CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A WEEK AFTER she’d moved into Tom Barlow’s house, Honor was thinking that she must’ve been insane (possible), drunk (improbable) or really, really pathetic (bingo) to have agreed to the whole idea.
For seven days now, she and Tom had spent evenings together. Mostly silent evenings. She came home from work, he came home from work. They exchanged the politest of pleasantries. They took turns making dinner. She would have a glass of wine. Tom would have a beer...or a glass of whiskey. Sometimes more than one (she tried not to count). They’d eat. Conversation was sparse; Tom seemed tense, and Honor definitely was. Then they’d go hide in opposite corners, Honor working on the details for the Black and White Ball, Tom correcting papers or making up lesson plans.
Household chores were shared, and Honor was pleased to find that Tom was tidy, even if he made his bed crookedly (hers looked like a magazine photo, thank you very much). He rinsed the sink out after shaving and owned a vacuum cleaner.
They watched a movie one night, but each of them appeared to be the polite type who didn’t talk during movies, so it hadn’t exactly been a bonding experience. “Good film” had been Tom’s comment, and Honor had agreed with “Yes. It was.”
On Tuesday, Charlie came over, and Tom had been manically cheerful, ignoring the fact that Charlie didn’t answer questions, eat dinner or make eye contact. “How’s school going?” Honor asked. He grunted in response. “Do you have Mrs. Parrish for English?” He sighed and nodded once. “She was my teacher, too.” Charlie dragged his eyes to her face as if to say, And why would I care? “Does she still smell like menthol?” A shrug.
“Charlie. Answer, mate,” Tom said.
“Yes. Mrs. Parrish still smells.”
“How about some grape pie?” she offered. She’d baked it in honor of this painful evening, hoping it would go better than it had thus far.
“He hasn’t finished his dinner,” said Tom.
She looked at the kid. “Well, it’s a special occasion. Your first dinner with us. So maybe we can bend the rules, Tom.”
He hesitated. “All right. Would you like some pie, Charlie?”
He shrugged. But, Honor was pleased to note, he also ate three pieces. In silence, mind you, but still. When Tom got back from driving him home, he went for a run. A long run.
So communication didn’t seem to be their strong suit.
Things were strained, to say the least. On the one hand, this was a business arrangement, more or less, so the typical romantic pressure off. On the other, she had already slept with the guy, and late at night, as she listened to the unfamiliar sounds of Manningsport Village and the occasional car passing, Honor wondered if she’d been stupid to tell Tom they should stay apart. Maybe sex would’ve made this seem a little more natural.
But then again, if things didn’t work out, sex might have just complicated the already unusual situation.
Didn’t keep her from stealing looks at him, that was for sure. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem similarly affected...or if he was, he covered it well.
On Thursday evening, Faith called, asking her if the two of them could have dinner. Honor said yes, albeit reluctantly. Feigning the role of smitten bride-to-be—or any role, really—wasn’t going to be easy, especially given the fact that Faith was an actual smitten bride. Faith offered to drive and asked to meet at Cabrera’s Boxing Gym first, because Levi had a “thing,” and so Honor walked the three blocks, Spike’s cute little black-and-tan head popping out of Honor’s purse, alert for danger.
Honor had never been to Cabrera’s, which was unusual, as she’d been in every other business in Manningsport. It was a circle of Dante’s Inferno, as far as she was concerned—cold, dark and poorly lit, with all sorts of smacking, thudding, punitive sounds coming from various areas. There was Faith, easy to spot in her yellow dress, staring into a dimly lit ring.
Honor went over, pausing as she passed a teenager sitting on a metal chair. It was Charlie Kellogg, dressed in gray sweatpants and a T-shirt with a picture of a horned goat on it. Maybe he was in a club that met after school or something. He was clutching a phone, earbuds firmly in place.
“Hi, Charlie,” she said.
He glanced at her, but didn’t answer.
“Nice to see you again,” Honor murmured, moving over to her sister.
Faith’s eyes were glued on the two men in the ring; apparently, Levi’s thing was to be ogled by his wife as he boxed with someone. Really not Honor’s cup of tea, two sweaty men bludgeoning each other, but whoever it was seemed to be giving Levi a pretty good time of it. The other guy was tattooed on both shoulders, muscled, glistening with sweat, and you know, maybe there was something to be said for boxing, after all. Both men wore helmets, but she could see Levi smile as he jabbed (or whatever). The other boxer answered with a left-right-left combination, and Levi staggered back, then recovered, saying something unintelligible to the other guy.
“Who’s putting the smackdown on Levi?” Honor whispered.
Faith gave her a strange look. “Your fiancé,” she answered.
Honor jerked in surprise. “Oh, sure. It’s just with the helmets, and the funky lighting, it looked a little...like, uh, Gerard. Gerard Chartier. From the firehouse.”
Gerard was six foot five and rather resembled Mr. Clean. Tom was a good five inches shorter, maybe a hundred pounds lighter and had a Union Jack tattooed on his shoulder. Might’ve been a clue. Then again, the one time she’d seen him without his shirt, he’d been on top of her (oh, happy memory), and she’d been too busy shoving her tongue in his mouth to examine him for identifying marks.
The bell rang, and both men hit each other’s gloves and exited the ring. Levi wrapped his squealy wife in his arms and kissed her, and then Tom leaned in and kissed Honor, as one would expect a young(ish) couple to do.
It was a quick kiss, but it took Honor by surprise, anyway, sending an electric pulse through her so hard and fast that she swore the lights flickered. That mouth of his, so...excellent, and the masculine smell of sweat and soap. His hair was spiked from his exertion, and his abs were sinfully magnificent, and a bead of sweat sliced down toward his—
“Hallo, darling. Here to cheer me on as I beat up your relatives?” He seemed completely unaffected, and Honor tried to snap out of it, dragging her eyes off his torso to his face.
“Well, technically, Levi’s not related to me, but, uh, what was the question?”
“What are you doing here, sweetheart?”
“I’m meeting Faith. Um, you looked good, uh, Pooky.”
“Oh, man. That’s not really what you call him, is it?”
Honor turned as her niece appeared at her side, Helena Meering, her best friend, in tow. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said.
“Hi, Auntie,” Abby said, then turned to Levi, her hands on her hips. “Are you already done? I thought you were supposed to teach us to protect ourselves, Levi. That’s why we’re here.”
Right. Prudence had mentioned that she wanted Abby to know a little self-defense before entering the world of dating.
“You’re an hour late,” Levi said, cocking an eyebrow. “I told you four o’clock. It’s now 5:07.”
“You look incredibly hot, Chief Cooper,” Helena said.
“Inappropriate, young lady.”
“And so do you, mister,” the girl added, ogling Tom, who was taking off his boxing gloves. With his teeth. She had a point.
“That’s Dr. Barlow to you,” Levi said. He paused. “Hey, Tom, I don’t suppose you’d be interested in doing a self-defense class with me, would you?”
“OMG, do it,” Helena said. “There’d be, like, a hundred girls signed up in minutes.”
From several yards away, Charlie sat up straighter and took out one earbud.
Tom glanced at Honor. She gave a little nod in Charlie’s direction, and Tom looked over. A hint of a smile flashed in his eyes, and that tingle of electricity sliced through Honor again. “Sure, I’ll help out,” he said. “I’d love to.”
“You’re British?” Helena squealed. “Hi. I’m Helena. I’ll be eighteen in seven more months.”
“He’s taken, okay?” Abby said. “Remember? He’s gonna be my uncle. He and Honor are engaged.”
Helena turned to Honor, her mouth hanging open most unattractively. “You? Seriously?”
Irritating. “Yes, Helena. We...we’re getting married.” Man. Hard to say that out loud, especially with an officer of the law watching. Her legs felt sweaty. From the corner of her eye, she saw Charlie approach.
“Tom Barlow. A pleasure,” Tom said. “And this is my unofficial stepson, Charlie Kellogg,” Tom said. “He’s a bit of a boxer, as well.”
“Cool,” Helena said.
“Hey, Charlie,” Abby said.
“Hey, Abby,” he returned. A flush crept up his still-boyish cheeks.
“All right, we’re off,” Faith said, kissing Levi once more. “I plan on getting all the juicy details on you, Tom, so consider yourself forewarned.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” he said. He put a heavy arm around Honor. “Don’t tell her all my secrets, darling.”
Heat flared in Honor’s face, making her blotchy, no doubt. Tom was much better at this...this faking than she was. “Right,” she said, her voice too loud. “Okay. Off we go.”
And for the next few hours, she lied. To her younger sister.
Well, not lied, not exactly. She just didn’t tell her the full truth. Yes, it had been fast. Yes, his accent was adorable. Yes, he was quite attractive, wasn’t he? Yes, yes, yes.
The secret wriggled around inside her. But while she and Faith had been getting closer since the youngest Holland had come back home, Honor couldn’t ask her sister to keep something from her police chief husband. She couldn’t tell Pru, either, as Pru tended to blurt out information like a bleating goat. Jack, forget about it. She might’ve considered Jessica Dunn, but Honor was Jess’s boss, and it didn’t seem fair to put her in a position where she’d have to conceal fraud.
Not so long ago, she would’ve told Dana. It was an odd thought.
* * *
ON WEDNESDAY EVENING, Blue Heron hosted Kites and Flights, one of the off-season events designed to keep people coming to the vineyard all year-round. It was a singles event; a couple of weeks ago, Honor had seen some people flying kites and came up with the idea—kite flying, then a flight of wine in the cask room afterward.
As she finalized some tasting notes, she remembered what Tom had said—what if she met someone while she was with him? Someone single and age-appropriate and straight, someone employed. This imaginary man would be good-looking, but not too pretty, and he’d be smart and well read and...and...he’d talk to her, as Tom did precious little of that. No. Only when they were in public did he turn on the charm.
Her imagination (and eggs) had told her that she and Tom would move in together and start growing closer immediately. They’d laugh and have a good time. The chemistry would be undeniable. Before long, it’d be the real thing.
Yeah. Not yet. Not even close.
Spike licked her thumb, and Honor stroked her head with one finger. The dog had come a long way from when Honor had first met her. “Look at you,” she said. “Love has changed you, am I right? It’s time to go herd the singletons. Are you ready?”
If there was a more perfect afternoon for kite-flying, Honor couldn’t imagine it. The early April sky was achingly, perfectly blue, the sun was warm—it was fifty-two degrees, in fact, though she knew quite well it would snow again before spring decided to stay. A brisk breeze gusted from the west, and the sweet smell of the vineyard permeated the air as she walked up to Rose Ridge, where the single kite flyers milled around.
It was a pretty sight, the bright kites and clothes. At least six heads of gray hair and three baldies caught the light.... Why did singles events always attract the elderly? Hey. Glass houses, okay? the eggs said. Oh, gosh, Pops was here, too...hopefully not flirting too much, or Goggy might beat him with a stick later on. But there were a few younger people, too. Lorelei from the bakery, Julie from the library. The perfect man she’d just been imagining was missing. He always was.
There was one couple already hitting it off, their backs to her. Then the guy turned, and Honor froze midstep.
It was Brogan. And Dana.
Pregnant Dana.
She remembered to keep walking. Told her face to smile.
“Hey, Honor!” Brogan said, taking a few steps toward her. “How are you? Great idea, this! I was home, I said, ‘Dane, we should go!’ And, of course, that way we could see you.”
He was trying. A little too hard, but he was trying to keep their friendship, and Honor’s heart gave an unwilling tug.
“It’s good to see you guys,” she lied. “I just didn’t expect you.”
“How could we resist? Superfun,” Dana chirped, smiling so brightly her nose crinkled. “How are you, pal? Long time no see.”
“Yeah. Um, congratulations again, by the way!” She’d sent an email, of course. “It’s really big news.”
“Thanks. We’re so happy.” Dana’s hand went to her stomach—a little high, Honor thought, as if she had heartburn. She hoped Dana had heartburn. Really bad heartburn. And the pukes. Now, now, said the eggs. Don’t be catty. After all, it could be your turn soon! Because we know we’re ready!
She gave herself a mental shake. “I didn’t expect you two because it’s a singles’ event.”
“It is?” Dana said. “That’s not what the newspaper said.”
At that instant, Jessica came running over, her face set in a frown. “Honor, I’m so sorry. The newspaper cut the line about this being for singles only, and half the people here are—oh. Hi, you guys.”
“Hey, Jess, how’s it going?” Brogan said. God, he was so nice to everyone. Then he reached for Dana’s hand, the gesture so familiar and lovely, such a statement. He’d never held her hand. Never.
Aren’t we over him yet? the eggs asked.
“It’s fine,” she told Jessica. “They always get something wrong. We’ll clarify for next week, but for today, everyone can just have fun and drink wine.” She paused. “Except you, of course,” she added for Dana’s benefit.
“Why me?” Dana asked. “Oh, right! I keep forgetting. Wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt our little bambino,” she said, leaning back against Brogan.
On second thought, we’re with you on the heartburn, the eggs said.
“Honor!” called Carol Robinson, one of the married people. “When do we get to the eating part? I’m starving.”
“Easy, girl. First we’re going to do a little meet-and-greet,” Honor said. “Folks, unfortunately, there was a line missing in the newspaper write-up. This is actually a singles’ event, but don’t worry. We’re very glad you’re here today. Next month, though, will just be for singles, okay?”
“Isn’t that discrimination?” Brogan murmured, surprisingly close to her ear. Honor jumped. He was smiling, that killer grin.
“Shush, you,” she said, feeling a traitorous tingle. “Okay, so if you are single, please group over to the left with Jessica, and you can start getting to know one another. And if you’re not, let’s get those kites in the air, all right?” She held one up—special ordered, dark blue with the gold heron logo emblazoned on it. “It’s a beautiful day here at Blue Heron, and Carol’s right. After this, we get to eat some lovely food and drink some incredible wines.”
It was the PR side of her. Always smiling, always focused on presenting the best possible front of the family business, always looking for ways to bring people in and remind them of the family mantra: life was too short to drink bad wine.
The kites went up, Pops getting his line tangled with Carol Robinson’s (probably on purpose; Carol was adorable). Lorelei from the bakery, who was always so cheerful, listened intently as Elvis Byrd, a pale, scrawny computer programmer a few years younger than Honor, explained why fracking would cause massive earthquakes, ending life as they knew it. Suzette Minor was flirting with Ned (Honor would have to put the smackdown on that, because Suzette was far too old and trashy for Ned, though Ned would disagree). Jessica snapped photos, and the kites soared and ducked against the pale blue sky.
And Dana and Brogan were certainly having a good time. They made a very attractive couple, she’d give them that. Very Hallmark card-ish, Dana standing in front of him, giggling like a fifth grader, Brogan tall and manly behind her, making the kite swoop and circle.
Dana glanced over, and Honor quickly averted her eyes. Went over to her grandfather and kissed his grizzled cheek. “Hey, Pops. How are you?”
“I’m good, sweetheart. See any ladies for me? I’m thinking of divorcing your grandmother.”
“You couldn’t find the front door without my grandmother,” she said.
“So? The front door’s nailed shut,” he said. “But you’re probably right,” he admitted. “And I suppose one person is as good as another.”
“Such a romantic,” she said, adjusting his collar.
“You’ll see,” he said, cuffing her fondly.
When the sun began to set in shades of peach and lavender, the group adjourned to the cask room, where cheese and hors d’oeuvres had been set up. Honor went through her paces, talking about wine pairings and flavors, the bouquet of each wine, the body, the texture and finish. Spike stared adoringly at Lorelei, who gave out doggy treats at the bakery, and Pops and Carol flirted.
Dana and Brogan always seemed to be touching.
In all the years she’d known Brogan, she never remembered him being in love. He certainly seemed to be now.
By the time Jessica had herded the participants upstairs to the shop, where they would hopefully buy vast quantities of the wines they’d just tasted, it was almost eight and nearly dark. Honor picked up Spike and snuggled the dog under her chin, then stood on tiptoe to peek out of the narrow windows that ran along the top of the stone wall.
The cobalt sky still held streaks of red and purple at the horizon. Lights were on in both the Old and New Houses, and a wave of homesickness washed over Honor. She missed home, the big, comfortable living room and aging kitchen, her gorgeous bedroom with its pale blue walls and soft white rug. Her sitting room, where she had spent so many happy hours watching Bizarre Tales from the E.R. and Diagnose This! with Jack or Mrs. Johnson.
Maybe she and Tom would move into the New House someday if they decided to get married (and stay married). But not yet. She couldn’t see living there under false pretenses. Home was too precious to sully with a fake relationship.
A real relationship—with Tom, anyway—seemed a bit impossible. In ten days of living together, she had yet to see him smile. And you know...it was his smile that had done her in. A smile like that hinted at all sorts of wonderful things. Where was that smile now? Because his somber face wasn’t nearly as appealing as his goofy, sweet, smiling face. In fact, Tom sometimes looked a little intimidating.
“So I hear you’re getting married,” came a voice. Dana stood in the other entryway, her arms folded.
“Yes,” Honor said. Spike, whose brain was about the size of a cashew, barked and wagged, the faithless cur.
Dana didn’t bother looking at the little dog. “Yeah, it’s all over town. Weird that I had to hear about it from Laura Boothby. And you haven’t even said if you’d be my maid of honor yet.”
Seriously? Granted, Dana had always been the type who seemed only to tolerate another person’s stories, just waiting for the chance to bring the conversation back to her. God forbid that anyone else have something going on. Had that always been the way? Kind of, yeah. Dana’s life was full of drama, fights, betrayals, triumphs. Honor’s life, on the other hand, had always been pretty normal. And happy.
“Well, it’s been a busy time,” she said, setting Spike in her purse, where the dog immediately curled up in a ball.
“Kind of a coincidence, don’t you think?” Dana asked, studying her engagement ring. “I mean, I didn’t even realize you were seeing someone.”
“It just happened,” Honor replied. Same as you and Brogan, she didn’t say.
Her former friend looked up. “Interesting, the timing and everything. I mean, if you were really in love with Brogan, enough to throw wine in my face, I’d think you wouldn’t be engaged all of a sudden.”
Honor raised an eyebrow. “Was I in love, though? I mean, you told me it was just a crush, remember?”
“Whatever,” Dana said. “Look, if you don’t want to be my maid of honor, that’s probably best. My sister—Carla, not Penny—really wants to. By the way, I’m thinking of booking the Barn for the wedding.”
There was no way in hell Dana Hoffman and Brogan Cain were going to get married on Blue Heron land. Nuh-uh. “Give Jessica a call. She handles that now. We’re pretty heavily booked, though.” That was true. Faith’s renovation had made quite an impression on event planners throughout western New York.
“Then again, the Barn might not be big enough. You know how his parents are, right? We’re trying to keep the number under five hundred. Anyway, with all the sports celebrities who’ll be coming, we need to have something really fabulous. I mean, the Barn is cute and all, but...we’re going for elegant. Because if we’re going to have, like, Derek Jeter and Jeremy Lin, it has to be amazing. And we’d like to do it before the baby comes, of course.”
“Uh-huh.”
Well played, the eggs said from behind their quilting frames. They had a point. Lack of interest was always the thing that infuriated Dana the most.
“Anyway, I guess we were really surprised when you turned up engaged.”
“Well, as you said yourself, Dana, when it’s right, you just know it.”
Dana crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “So me and Brogan getting engaged, that had nothing to do with it.”
Brogan and I, for the love of God. “Can’t see why you’d think that.”
“Oh, please!” Dana threw her hands in the air. “You expect me to believe that you’re not getting married out of jealousy? Brogan and I get engaged, and then look at this! A month later, Honor’s engaged, too! I mean, I have to wonder where you dug this guy up, because it sure feels like some kind of stunt to me.”
Which, of course, it was. But more than that, more upsetting, was this side of Dana, a side Honor has seen unleashed on other people more than once. Honor had always thought she was exempt. Irrationally, tears burned behind her eyes. Once, Dana and she had laughed and drank and commiserated together, watched movies and suffered through yoga class.
“That’s what it is, isn’t it?” Dana said, hands on her hips. “You just can’t stand that Brogan and I have something special, so you go out and somehow find some loser to—”
“Hallo, darling.”
Tom stood in the doorway, his eyes on her. “Jessica said you’d be down here. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Not at all,” Honor said, clearing her throat.
Dana’s face had grown very red.
Spike awoke and, realizing that her nemesis was here, pounced on Tom’s shoe, snarling.
“Come now, Ratty, haven’t we had this talk?” He picked up the dog and handed her to Honor. “I’m Tom Barlow,” he said, offering Dana his hand. “Honor’s man. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”
Honor would bet her left pinky that Tom remembered exactly who Dana was. He’d remembered her, after all. Men loved catfights, for some reason.
“Dana Hoffman,” Dana muttered.
Tom came over to Honor and kissed her on the temple, then took her damp hand and squeezed it. “Well, I just wanted to stop by and have a peek at you, love.”
“Hi,” she said, squeezing back. She kind of loved him at the moment.
“And the kite-flying went well?”
No kind of about it. She’d mentioned this to him last night, but she hadn’t been quite sure he’d been paying full attention, as he’d had some airplane plans up on the computer. “Yes. Thanks.”
“Lovely. Dana, what do you do for work?” Tom asked.
“I’m a hairdresser.”
“Very nice.” Tom smiled. “Right-o. I didn’t mean to intrude on your chat, ladies. Honor, I’ll see you at home, then. Unless you want me to stay and help clean up?”
“No, that’s... I have some things to take care of first. But yes, I’ll see you at, um, home.”
He leaned in, cupped her cheek with one (big) hand and kissed her, and she kissed him back. Would’ve probably done him on the floor in gratitude had Dana not been standing there, one eyebrow arched.
Tom looked at her, his gray eyes unreadable, smile gone. Then he turned to Dana. “Lovely to meet you.”
“We should have dinner sometime,” Dana said unexpectedly. “The four of us.”
“Absolutely,” Tom said. “And, sorry, who would make the fourth?”
Oh, yes. Honor would name their firstborn Tom, boy or girl.
Dana snorted (unattractively, Honor was pleased to see). “Um, Brogan?” she said.
“And who is Brogan?”
If she had twins, Honor would name them both Tom.
“Really?” Dana said. “I’m surprised Honor’s never mentioned him. Since she used to sleep with him not that long ago.”
Tom turned to her. “Oh, yes, that friend of yours I met at Hugo’s. Right. I didn’t realize he was your old boyfriend, Honor,” he lied, his voice warm and delicious. “We absolutely must have dinner now. Any other old lovers you have stashed around town?”
“Oh, I—you—Ryan Gosling?” Honor said, her voice odd. “No one. It’s...yeah.”
Tom grinned. “I’ll let you girls alone, then.” With that, he kissed her quickly once more, and she practically staggered after him.
When his footsteps had faded away, Dana turned to her and pursed her lips. “I’m having a hard time believing that guy just fell out of the sky with a marriage proposal.”
Honor cleared her throat. “As I said, it just happened. Took us both by surprise.”
Another line borrowed from Dana herself. She didn’t seem to recognize it.
Dana fake-smiled. “We’ll be looking forward to that dinner.”
* * *
TOM HAD ALREADY had one glass of whiskey and was working on the second when the front door opened, and his fiancée came in. That suit didn’t do anything for her perfectly acceptable figure (which was quite nice, now that he thought of it). Plain navy blue skirt and jacket, white shirt, distressingly sensible shoes. The little rat-dog’s head was visible in her purse.
“Hi,” Honor said, setting the little creature on the floor, where it snarled at him. “Thank you for saving me there.”
“With Dana, you mean?” He kept his eyes on the dog. Ratty had peed on his gym bag yesterday.
“Yes. I owe you.”
“Do you?” He could think of a few ways she could repay him, starting with getting out of those boring clothes. Hopefully, she had slutty underwear.
Not the line of thinking that was going to help.
The only reason Tom had any hope of this working, this marriage, was because he and Honor were a business arrangement. Love hadn’t worked out for either of them, had it?
But when he’d heard that nasty little baggage laying into her, he’d wanted to...help. Laid on the British charm, played the part of the devoted fiancé, pretended not to know about either Dana or Brighton.
And when he kissed her, it felt like a current jolted right through him. Not good. He wasn’t up for having his heart skewered again. Melissa had done that so well, and her son was keeping up the tradition. But Honor was nice. Honor was pleasant. Nice and pleasant were about all he could handle these days, so electric jolts and the urge to pull a little white-knight action...not smart.
Honor was looking at him. Right. Because he was staring at her.
“Well,” he said now. “I’m getting good at acting. As are you.”
Something shut down in her eyes. “Yes. You are.” She sat on the couch and slipped off her completely unimaginative shoes.
“By the way,” he said. “I got you this today.” He picked up the small velvet box and handed it to her.
It had taken a surprisingly long time to pick out a ring. He’d figured he’d go into the first store he saw, ask for a ring in his price range and wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, he’d be done. Instead, he’d looked at every damn ring in the store before settling on this one.
Honor opened the box. “Oh,” she breathed.
“Like it? If not, I’ll return it, and you can pick out something more to your taste.” Tom realized belatedly that he was holding his breath.
“No, no. This is...it’s beautiful.”
“It’s an antique.”
“Yes.” She raised her eyes, and Tom glanced away from the soft, sweet emotion there and looked out the window instead. “Thank you,” she said softly. “It wasn’t necessary.”
“Of course it was. If we’re madly in love and getting married, you should have a ring.” He finished his whiskey and stood up. “Glad you like it. I’ve got to correct papers. And I should call Charlie and listen to him breathe at me.”
“Okay. Thank you again. For...you know. For everything.”
Bollocks. You’d best be careful, mate, his conscience warned him. Wouldn’t want to hurt a nice girl like her. But she wasn’t a girl. She knew what they were about. At least, she should.
With that, he went upstairs, leaving her sitting on the couch, looking at her ring.