handle that tonight.”

“Strip poker, then?” Simon asks from his spot on the loveseat.

Melanie’s eyes widen. “Okay. A small drinking game.”

“Nice save.” I snort, opening a beer and taking a seat on the couch with her.

“Shut up,” she grumbles.

“What are we playing?” I ask Kent.

“Two truths and a lie.” He tosses Simon a beer and grabs his own before sitting back in the recliner. “I’ll go first. If you guess it correctly, I have to drink. If you’re wrong, everyone else has to drink. I know the number of women I’ve slept with. My favorite color is brown, and I have only fallen in love once.”

“You? Fall in love?” Melanie snickers.

Simon and I share a look, but keep quiet. We know the answer. Not because he’s told us anything specific in recent years, but because we know his personality and past. Melanie glances at us. We shrug.

“Only one person can answer?” she asks.

“Yes.” Kent smiles.

She sighs, knowing we’re not going to help her. “All three sound like lies, to be honest. But one is more absurd than the others. Why would anyone’s favorite color be brown? It’s the color of shit.”

We laugh at her logic.

“You have to pick one,” Kent says.

“Fine.” She giggles. “Then I pick the second one to be the lie.”

He shakes his head as Simon and I groan.

“How is brown your favorite color?” Melanie’s voice rises.

“It’s been his favorite color since he met you,” I clarify.

She whips around to look at me, then at Kent. “Why?”

Kent’s smile softens. “It’s the color of your eyes.”

Melanie’s jaw slackens. She glances down at her wineglass. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

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