CHAPTER FIVE
“I DON’T KNOW if I’m the red-lipstick type,” Honor said two nights later. “I feel a little like Pennywise the Clown.”
“God, remember Jack made us watch that?” Faith exclaimed from where she was smooching Spike on the bed. “I practically wet myself, I was so scared. Not that you look like him, Honor,” she added. “Not even close.”
Colleen O’Rourke, self-proclaimed expert on all things male, squinted critically at Honor. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “A little like Pennywise. We had to try. But we’re on the right path, don’t worry.” She plucked a pink-and-green hairband from the basket where they still resided. “And can I just say how glad I am to see that those hairbands have gone the way of the dinosaur?” She tossed it on the floor, where Spike immediately pounced and began gnawing. Blue, Faith’s gargantuan Golden retriever, whined from his hiding place under the bed, as he was a big baby where Spike the Ferocious was concerned.
Honor frowned, then remembered not to (time for Botox?). She still wasn’t used to her hair, kept trying to swoop it off her shoulders, only to realize it was gone. That, combined with more makeup than she’d worn in the past twenty years, made her reflection quite unfamiliar.
“You look great,” Faith, the bringer of all this stuff, said reassuringly. Until her sister had arrived a half hour ago, Honor’s dressing table had only contained a hairbrush and a jar of Oil of Olay moisturizer (the same brand Goggy used, Faith pointed out). Now, the table surface was awash in girlie stuff—blush, eye shadow, seven different types of moisturizer, brushes and wands and tubes and pots.
Yes. Honor had agreed to a makeover. Things were feeling a little desperate. Could new eye shadow change her life? She was about to find out at the ripe old age of the years are precious, egg-wise.
But doing things differently...that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Even if she did look slutty. Then again, slutty might be good.
“I hear there’s a makeover,” came a voice, and Prudence banged into the room, clad in work boots and flannel and holding a glass of wine. “Why wasn’t I invited?”
“You can be next,” Colleen said. “I’ve been dying to get my hands on you for years.”
“To tell you the truth, I have been wearing some makeup lately,” Pru said. “Carl and I did a little Avatar the other night, and I’m still washing blue off the sheets.”
“Thanks for sharing,” Faith said. “Another movie dead to me.”
“Why? What else have I ruined?”
“Last of the Mohicans, Les Mis, Star Wars,” Faith began.
“Don’t forget Lincoln,” Honor added.
“And The Big Bang Theory,” Colleen said.
“Hey, we didn’t know that wasn’t porn,” Pru said, grinning. “And go ahead, make fun of me. I’ve been happily married for almost twenty-five years.” She took another sip of wine. “Honor, you look a little like Pennywise the Clown. Go easy on that foundation.”
Honor gave Colleen a significant look, and Coll sighed and handed her a tissue.
“Is the mascara supposed to look this clumpy?” Honor said, leaning forward. “It’s getting hard to open my eyes.”
“Put on another coat. It’ll smooth out,” Colleen ordered.
Blue whined again from under the bed. “Man-up, Blue,” Faith said. “Little Spike here only weighs four pounds.”
“She’s up to five. And she has the heart of a lion,” Honor said. Blue remained where he was.
“So why were you meeting Tom Barlow the other night, Honor?” Colleen asked.
Honor looked away from her reflection and pulled on her earlobe, then made herself stop. Cartilage started to break down when you were over thirty-five, she’d just read. Didn’t want droopy earlobes to match her AARP eggs. “He’s the nephew of a friend of Goggy’s or something. I was just being polite.”
“He’s cute, don’t you think?”
“I did until he opened his mouth.” She rubbed her lips with the tissue. Still more red. This stuff never came off, apparently.
“Really? He seems nice enough. Single. Keeps to himself most of the time. Too bad he’s not older, or I’d totally go for him. It’s the accent. I practically come when he orders a beer.”
“You should hear Carl speak German,” Pru said. “Très sexy.”
Honor flinched at the image, and Colleen handed her another tube. “Here, try this shade.”
She obeyed as Faith and Colleen doled out tips. Press your lips together. Keep your lips apart. Blot. Rub. Dot. Smear. Who knew lipstick was so hard? Now on to blush and bronzer, both women chattering away like blackbirds. They were being awfully nice, Honor thought, helping her become more appealing to men.
The only trouble was that men were hard to find in a town of seven hundred and fifteen.
You know, it was funny. When Honor had seen Goggy’s friend’s nephew in the bar the other night, she...felt something. Her heart did this weird twist, and hope rose so quickly and so hard that she literally stopped in her tracks.
Tom Barlow wasn’t middle-aged or odd-looking. He was...he was...well, not quite handsome. Straight brown hair cut very short. Normal enough features. But there was something about him—maybe it was just the surprise that he was actually age-appropriate and not a balding, big-toothed math teacher who smelled like mothballs—but no, even past that, Honor liked that face. It wasn’t a perfect, beautiful face, like Brogan’s, but she had the feeling she could look at that face for a long, long time and not get bored.
His eyes were dark, though she couldn’t exactly tell the color, and a scar cut through one eyebrow, and even though she realized she shouldn’t be aroused by the mark of some past injury, she kinda was. His mouth was full and—holy ChapStick, Batman, suddenly, she could see things happening between the two of them; she could feel a strong squeeze not just in her chest, but also from Down Under, the killer combination, and suddenly the eggs were primping in front of a mirror.
In a flash, Honor had imagined laughing with Tom Barlow about their fix-up and strange circumstances, and he’d be so grateful she came to meet him, and heck, what was this? A spark. A connection. He’d walk her to her car, then lean in and kiss her, and she’d bet both thumbs and a forefinger it’d be fantastic.
Tom Barlow had looked up. Smiled. His front tooth was just slightly crooked. For some reason, it made her knees go soft and weak, and those bridge-playing eggs of hers made a rush for the door.
And then he spoke, and thus died the fantasy.
Colleen leaned over her with what had to be the seventeenth makeup item.
“Okay, no sparkles,” Honor said. “I think we’re good, don’t you? I feel like I could write my name in this.”
“You look gorgeous,” Faith said. “Years younger.”
Ouch.
“Not that you need to, of course,” Faith added with a grimace. “Thirty-five is the new, uh, eighteen.”
“So a date, this is exciting,” Pru said, rubbing her hands together. “What’s his name again?”
“Um, it’s Slavic. Droog.”
“Oh, dear,” Colleen said. “Can you imagine calling that out at the big moment? ‘Droog, Droog, don’t stop!’”
Honor grimaced. “It’s something to overcome, I’ll admit.”
“What’s in a name, though?” Faith said. “If he’s cute, the name won’t matter. You’ll probably love it after ten minutes.”
“I hate dating,” Honor admitted. “I’m so bad with men.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Prudence said thoughtfully at the same instant Faith said, “No, you’re not!”
“Oh, sure I am,” she said. “But I’m really good at accounting. We all have our gifts.”
“Girls!” Dad bellowed up from downstairs. “Levi and Connor are here!”
“John Holland!” yelled Mrs. J. “Stop yelling like your daughters are a team of mules!”
The bedroom door opened. “Ladies,” Levi said. His eyes stopped on Faith, and Honor suppressed the familiar envy. Her sister and Levi had known each other for ages, but only recently started getting along. As in, the air was thick with pheromones of the newlyweds.
“Blick. Young love. I’m so over them, aren’t you?” Colleen asked Honor.
“Nah. I like them. Hi, Connor.”
“Hello, Holland women, hello, twin sister,” Connor O’Rourke said. “Wow, your hair, Honor. I keep forgetting.”
“I found him wandering the streets,” Levi said. “Figured we’d come see what you girls were up to.”
“Go have a drink with my dad,” Faith said. “This is a girl thing.”
“No, you know what?” Colleen said. “This is great. Boys, what do you think? How hot is Honor? Not historically, but right here and now.”
“Please don’t answer,” Honor said.
The two men exchanged a relieved glance.
Hang on. Why wouldn’t they want to talk about how hot she was, huh? “Actually, do answer. How hot am I, guys?”
“I’ll go see about that drink,” Levi said. “Connor?”
“Don’t you move,” Honor ordered. “You owe me, Levi Cooper. Okay, I realize this is awkward, you being my brother-in-law and all, but Colleen’s right. I could use a male opinion.”
“Is invoking my right to the Fifth Amendment a good enough answer?” Levi asked.
“No,” said Faith. “You have to answer.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then I’m cutting you off,” she said.
Levi gave her a sleepy look. “You’d climb me like a tree after one day.”
“I would, too,” Pru said. “You’re a good-looking guy, Levi.”
Honor turned away from the mirror and trapped both men with her gaze. because yeah, she was good at that. Authoritative. “Boys, you don’t want to be on my bad side, do you?”
“I know I don’t,” Connor said.
“Smart of you. Relax. I’m just looking for some insight.” Hey, why not? She’d already lost all dignity with the catfight. Plus, these guys knew her. “Why don’t men think dirty thoughts about me?”
“We do,” Connor said. “Not to worry.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No, we do. We’re guys. We automatically assess any woman for sex. Right, Levi?”
Levi scowled in response.
“Is that true?” Honor asked. Men were such aliens. “Really? You look at a woman, every woman, and imagine having sex with her?”
“I don’t,” Levi said.
“He’s lying,” Connor answered. “We’re guys. We think about sex with every woman.”
“Really. Every woman?” she asked. Connor nodded. “So someone like Lorena Creech,” she continued, naming the scariest woman she could think of. Lorena, age sixtysomething, fifty pounds overweight, a penchant for see-through animal-print clothing. “You’ve thought about having sex with her?”
“Well, yeah, same as you think about being eaten by a shark or getting your testicles caught in a bear trap,” Connor said. “If you’re a guy and a woman walks past, you look at her, imagine sex, then you either shudder in horror or make a play.”
Honor pursed her lips. “So I got the shudder of horror?”
Connor looked stricken.
“Busted, jerk,” his twin said.
“Um, no. I... You’re not horrifying, Honor. You’re quite...”
“Quite what? That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Connor appeared to be sweating. “Um, it’s hard to put a finger on it. You’re very, uh, attractive.”
“You’re an idiot, Connor,” Prudence said.
Honor sighed. “Levi? Got anything? I’m your sister-in-law. Help me. As a man, what do you think when you look at me?”
“My wife’s sister.”
“Before you married her, dummy.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “See, there you go. You’re a little...”
“Be careful,” Faith warned. “I’ll have to kill you if you hurt her feelings. Is your life insurance paid up? If I have to be a widow, I want to be rich.”
“No, just be honest, Levi. Go ahead.” Honor folded her arms and waited.
Levi paused. Sighed. “I guess Connor’s right. It probably crossed my mind once or twice.” He glanced at his wife. “But just as a fleeting thought, and way before we hooked up, babe.”
“Because I’m not pretty enough?” Honor guessed. It was to be expected. Faith got the looks.
“You’re pretty enough.”
“Don’t blow smoke.”
“Okay, you’re not pretty. I thought you were, but you must be right.”
Huh. That was kind of nice, and Levi was rather known for being blunt. “Sorry. And thanks. But if I’m pretty, why didn’t you ever want to sleep with me?”
“This is very uncomfortable.”
“Just theoretically.”
“Yes, Levi. Theoretically,” Faith said.
“Better you than me, pal,” Connor muttered.
Levi closed his eyes briefly. “It’s not your looks. You’re a little...unapproachable.”
Honor’s mouth dropped open. “What?” She was not! She was very pleasant! Very approachable. Extremely polite. Like...finishing-school polite. First Lady’s social secretary polite and pleasant. That was basically her life, being nice to people all the livelong day, no matter how much she occasionally wanted to strangle them.
“Exactly,” Connor agreed. “You’re—what do you girls call it? Walled off. Shut down. You have armor.”
“I don’t have armor!” Honor barked. “I don’t! What armor? There’s no armor!” Spike barked in agreement.
“You want to go out for dinner?” Levi asked Faith.
“Maybe you’re just unaware of the vibe you give off,” Colleen said. “The hairbands, for example. Do they scream sex? No.”
“I’m not unapproachable,” Honor said to her brother-in-law.
“Okay, you’re not. I apologize. Faith, save me.”
“I have an idea,” Faith said. “Honor, pretend you’re meeting Connor for the first time. Like you guys are on a first date, you’ve been chatting online, but this is the first time you’ve laid eyes on each other.”
“Great idea,” Honor said. “Sit, Connor.”
Unapproachable. Armor. Please. Spike came over and whined to be picked up. She obliged, kissing the dog on the head. So approachable. Even animals thought so.
“That dog will have to go,” Colleen said. “It’s worse than a cat.”
“How dare you,” Honor murmured, giving Colleen a look. “Come on, Connor. Get in character.”
“Yeah, Conn, get to it,” said Colleen. “We have a bar to run. Who’s opening tonight, anyway?”
“Monica.” Connor sighed and sat obediently across from Honor at the foot of the bed. “Hi, are you Honor? I’m Connor.”
“Oh, Connor and Honor! That rhymes!” Colleen said. “Sorry. Back to you two.”
“Hi, Connor. Nice to meet you.” Totally approachable. She shot Levi an icy glare. He was busy giving Faith a steamy, let’s-get-it-on look.
“You’re even prettier than your picture,” Connor said.
“Thanks.” She smiled brightly.
“Eesh, you look like a wolverine when you smile like that,” Colleen said. “Easy, girl.”
Honor sighed, then tried again, baring only a few teeth this time.
“Now you look feeble. Don’t worry about it, we’ll work on that later. Just keep going.”
Connor was Faith’s age. A nice guy. Good-looking. An excellent bartender. Otherwise, she didn’t know him too well. “So tell me about yourself,” she said.
“Good line,” Faith murmured, swatting at Levi’s hand.
“I’m a bartender who likes the smell of crisp autumn leaves and Johnson’s baby shampoo.”
Honor paused. “That’s kind of creepy.”
“See? You’re gutting me already. I feel emasculated.”
“Well, then, you need to sac up a little, don’t you?”
“And we’re done,” Connor said. “Levi, how about that beer, pal?”
* * *
PRU WENT OFF with the guys, but Faith and Colleen spent another half hour giving her advice on how to talk to men, which was not something Honor would’ve suspected she needed to be taught. With Brogan, she’d just been herself.
Okay, not a great example. Thinking his name still made her brain cringe.
The troops finally left, and Honor got dressed in the outfit Faith had picked out. Jeans (Colleen’s, and they stopped a good four inches below the belly button and felt freakishly uncomfortable), purple suede ankle boots with three-inch heels (Faith’s, obviously), a pale green shirt (Colleen’s), pearls (Mom’s), four silver bracelets (Faith’s) and long, dangling silver earrings (Faith’s again).
Clearly, Honor had no idea how to dress herself. Then again, that was the point. Short hair, better clothes, makeup. She’d be married in no time.
“Droog. This is my husband, Droog.” Okay, it lacked a certain élan.
Spike was sleeping on Honor’s pillow, worn out from emasculating Blue, who wanted very much to love Spike but which Spike wouldn’t allow. Her doggy had been a rescue, so Honor wasn’t sure what her history was with other dogs. Bossy, obviously, which Honor admired.
At any rate, Mrs. J. would take her into her apartment for the night and watch whatever violent TV show she was into this week. The housekeeper loved Spike more than she loved most humans.
She tiptoed down the stairs, terrified of falling in the high-heeled boots and breaking a femur or rupturing her spleen, and went into the kitchen.
“Oh, God!” she blurted. She leaped back into the hallway, pressing her back against the wall. Holy. Fungus. “Sorry, sorry!”
“We weren’t doing anything!” her dad yelled as a kitchen chair crashed to the floor. “It’s not what you think!”
“Honor Grace Holland, why are you sneaking around this house, creeping up on people?” Mrs. Johnson said.
“We were just kissing!” Dad said.
“Is it safe to come back in?” she asked, feeling a laugh start to wriggle around in her stomach.
“Yes! We weren’t...we were just... Oh, jeesh. Is that the phone?”
“Don’t you move, John Holland. We were not kissing, Honor,” Mrs. Johnson said darkly. “Your father, the ridiculous man, asked if he could kiss me just the one time. And just the one time it will be, John Holland, if you can’t keep track of which of your many children is skulking around corners.”
“Okay, okay,” Honor said, going back into the kitchen. Dad’s face was bright red, and Mrs. Johnson looked like she was about to kick a baby dolphin, she was so mad. “I’m sorry I didn’t make more noise. I didn’t know there was a romance unfolding here. I’ll tie a bell around my neck next time.”
“There are no bells required! There is no romance!” Mrs. J. thundered. “It was an experiment only, and one of complete failure, given your intrusion, Honor. We thought you had left with the others. Your father said we were alone.”
“Mrs. J., I’m sorry, okay? Don’t murder my dad.” He sent her a grateful look.
The clock ticked on the wall.
“So,” she said. “Dad and Mrs. J. I like it.”
“There’s nothing to like, you wretched child,” the housekeeper muttered.
“Oh, stop. Your guilty secret is safe with me. But let me tell you, if I’d been Faith, you’d be packed into the back of her car, on your way to a justice of the peace this very minute. And Jack would be dead on the floor of a heart attack.”
“My poor Jackie,” Mrs. J. said. Honor rolled her eyes.
“Anyway, more power to you,” she said. “I’m going on a date. Mrs. J., would you watch Spike?”
“Of course. Where is the little baby now? And why did you name her Spike? She should have a delicate name. A girl’s name. Princess or Sugar-Paws.”
“Or Hyacinth,” Dad said. It was Mrs. Johnson’s first name, and he was gazing at the housekeeper with a dopey smile.
Well, well, well. Honor said good-night and walked out to her car.
Last fall, Dad had decided to start dating...sort of...but after a few failed attempts, he seemed to give up. Mrs. Johnson was single (they all thought; she was a mystery wrapped in an enigma), and she’d been with the family since Mom died.
But a romance between the two of them, huh? If there’d been handwriting on that wall, Honor had missed it completely.
It could work, though. Certainly, Mrs. Johnson was a wonderful (if terrifying) person. She took good care of Dad and all his kids. Certainly, she knew all of them inside out and out.
It was nice to picture her father with someone. Not so alone anymore. He’d always had her, of course, which was a little pathetic when she put it like that. But still. They’d always been two single people alone together.
A surprisingly strong band of loneliness tightened around Honor’s chest. If Dad and Mrs. Johnson became a couple, where would that leave her? She’d have to move. She couldn’t be the spinster daughter, living with the newlyweds, sneaking Bugles into her room and misery-eating as she watched I Didn’t Know I Had a Parasite.
All the more reason to put the pedal to the metal and get going, the eggs said. We want to be fertilized.
“You have a point,” Honor muttered, starting her car. If Dad could find a honey, surely she could, too. eCommitment had recently come up with two matches for her. One was married, a Google search had revealed (thank you, Faith). So Droog it was.
See? She was trying. Really hard. She did need to get a life, and not just because Dad might beat her to the altar.
Three days ago, Dana emailed, asking if she was ready to hang out. Honor had been out of town on a sales trip to Poughkeepsie and had only responded to say so. Then yesterday, Brogan left a message, saying he was back from Tampa and would love to see her for dinner.
And last night, Honor had a panic attack, abruptly terrified that she’d die in this bed where she’d slept most of her life, and Dad, not the most observant man in the world, would think she was traveling, and Spike would chew off the tip of her nose for food, which would mean closed casket, definitely. This pleasant little fantasy had led her to visiting OnYourOwn.com and cruising through profiles of sperm donors, and then panicking a little further. She’d soothed herself by making a list of things she needed to do for the Black and White Ball, which was only a month and a half away, and ended up working until 3:00 a.m.
“Mom?” she said as she drove out of town. “I could use a little help finding a man. Okay? Be my wingman.”
Please God, Droog Dragul would be nice.
* * *
“HONOR?”
Honor’s head snapped around. Oh. Oh, dear. “Droog?”
“Yes. How luffly you look,” he said. He grabbed her by the shoulders and leaned in to kiss her (eep!). She leaned back as far as possible, which caused his lips fall on her chin, where they stayed for a horribly long moment before she wrenched away.
“Um, hi. Hi, Droog. Nice to meet you.”
Don’t judge on first impressions had been the advice from Faith and Colleen. Droog was lucky, in other words.
They were in the middle of the student center at Wickham College, where Droog headed up the Science and Engineering department. The Droog in front of her bore little resemblance to the Droog in the eCommitment photo (she should really stop thinking his name, which was not improving with repetition). No, his photo had apparently involved Glamour Shots, a spray tan and many dedicated hours with Photoshop. The actual live Droog (there it was again) looked ten years older and was considerably whiter. Also, he carried a purse. Not a cool, battered leather satchel, but a purse that Honor had been eyeing last week at Macy’s.
“Come. Vee vill go in my car. I heff Dodge Omni. It is old, but very good gas mileage.”
“You know, I think I’ll drive myself,” she said, wiping sweat from her forehead. “It’s, uh...it’ll be easier for me to get home.”
“As you vish.”
It was possible, Honor thought as she followed him outside, that Droog Dragul’s accent would grow on her. After all, hadn’t she loved the Count on Sesame Street? Perhaps his narrow face would be more attractive in a softer light. And she herself was no supermodel.
She wondered if he could see himself in a mirror. If he sparkled. Stop judging, she told herself. He couldn’t help being Transylvanian or Romanian or Hungarian or whatever it was.
She smiled firmly (though hopefully not like a wolverine) as he led the way to the parking lot. If nothing else, this date would be practice. It had been several years since she’d been on a first date. Years.
The sound of feminine laughter, and lots of it, made her turn her head. A gaggle of girls clustered around a man. He turned her way.
Oh, fungus. It was Tom Barlow.
Without thinking, she ducked, pretending she dropped her keys. Hey, why not actually drop them for authenticity purposes? She did. Kicked them under the car a little so she could have more time. Hopefully, Tom and the gaggle would move on.
“Heff you lost something?” Droog asked, bending to help. He was very tall.
“Um, no, no. I just dropped my keys.” Right. So she should pick them up and not just stand here, hunched over like Quasimodo. She squatted down and reached under the car, feeling only gritty pavement. Took a peek. Great. She’d effectively kicked them out of reach.
“I vould help you, but dee cartilage in my knees has torn and shredded, and I can no longer kneel. Eh heh heh heh.”
One! One beeg mistake! Two! Two bad knees!
“Hallo, Droog. Hallo, woman on the pavement.”
She sighed. Busted.
“Tom, Tom, how are you, my friend?” Droog asked. “I vould like you to meet my date, Mees Honor Holland.”
She looked up. Tom raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing around that mouth. “Oh,” she said flatly. “Hi.”
“Lovely to see you again,” he said.
“Heff you met before?” Droog’s eyebrows rose way, way up on his giant forehead.
Tom just kept looking down at her. “We both live in Manningsport,” he said after a beat, and his accent was so much more appealing than the Count’s. “Met at the pub one night, had a bit of a chat. Small town and all. Have you dropped something, Honor?”
“Um, my car keys,” she said.
He knelt down next to her, and she caught a whiff of his soap. He hadn’t shaved recently, and his jaw was bristly with stubble. Or maybe it wasn’t bristly. Maybe it was soft. Those lips would be soft, that was for sure.
Give us five minutes and we can be ready, the eggs said.
Tom leaned over, and something surged inside her. For one nanosecond, she thought he was going to kiss her, and yes! That would fine! Her eyes fluttered; the left one got stuck, thanks to the clumpy mascara. But no. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss her here on the pavement (or ever). He was reaching for her keys.
Which put his head very close to her, um, special places. Her uterus wobbled, and she pictured the eggs taking up a battering ram.
“Everything all right with your eye?” Tom asked with a knowing grin.
“Everything’s fine.”
She could probably hate this guy, if they spent much more time together. With superhuman eyelid effort, Honor managed to unstick her lashes as Tom groped under the car, then straightened up and handed her the keys. “There you are,” he said, his eyes filled with laughter. Gray eyes.
Kind of a gorgeous color, really. The lake in November, dark and deep.
“So you’re on a date with Droog, are you?” he asked. “Great guy.”
“Yes,” she said briskly. She’d almost forgotten about the Count. “Droog, sorry about that. Let’s get going, shall we?”
“Have fun,” Tom said.
“Tom, I veel see you tomorrow,” Droog said, opening the door of his rusting, maroon-colored Dodge Omni.
“Thank you,” she said to Tom. He smiled over his shoulder as he headed for his car, and damn. That was a Mack truck of a smile. And by the way, he was not built like Ye Typical Math Teacher, no sir. Broad shoulders. Rather perfect ass.
Then he glanced back again, and Honor was abruptly aware that she was still staring after him. He cocked his eyebrow as if knowing she was ogling him. He was probably used to it, she thought as a young (and beautiful) woman cantered to his side. Why didn’t he marry that one, huh? Why meet Honor if women were throwing themselves at him?
The man was not particularly likable. Droog, on the other hand, thought she was luffly. It didn’t make sense to let Down Under start getting all tingly and warm when the man causing those feelings had been such a boor.
* * *
“DO YOU LIKE bowling?” Droog asked a half hour later as they sat in the little restaurant. “I luff eet. Dee crash of dee pins, dee joy on the dee faces of dee cheeldren.” He smiled. “Perhaps we may try it sometime.”
There would be no bowling.
Honor had definitely ruled out marriage and children with Droog Dragul. In addition to the faint fear that he was going to throw his head back and start howling, or start counting things. (One...one pointy knife! Two! Two major blood vessels in dee neck!) Droog had wiped down everything at their table with antibacterial wipes he produced from his purse, including their chairs and the floor around them. “Now I heff created clean space,” he said, smiling.
Dexter the serial killer leaped to mind.
Then Droog ordered water and took a sandwich from his purse. Baloney on white bread.
It was a long eighty-three minutes.
To his credit, when he asked her for a second date, Droog took her rejection well. “Ah, yes, I understand,” he said. “Vee don’t have the cleek.”
“The cleek?” she asked.
He snapped his fingers. “The cleek.”
“Oh. Right. The click.” Honor forced a smile. “But it was very nice meeting you, Droog.”
“And you, as vell, Honor. Good night.”
So. No potential husband. Maybe she’d call Jeremy and ask about sperm banks.
It’s just that she wanted a husband. A nice man would be enough. He didn’t have to be Brogan—all that and turquoise eyes, too—he just had to be...decent. And normal. Not someone who brought his own food to a restaurant.
Too bad Tom Barlow had been such a twit.