CHAPTER SEVEN
AT 4:45 ON Friday afternoon, Honor was contemplating another cruise through eCommitment or OnYourOwn.com and wondering if four was too many times to see the latest Bond movie. But Dad and Mrs. Johnson had an in-house date, since Mrs. J. thought it was too soon to go out in public, so Honor wanted to make herself scarce. Because, my God! What if an in-house date meant she had to overhear something? Then she and Spike would have to kill themselves.
However, once again making the trek to the theater and power-eating popcorn and Sour Patch Kids (the ugly face of addiction...or the ugly hips, as the case may be) held little appeal, even if she could look at Bond, James Bond, for two hours. Plus, the low-bellied clouds looked like they were about to birth some snow. The lake was black from here, and the grapevines were dark and twisted. The air was raw with cold.
Maybe she’d just stay here and work, despite her pledge to be different. The Black and White Ball wasn’t far off, and it was Honor’s pet project of all the charity events Blue Heron participated in or hosted. The ball raised money for the parks and recreation services in town. In years past, the ball proceeds had funded a new playground, replacing the rusting equipment Honor herself had played on, a skateboard park and the municipal pool.
This year, the funds would go toward making a hiking and bike trail through some of Ellis Farm. Everyone could use it, of course, not just kids, but it was special to Honor’s heart. Manningsport, while as beautiful a town as America made, had pockets of need. Kids who grew up in the squat brick houses at the edge of town, or the trailer park, didn’t have what Honor had growing up—woods and fields to romp in. Orchards and sledding hills, a shallow pond for skating. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned buying a small herd of Scottish cattle for the 4-H program, a flock of chickens, maybe a few rescued horses. The land would be for those kids, so that they could enjoy the riches of the area, get away from their televisions and Nintendos and feel the connection to the land the way she did.
The ball would be held in the Barn at Blue Heron, the space that Faith had converted last fall—once a crumbling stone barn, now a stunning, bright space overlooking the rest of the vineyard. Her sister had quite a talent. And red hair. And the cutie cop.
Okay, none of that. She ran her hand over her own hair. She had good hair now, too. The rude Brit had been right: it had been a little sister-wife.
So yes. While Jessica Dunn and Ned were doing just fine, the Black and White Ball was Honor’s. And lists needed to be made. Or remade. Or color-coded.
Just then, her phone rang, making Spike leap up from her beauty rest and bark four times. Honor lunged for the phone before Jessica could answer it. “Honor Holland,” she said, using her smooth, Blue Heron voice.
“It’s your father speaking,” Dad said. “Reminding you that you have a life and need to leave the office.”
“Dad, no one leaves work at five.”
“Get out. Go to O’Rourke’s with one of your friends.”
Honor winced. Unluckily, no one in town had died since the catfight...no one had even been arrested or had sex in a public place (except maybe Pru and Carl, though they hadn’t been caught). In other words, she was still the hot gossip. O’Rourke’s was out.
“And, um, don’t be home before ten,” Dad added, his voice sheepish.
“Why? Wait, scratch that, I don’t want to know.” Honor sighed. “Okay. Maybe I’ll swing by Pru’s and stay over.”
“Oh, honey, that’d be great.”
“Dad, please.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just...well, you do what you want, Petunia. Just give me a call if you do decide to come home. Let the phone ring twice. That’ll be our code.”
“Got it. Code, as in don’t you dare be doing anything in the living room that would cause emotional scars for your spinster daughter.”
“You’re not a spinster. Go out. Have fun. Meet some young people.”
“I hate young people.” She paused. “Can I at least come home to change and feed my dog?”
“Of course. Just, um, make it quick, okay? Oops, I have to go. Mrs. Johnson’s glaring at me. Love you!”
“You should probably start calling her by her first name,” Honor said, but her father had already hung up. She sighed. It’d be nice to be able to tell her sisters about this (it might be fatal to Jack), but Mrs. Johnson had made her swear not to tell yet.
Honor scooped up Spike and kissed the dog’s little head, getting a joyful snuzzle in return. “Let’s run away, just us two,” she said. Spike wagged in agreement.
Young people and friends. Outside of her relatives, no one leaped to mind. Maybe Jack would want to watch Top Ten Tumors, a show dear to both their hearts. She could go to Rushing Creek and talk about artificial hips, or she could go to her grandparents’ house and do the same thing. Maybe get rid of some of their stuff. Help Goggy clean out the pantry, which held canned goods from the 1980s.
A knock came on her door frame. “Hey. Sorry to interrupt,” Jessica Dunn said. “I took a whack at the press release for the tourism magazine.”
“Great! Let’s take a look.” Delegation, delegation. It was supposed to be a good thing.
Jessica handed her the paper. “I also posted a picture of the cask room on Facebook and Twitter and asked everyone what wine was in their fridge. And I made a list of some potential blog topics for you, too. Oh, and here’s your calendar for next week.”
“Thanks,” Honor said, her heart sinking a little.
Jessica had worked here for two weeks now, and Honor was a little intimidated by how terrifyingly efficient she was. Didn’t smile much, did everything from empty the trash to bring Honor coffee to write copy (pretty damn well, too).
Jess stood there a minute as Honor read what she’d done. It was friendly, informative and seemed to be missing all of one comma. Honor looked up. Jess was frowning.
Honor knew this was her first job outside of waitressing; the girl (woman) had acknowledged that on her first day. So far, she’d been quiet, hardworking and a little tense, almost as if she was worried she’d be fired. It was kind of endearing. Faith had mentioned that she’d always been a little scared of Jessica Dunn; Honor didn’t see why.
“This is great,” she said. “I almost can’t remember what I did before you came.” You worked sixteen hours a day, the eggs told her.
Jessica smiled a little. “Thank you.”
“Hey, Jess, do you want to get a drink? Since it’s time to go?”
“Shoot, I can’t. I have to work. I’m on at Hugo’s.”
“Right.” Crap. “Another time, I hope.”
“I’d really like to. I just...I still need the other job. Student loans, you know?”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. Maybe that was inappropriate. Maybe Jessica didn’t want to have a drink with her boss.
“I could do Tuesday,” Jess offered.
The relief was a little pathetic. “Great. Sure, Tuesday, then.”
Just then the phone rang; they both lunged, but Honor won again. “Blue Heron, Honor Holland speaking.”
“Hey, On, it’s Brogan.”
She felt the blood drain to her feet. Since the catfight (cringe), she hadn’t actually spoken to him, aside from a few very superficial and cheery emails. “Hi there, Brogan!” she said. Her voice sounded weird. “How are you?” Better.
“I’m good, I’m good. How about yourself?”
“I’m really great. So good. Truly. I’m excellent!” Oh, Lordy. Jess gave her a sympathetic look and slipped away to her desk. “So, what’s up?”
Brogan paused. “You think you could meet me for dinner tonight? Or a drink?” he asked. Honor grimaced hugely. “Just you and me,” he added.
I’d rather swallow a live eel, Brogan. “Oh, shoot, hang on a second, I have another call,” she lied. She pushed the hold button. “Jess? You still there?”
Her assistant reappeared. “Yes?”
“I’m sure you heard about my brawl a few weeks ago.” Jessica nodded. “Brogan wants to get together for drinks.”
“Yick.” Jess pulled a face.
“Thank you. Do you think I should go?”
“Have you seen him since the fight?”
“Nope. Do I have to go?”
Jessica leaned in the doorway, then shrugged. “Yeah, you kind of do. Sorry. You don’t want him to think you’re sulking.”
“That’s what I thought, too. Crap. Thanks.”
“Come to Hugo’s. I’ll spit in his drink for you.”
“Really?”
“No. But I’ll want to.” Jessica smiled.
“I appreciate that.” Honor pushed the button back. “Sorry, Brogan,” she said. “Sure, I can meet you for a bit. How’s Hugo’s?” Jess gave her the thumbs-up and disappeared again.
Brogan let out a breath. “Oh, that’s fantastic. Can you be there in an hour?” His voice still made her stomach pull.
“Okay. Um, Brogan, I can only stay for a little while,” she added. God forbid they were together long enough for him to...get to her again. “I, um, I’m meeting someone. Later. After I see you. It’s a date. I mean, I’ll have a date later tonight. I do have a date.”
Spike stared at her, hypnotized by the lies.
“Awesome,” Brogan said happily.
“Yes, yes. Okay, I have to go. I’ll see you at six o’clock at Hugo’s. Great. Bye. Take care.”
She hung up and let her head fall backward. Her armpits were damp with sweat. Plus, the clouds were releasing their burden, and fat snowflakes filled the air. Beautiful, except it was March. Just when you thought spring was really going to come through, Mother Nature bitch-slapped you with a storm.
Spike scrabbled at her leg, and Honor lifted her into her lap. “You get to stay home,” she told the dog. “And you better TiVo Top Ten Tumors for me.”
* * *
AND SO IT was that an hour and twenty-three minutes later, Honor was fake-laughing at Hugo’s, sitting across from the only man she’d ever loved, slightly sweaty, stomach churning with acid and vodka from the perfectly chilled, slightly sweet Saint Germaine martini Jessica had brought her.
This was...what was the word for it? Hell. Yes. This was hell, and she was pretending to have a wonderful time. Oh, Satan, you’re so droll! Hahahahaha!
Because yes, Honor’s stupid heart had done that squishy, painful thing when she saw him. At the moment, Brogan was telling a story about an athlete who did a sport that involved running, and you know, at least she could stop storing away this kind of information so as to be the Most Perfect Companion Ever. At least there was that.
Your attitude could use adjusting, said her aging eggs, fanning themselves. Yowza! Here comes another hot flash!
“You’re kidding. That’s just crazy,” Honor said out loud. Hopefully her comment made sense, since she clearly wasn’t paying a lot of attention.
It wasn’t fair.
She still felt for him. You don’t love a guy for seventeen bleeping years and then just stop. At least, Honor didn’t. Unfortunately.
Brogan had now moved on to a story about his parents, whom he’d just seen in Florida. Kind of surreal that just over two months ago, Honor had been having dinner chez Cain, had flashed Brogan’s parents, had imagined them as her in-laws.
Now, she just hoped her sweat wasn’t showing and was counting the seconds till she could leave for her pretend date. At least the restaurant was practically empty, given the raw weather and the fact that Hugo’s had just opened for the season last week.
You know, she was so good at her job. For the past eleven years, she hadn’t made one major misstep at work. All her decisions had been sound, had proved to be good investments, smart moves.
On the personal front, a fail. She’d chosen the wrong friend, the wrong guy.
Next time she had an instinct about someone, she was going to do the opposite thing.
Nodding all the while, Honor stared at Brogan. Why were his eyelashes so long? Why had God seen fit to give him that perfect, curling, chestnut hair? Hmm? Anyone? Bueller?
They’d been here for twenty-seven minutes. About twenty-eight minutes too long, in other words. Did Dana know he was meeting her? Was Dana at Brogan’s right now, in the same bed where Honor had—
Oh. The sports story was over. Brogan was looking at her, his face concerned. “Honor, are we okay?” he asked gently, and her face burned with heat.
“Yes! Yes, we’re fine. It’s fine. I’ve practically forgotten about it.” She forced a laugh, making her sound like a dying seal. Faking. Not her area of expertise. Jessica, who was taking an order at a nearby table, shot her a look.
“It’s just that we’ve been friends for so long,” he said. Damn those blue eyes. The concern in them seemed genuine. It probably was. Brogan was not a faker, either.
“Look, Brogan,” she said, keeping her voice low. “I was surprised, I overreacted and I’d love it if we could just drop the subject. Okay?”
He nodded. “Of course. It’s just...I hate thinking that I led you on,” he said. “I always thought we felt the same way about each other.”
She took a large swallow of her drink. “No, we did. We do. Um, I care for you. As a friend. When I asked you if you wanted to get married, it was an ill-formed thought.” One she’d spent roughly six years thinking. “I’m over it. Really.”
He smiled a little. “Good. I’m glad. You mean so much to me.”
God. This night was endless.
“Can I get you guys anything else?” Bless her, Jessica was here with a pitcher of water.
“We’re good, I think,” he said. “Do you want another martini, On?”
“Oh, no! No. Nope. Thanks. I have to get going pretty soon,” Honor added.
Brogan’s face lit up. “Right! Your date. We’ll take the check, then, Jess.”
Thank you, baby Jesus! This interminable evening would finally end, and then she was going home to watch Top Ten Tumors, and she didn’t care if Dad and Mrs. J. were doing it on the hallway floor. On second thought, maybe she would call Pru and see if she could crash. She and Abby could watch the tumor show together.
Jess went off, and Honor forced a smile and looked at Brogan. Three more minutes, and she’d be free.
He was staring at his glass. “I’m so glad we can still be friends,” he said. “And I hope you and Dana can be patch things up, too.”
Two and a half minutes. “Oh, you know. I’m...it’s...”
“She said you guys talked a little. Told me you cut your hair. It looks really nice, by the way. Kind of shocking, but really nice.”
“Thanks.”
He shifted in his chair. “Um, did I tell you I’m gonna join the volunteer fire department here? I thought it’d be good.”
“That’s great,” she said. Two minutes and twenty-four seconds.
“So you’re seeing someone?” Brogan asked.
“Excuse me? Oh, yes. Yes, I am. Mmm-hmm.”
“What’s he like?”
“Uh, he’s so...” An image of Droog mopping the floor with Wet Ones popped into her head. “He’s, uh, European. Very funny. Cute accent.” One! One terrible lie! Two! Two minutes till you can leave!
“Think it’s something special?” Brogan asked.
“Possibly. It’s a little early to tell. Maybe.” She smiled, hopefully not like a wolverine. A bead of sweat trickled down her back, irritating as a housefly.
“That’s good. I’m really glad to hear it.” He took a breath, then another. “Honor, I have to tell you something, because I don’t want you to hear it from anyone else.” He hesitated. “Dana’s pregnant.”
Honor was fairly sure her expression didn’t flicker. Her eyes, though...something was wrong with them. Blink, the eggs advised. Right. “Pregnant?”
“Yeah. We just found out. It was a surprise, but we’re really, really happy.”
He was. She could see it in his ridiculous-colored eyes.
He was going to be a father.
Dana never wanted kids. She’d mock the obsession of new mothers, saying, “Another friend gone.” And when a patron would ask if she wanted to hold a baby, Dana would pass, then later say, “Why would I want to hold that little petri dish, right? And the smell, Honor! Can you imagine wiping someone’s butt eight times a day?”
The thing was, yes. She could. She’d love to wipe someone’s butt eight times a day. To cuddle a baby against her cheek, breathe in the smell of a sweet little head, hold a tiny hand in hers.
“Are you okay?” Brogan asked.
“Yes,” she said faintly. Oh, crap. There were tears in her eyes. She looked down, then forced a smile. “I’m happy for you, Brogan. I am. This is great. Babies are...they’re so...magnificent. This is great news! Good for you guys!”
“Honor? Hey, sorry to interrupt.” It was Jessica, angels bless her. The woman was getting a raise. “Your date’s here.”
Honor blinked. “He is?”
“Yeah.” Jessica gazed down at her, her expression calm. Okay. Right. She must’ve heard the lie from before and was throwing her a rope.
Brogan looked at her expectantly.
He was going to be a dad. She could picture it so clearly—tall, handsome Brogan Cain cradling a little bundle in his arms, looking at the tiny face with wonder.
She took a deep breath. “I have to go. Brogan, congratulations on the...on the baby.” Her voice wobbled. “I mean it. Best wishes.” Tears wrapped around her throat and squeezed.
“Thanks, On.” Brogan stood up. If he hugged her, she would lose it.
He hugged her. Her heart folded in on itself like a dying bug as she breathed in his familiar cologne. Chanel for Men. It always got to her.
“So,” Brogan said, releasing her. “Where is this guy? Can I say hi?”
Oh, fungus. Honor stood up, grabbed her coat. “We’re meeting in the parking lot.” If she didn’t get out of here, she was going to cry. In public. And wouldn’t that suck.
“No, he came in,” Jessica said. “He’s at the bar.”
He was? They all looked, Honor half expecting to see Droog Dragul. But Jess had never met Droog, and if Droog was actually here, it would be the universe’s biggest coincidence. Nope, no Droog.
Brogan took out his wallet (and yes, by all means, let him pay). Mercifully, his phone began playing the theme song to Monday Night Football, and he picked up. “Hey. How’s it going?” he said, turning slightly away.
“Who are you talking about?” Honor whispered to Jess.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have a date.”
Jessica’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit,” she whispered. “I heard you say you were meeting someone, and he had a cute accent....”
“I was lying,” Honor whispered back.
“But there’s a European at the bar. He’s British, I think.” She pointed to someone’s back. Manningsport wasn’t exactly a microcosm of the world. Europeans were in short supply. Honor looked.
Oh, God. It was Tom Barlow. He seemed to feel her looking, because he glanced over, did a double take and waved.
In about four seconds, Brogan was going to stand up and want to meet her nonexistent boyfriend.
Honor was across the restaurant before she was aware she’d moved. “Hey,” she said without preamble. “I’d be eternally grateful if you’d pretend to be my date for a second.” Please don’t be an ass. And please be sober.
His eyebrows raised. He glanced to where she’d been sitting. “Oh, right,” he said. “There’s the object of the catfight. You look like you might vomit. No puking, please, and if you cop a feel, it’ll cost you extra.” He put his arm around her. “There you are, darling,” he said in a slightly louder voice, and before she knew it, he kissed her on the lips.
Instinctively, she tried to jerk away, but he held her a little closer. “Now, now,” he murmured against her mouth. “We’re deeply in love.”
And he kissed her again.
And that mouth...oh, Mommy, it felt good. Soft and firm, and not too much, but just exactly the kind of kiss a woman would want if she were meeting her man, and something locked inside of Honor opened in a rush.
Then he stopped and smiled at her.
That was some kiss. That was a food-for-thought kiss and would require some serious analysis.
Analysis? the eggs said. You gotta be kidding.
Jessica was fixing a drink behind the bar, and here came Brogan, all tall, easy grace. “Hey, there. I’m Brogan Cain. An old friend of Honor’s.”
“Hallo. Tom Barlow. A new friend of Honor’s.”
“Where are you from?” Brogan asked.
“England.”
“Awesome! I’ve been there a few times. The Olympics, a few soccer matches.”
“Football, mate.”
Brogan laughed easily. “True enough. It’s football when you’re over there.”
Super. Brogan was about to make a new best friend.
Her eyes felt too wide. There was Jeremy the-years-are-precious-egg-wise Lyon, leaving with his boyfriend, Patrick. He waved and gave her a subtle thumbs-up, lest she forget that her breeding years were almost behind her. Emmaline Neal, who worked at the police station with Levi, also waved, holding the door for her mother.
Tom turned to her, and touched her earlobe with one finger. Her entire left side electrified. “Honor, darling, are you hungry?”
She swallowed. “I am. I’m starving. I’m really, really hungry. Let’s eat.”
“I love how she babbles when her blood sugar’s low.” Tom shook Brogan’s hand. “Great meeting you.”
“You, too. Have a good night.” Brogan leaned in to kiss her—something he’d always done, on the cheek, in public, one of the ways he’d always made her feel special. But times were different now, and she took a little step closer to Tom. Brogan caught himself, and for the first time ever, he looked a little...awkward. “Well. See you soon, On.”
They both watched him leave. “Smug bastard, I thought,” Tom said.
“Thanks.” She was suddenly aware that his arm, heavy and warm, was still around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” she said, stepping back. “It was a rock-and-a-hard-place moment.”
“Absolutely. I owe you for being such a prat when we met before.” He took a sip of his whiskey. “Care for a drink?”
Honor started to shake her head automatically, but caught herself. Different. Doing different things, being different. That was the color-coded plan.
“I’d love one.” She looked at Jessica. “I’ll have a Grey Goose. Straight up, please.” Jess obliged, and Honor took the drink and drained it.
“That bad, is it?” Tom asked.
“No, not at all. Why do you ask?”
That was some kiss.
“Why don’t you guys grab a table?” Jessica suggested. She pointed them to a table in the corner of the bar, over by the fireplace.
They went over, the warmth of the fire at Honor’s back, snow falling heavily out the window. Now that she had a moment, she took in her companion—a green river man’s shirt, the top three buttons undone, giving her a glimpse of a silver chain. Dark jeans and sturdy leather shoes.
He looked utterly...male.
Jess brought her some seltzer water, which was her drink of choice at work. Sweet of her to remember. “Do you want another Grey Goose, Honor?” she asked. “Or anything to eat?”
“No, no. I’m all set.”
“I thought you were starving,” Tom said.
“Nope. Just one of the many lies I told tonight.”
He smiled, and Jessica patted her shoulder before sliding away.
“Nice girl,” Tom said.
“She is. She works for me,” Honor said. “At the vineyard.”
“Blue Heron, isn’t it?”
“Mmm-hmm.” The adrenaline rush was fading, leaving her feeling a little limp. “You should come on a tour sometime.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Every day at three, then four times a day after May 1.”
Tom Barlow smiled a fast, sweet, crooked grin, and Down Under tightened in response.
No. She wasn’t the type. She didn’t pick men up in bars, not that he was interested. What had he said that night? You’re not ugly. Talk about damning with faint praise. Nope. Not gonna get involved with a man looking to commit marital fraud.
That had been some kiss.
Do something about it, the eggs said. They were now sporting bifocals and quite irritable. Can you please get a move on here? We’re going to bed when Dancing with the Stars is over.
Tom took another sip of his drink and looked at her. “Tell me again what you do, Honor. I was too busy being an idiot to ask the night we were set up.”
Work. She could always talk about work. “I’m the director of operations for our vineyard. Media, sales, staffing, distribution. My dad and brother make the wine, my older sister handles the farming, my nephew helps out everywhere and runs the tasting room in the season. And my grandparents are semiretired. Can’t forget them.”
“Sounds idyllic.” He seemed to mean it.
“The farm’s been in the family for eight generations. We’re all part of it in some way.”
“What’s it like, working with your family?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s wonderful, except when it’s horrible.” He grinned again, that flashing, unexpectedly sweet smile, and again, Honor felt a little jolt of lust. His smile changed his face from rather somber to utterly adorable, like a mischievous little kid, and wow, yes. It worked.
“I always thought it’d be lovely to come from a big family,” he said.
“It has its moments.”
Maybe it was because he’d already seen her at her worst, or had already essentially rejected her, or simply because he’d been nice and pretended to be her boyfriend. Maybe it was the snow and the quiet of the evening; Jessica was reading a book at the bar, and all the other patrons had left. Maybe it was the Grey Goose on an empty stomach. Whatever the case, Honor felt herself relaxing. The armor (if there was armor, and she was pretty sure Levi was wrong on that front) was nowhere to be found.
Do something different.
“How about you, Tom? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Sorry to say, I’m an only child. My dad lives in Manchester.”
“Go United.”
He winked and flashed that smile again. “I think I just fell in love with you.”
Had she found him irritating? She couldn’t seem to remember why. “Don’t take it personally,” she said. “It’s my cocktail party brain.”
“Say again?”
“My cocktail party brain,” she said. “I can make small talk about anything.”
“Anything?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
His eyes narrowed, a smile playing at his full, gorgeous lips. “Is that right? Tell me something about developments in medicine.”
“There’s a new drug that stops the progression of Alzheimer’s. FDA approval expected within three months.”
“Is there? Of course, you can make stuff up, I’ll be none the wiser. Music trivia?”
“Ray Charles had twelve children.”
“Did he? Fancy that. All right, let’s get to my side of the pond. Royal family?”
“Philip and Elizabeth, Margaret, Harry, Andrew, Kate, William, Beatrice, Pippa...you’ll have to be more specific.”
“Divorces in the royal family, then.”
“Everyone except the old folks and the kids.”
He laughed. “True enough. American foreign policy?”
“Speak softly and carry a big missile.”
“Mechanical engineering.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it. “I give. I don’t know anything about that.”
“I’m a mechanical engineer.”
“I thought you taught math.”
“No. Do you know what a mechanical engineer does?”
“Um... You can fix a lot of stuff?”
His smile grew. Oh, sigh, said the eggs. Think of what we could do with his DNA. “Yes,” he said, “That’s it exactly.”
“You understand how things are built,” she said. It sounded vaguely dirty.
“Yes.”
“You know how to...get things going.”
His eyes dropped to her mouth. “Mmm-hmm.”
“You’re good with your hands.”
He leaned forward. “Are you flirting with me, Miss Holland?” he asked, his voice low.
Oh, crap. Well, she’d been trying to. Where was Colleen O’Rourke when you needed her? She practically had a master’s degree in men. Honor straightened up and put her hands in her lap. “No.”
“You don’t need to stop,” he said mildly. “It was quite nice.” He leaned back in his chair. “For the record, a mechanical engineer is responsible for how just about anything is built. We make sure any type of structure or vehicle or roadway is strong, safe and will stay together.”
Strong, safe, stay together.
Meow.
Flirt with him. Do it! the eggs demanded.
It was now impossible to flirt. She racked her brain for flirtiness. Tried to channel Colleen. Nope. Nothing. She shifted, her leg bumping his. We can work with that, said the eggs. Almost there.
Shut up, Honor said. We’re not getting pregnant tonight, okay? Just go back to Dancing with the Stars.
“I saw you at the college that day,” she said. “You seem to have a lot of female students.”
“The Barbarian Horde, I call them, most of whom will flunk out before midterms. Speaking of that, how was your date with Droog?”
“Oh, he seems very nice.”
“Did he swab down the table before sitting?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
“He does that everywhere. Good chap, though.” He paused. “Will you see him again?”
All of a sudden, Honor could hear her heart beating. “No.”
They didn’t say anything else for a minute. The fire hissed and snapped, and the snow was piling up, a lot more than the dusting the forecasters had predicted. It would be smart to head home, as conditions on the Hill tended to be worse than here in the Village, thanks to the difference in elevation.
She didn’t move.
“So you and Prince Charming are still chums?” Tom asked. “Even though he chose your friend?”
She felt the start of a slow burn in her cheeks.
“Sorry,” Tom said. “None of my business.”
“No, it’s fine,” she said. “Brogan and I have known each other since elementary school. Slept together on and off for years.” Probably more than Tom Barlow wanted to know. “He wanted to tell me that he’s going to be a father.”
“Are you joking?” She shook her head. “Bloody hell.” Tom rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “And what does Brogan Cain do for a living?”
“He’s a sports photographer. Baseball, football, basketball.”
“I know what sports are, darling.” He took a sip of his drink. “Brogan Cain,” he said thoughtfully. “I hope they pick out a really shitty name for the kid. Candy Cain. Sugar Cain. Rain. Wayne. Jane. Hickory.”
Honor smiled faintly. It was still almost too great a shock to process—Dana and Brogan, and now Baby Cain on the way. She’d like to laugh about it. It just didn’t seem probable.
“I hope your friend gets really fat,” Tom continued. “No glow for her. Heartburn. Acne. Swollen feet. A full-blown, Jessica Simpson Pop-Tarts and ice cream kind of fat.”
It seemed like she was laughing, after all. “That’s cute. Jessicker Simpson.”
“I did not say that.” He raised an eyebrow, the one with the scar running through it.
“You did. It was cute. You have a nice accent.”
“I haven’t any accent all, darling. It’s the English language, remember? And I’m English. You’re the one mucking things up, you ungrateful Yank.”
Tom Barlow was growing on her.
And that had been quite a kiss.
“How’s your green card situation?” she asked.
“It’s fine. All set.” He looked out the window. “Sorry again for my behavior that night, by the way. It was a very odd meeting.”
“Don’t worry about it.” His mood seemed to have changed. “So you just moved to Manningsport, but you’ve lived in America for a while?”
“Yes.”
“Why’d you move?” she asked.
He paused. “A job,” he said, and she sensed there was more to the story. Something tragic, Goggy had said.
“It’s a nice town,” she said. “You won’t be lonely for long.” And where had that come from?
Tom frowned. “Why do you think I’m lonely?”
She hesitated. Why had she said that, really? Somewhere in his eyes, behind the easy flirting he seemed so good at, she sensed a little bit of...sadness.
“You were here alone until I forced you to talk to me.”
“Doesn’t that make you lonely as well, then?”
“Nope. I’m just being nice. It’s good for tourism.”
“A shame. Think of the things two lonely people could get up to.”
Good thing she was sitting, because her knees went hot and loose all of a sudden. Why are you not unbuckling his belt at this very moment? the eggs demanded, scowling over their bifocals.
“I’m not really the type,” she said, her voice a little unsteady.
“Pity.”
Her internal organs seemed to be melting.
Come on! said the eggs. We’re dying here! Literally!
But doing something different did not mean picking up near-strangers in a bar. Honor wanted to get married, not just sleep with someone. She’d been sleeping with someone for fifteen years, and that had gotten her exactly nowhere. She wanted a courtship, not sex. Well, sex during courtship, that was, once a relationship had been established. Hey. She’d read all the books. Control the pace. Don’t be slutty. Sex too early = abject disaster. Tom Barlow had the sexiest mouth ever.
He just looked at her, his gray eyes unreadable.
At that moment, Jessica came over. “Hey, guys. We’re closing, sorry to say. It’s really piling up out there.”
“Right,” Honor said, grabbing her purse. “I’ll get this, Tom. Since you were so nice to cover for me.”
He looked at Jessica. “I am rather nice,” he said with a wink.
“That’s not what it says on the bathroom wall,” Jessica returned, deadpan.
Yes. Jessica was flipping beautiful. And Tom was ridiculously appealing, not to mention that accent. He’d flirted with Honor because she was there. Because he was nice, it seemed, and because it was a distraction. He’d probably flirted with Jessica and he flirted with Monica O’Rourke the night they’d met, and no doubt he flirted with Colleen. He was a flirt. Nothing wrong with that; she just shouldn’t read into it.
Crap, said the eggs.
“Okay,” she said, putting a twenty on the table. She’d call Pru from the car, see if she could crash there. “Thanks again, Tom. See you Monday, Jess.”
“Have a great weekend,” Jessica said.
“Thank you,” she said to Tom, meaning it.
“A pleasure,” he said. He stayed seated.
Outside, the wind gusted off the Crooked Lake, slapping wet snow against her face. She stopped for a minute, her car roughly fifty feet away. She wore suede shoes with a very modest heel because yes, she had dressed up for Brogan. Sort of. A little. She had her pride, after all. No treads, however. Hopefully she wouldn’t fall.
“Honor.” It was Tom, coming out of the restaurant as he pulled on his coat. “Are you wearing ridiculous shoes? You are. So impractical.”
With that, he picked her up, eliciting a squeak of surprise. “You don’t have to— Put me down.”
“Oh, stop. You women love this sort of thing.”
“Tom, really, I—”
“Stop flopping around, you’re making it harder. Which car is yours? The Prius? How did I know?”
She slid her arm tentatively around his shoulders. He certainly was...solid. “It’s the only car left.”
“And here I was going to claim a relation to Arthur Conan Doyle.”
Being carried...not quite as romantic as it seems, especially when one is not prepared. She felt a bit idiotic. His shoulders, on the other hand, were wide and solid and...and...rational thought was a little hard to summon at the moment.
He set her down next to her car. Honor’s face was hot. “Well, thank you,” she said. “It was nice talking to you.”
He ran a hand through his hair, which was wet from the snow. “Same here.”
Different.
With that, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, there in the soft light of the streetlamps and under the pink-hued sky. His mouth was soft and warm and utterly lovely, and he kissed her back, gently, slowly. A floating sensation filled Honor, deepening as his hand slipped to cup the back of her head.
Then he pulled back a little and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. His eyes were soft and kind.
“Tom?” she whispered. “I think I’m that type, after all.”
A corner of his mouth pulled in a smile. “The type who’ll come home with me, then?”
Her hand, she noted, was resting over his heart, and she could feel it thudding solidly against her palm. “Yes,” she heard herself say. “Hop in.”
* * *
THIRTY-NINE SECONDS later, they were at Tom’s house, which had once been the Eustaces’ place, Honor remembered, a plain little house with a front porch and small yard. She opened the car door, but Tom was already out and around. He offered his hand, and she took it. That was a big hand. That was a paw, practically, swallowing hers.
“Change your mind?” he asked.
“Nope.” Nevertheless, her heart was stuttering and racing, and a slight tremor shook her hands.
She was inside now, and Tom turned on a light that did little to brighten the gloom. She could make out an ordinary living room, ordinary furniture. A couch. Coffee table. Then he was unbuttoning her coat, and Honor swallowed. Slid her hands up his torso, feeling the hard muscles there, the contour of his ribs and shoulders under his shirt. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a small smile.
God, his mouth was...delicious. Aside from that feature, there was nothing particularly special about his face. Normal eyelashes. Normal nose. Normal everything, except put it all together, and he was incredibly delicious, and she was pulsating for him.
Then he led her to the couch. She’d never done it on a couch. Or anywhere but a bed, come to think of it. Was she actually going to have sex in a living room? What about the floor? The floor would be...well, she didn’t know. Sex on the floor? Her? Honor Holland, the boring sister? Oh, Lordy, how did that even work? Would she get rug burn? Would he? What about—
“Sit. Your feet must be freezing.”
She sat. He slid off her shoe and rubbed her foot in those mammoth hands. He was right. They were freezing, which she might not have noticed if his hands weren’t so warm. He switched to her other foot, rubbing it briskly, then looked up and smiled, that lovely smile that changed his face from solemn to incredibly adorable.
She didn’t realize she’d launched herself at him until she was kissing him, and hell, it’d been what, almost two minutes, possibly more, since he’d last kissed her, and she missed it. He landed on his back with an ooph, but she didn’t really care.
“Hallo, what have we here?” he murmured, and she kissed him again, sliding her tongue against his, dying to kiss him, taste him, feel him. Her hands were in his hair, and he smelled like cold air and soap and tasted a little like whiskey, and my God, it was amazing, and look at her, practically straddling him, her legs tangled with his, kissing and kissing and kissing that generous, wonderful mouth, feeling a throb right down into her bone marrow.
Tom rolled over, pressing against her, cradling her face in his hands. “You sure you want to do this, love?” he whispered, and even though it was just a Britishism, the word went straight into her.
She nodded.
“Enough said, then.” He grinned again, and he lowered his mouth to hers, and suddenly, you know what, being that type was fantastic. The whole night was strange and surreal—Brogan and the baby and then Tom, the quiet bar, the snow, the kiss, this house where she’d never been, and good God, the kissing! Those full, soft lips, so unlike any other kiss she’d ever had, giving and tempting, making her want to do sweet, dirty things.
She wasn’t the type, but hells yeah, she was doing a good impression. Her skirt slid up around her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him, bringing him closer, and Lordy, he felt so good, so solid and hard and male, completely unfamiliar, definitely a landscape worth exploring.
His hand slipped between them to unbutton her shirt, kissing the skin he exposed bit by bit, his mouth hot and gentle. Honor’s vision flashed, her breath shuddering out of her. She tugged his shirt from his waistband and slid her hands up his back, feeling thick muscle and hot skin, and pulled his shirt over his head. Something metal brushed against her—a medallion, dangling from a silver chain around his neck.
He pulled back a bit, looking down at her. His own breath was ragged, and though his face had been gentle earlier, he now looked somewhat...fearsome. Down Under clenched at the word.
“You’re lovely, you know,” he said, smoothing the hair off her forehead, and damned if she didn’t fall a little in love right then and there. Then he kissed her again, hot and deep and fierce, heavy on top of her, and she kissed him right back, her hands exploring the warm, hard expanse of his back, his heavy, corded arms.
“You’re not built like a math teacher,” she said raggedly.
“I’m not a math teacher,” he muttered, and she felt him smile against her mouth. Then she licked his full bottom lip like she was some kind of sex goddess, like she knew exactly what she was doing and didn’t have to think at all. Like she was the most beautiful woman in the world with his hands sliding into her hair, his mouth on her throat, lower now. His clever fingers unhooked her bra, and his mouth followed the path of his hands.
And Honor discovered she was most definitely that type, after all.