The Perfect Match

Over the back of Dana’s chair, she noted, was a Burberry raincoat. Honor’s raincoat.

She turned and headed through the still-silent bar. It was an awfully long way.

A man she didn’t know slid off a bar stool and went to the door ahead of her, weaving a bit, she noted distantly. “Thanks for that,” he said, the origin of the British accent she’d heard earlier. “You don’t get to see enough girl fights these days.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, not looking him in the eye.

He toasted her with his glass and held the door open, and the cool, damp air soothed her burning face.

* * *

TWO HOURS LATER, with Spike curled under her chin and snoring slightly, Honor made a resolution (and a list).

 

 

No more catfights in bars.

No more letting the old imagination fly away like a rabid bat, inventing scenarios that clearly weren’t going to play out.

Work less and play more (find ways to play ASAP; maybe hire someone?).

A relationship, and pronto.

A baby. Soon.

 

 

Time to get a life, in other words.

Time to take action.

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

THERE WAS LITTLE Honor dreaded more than Family Meetings. In the past, subjects covered      included Jack’s divorce, the care and feeding of Goggy and Pops, Faith’s      wedding(s) and Dad’s terrifying girlfriend of last year.

Tonight, for the first time ever, the Family Meeting was about      her.

In the three days since the catfight, Honor had done a lot of      thinking. She’d always been the good one, not that her siblings were bad people.      No, they were just more colorful. She was like that other kid in the story of      the Prodigal Son. The one who never screwed up, who did his job.

And look where that had gotten her. Thirty-five, aging eggs, no      man in her life, totally gobsmacked by her best friend, not to mention      completely idiotic where Brogan was concerned. She lived with her father in her      childhood home and worked a bazillion hours a week. For fun, she watched shows      about tumor removal or the guy who had a foot growing out of his rib cage,      courtesy of a malformed twin.

Her entire family had heard about the fight. She’d told her dad      and Mrs. Johnson the morning after, not wanting them to hear it from anywhere      else, and Dad had looked like someone had just eaten a live kitten while Mrs. J.      muttered darkly and slammed the fridge. Faith came over and had been quite      sympathetic, reminding Honor of her own public scene a few years ago, and      leaving two cartons of Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer.

The family meeting would be more of the same.

Her in-box chimed.

 

 

To:       [email protected]

From:       [email protected]

Subject:       Hey

Hi, Honor.       Don’t know if you got my call the other day.

 

 

Oh, she had. She’d just opted not      to return it.

 

 

You might       be avoiding me.

 

 

Why, the man was a genius!

 

 

So here’s       the thing. I’m so, so sorry, Honor. I really never meant for you to feel bad       in any way, honest to God. When we talked a couple of months ago about       getting married, I was sure you were cool with that. And then this thing       with Dana... We both weren’t sure how to tell you about it, exactly, but we       figured once you heard, you’d be happy about it.

 

 

She heard an unpleasant sound. Ah. Her teeth, grinding. Brogan.      Was. Sostupid.

 

 

And       obviously, that was really stupid.

 

 

Her jaw unlocked. Whatever else, Brogan always did have a way      of reading her mind.

 

 

I feel       like utter crap that I misread the situation so completely. Your friendship       is incredibly important to me. You’re the only one I’ve kept in touch with       since elementary school, you know? I’d kill to know that you and I can still       be friends. If not, I understand. I’d be really sad, but I’d       understand.

Hope       you’re okay. Miss you.

Brogan

 

 

“Yeah, you should miss me,” she said, but her voice was      shaking. Because let’s not fool ourselves here. She was going to forgive him.      Even now, her heart felt floppy and huge in her chest.

Ah, dang it. That was the thing      with Brogan. He never meant any harm. He wasn’t the type. With a sigh that made      Spike yawn in sympathy, she started typing. May as well get it over.

 

 

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Hey

Hey, you! Of course we’re still friends. Don’t be silly. I’m really      embarrassed at how I acted, that’s all. But I’m fine. It was surprising, that’s      all, and I guess

 

 

—here her typing slowed—

 

I had more invested in the idea of us than I realized.

 

A horrible thought occurred to her. That since the catfight,      Dana had told Brogan about how wretched she’d been after the failed proposal.      That he knew how much she loved him. But no. Dana wouldn’t do that. It would      make Dana look bad if she admitted she knew how Honor felt.

But I do       realize that “us” was just an idea and not anything more than two old       friends hooking up once in a while.

 

 

Oh, hell, that wasn’t true. It felt horrible to be throwing her      heart under the bus this way.

 

 

Anyway,       I’m mostly just embarrassed. Not sure if you know this about me, but I       generally don’t fight in bars. :)

 

 

Reduced to emoticons. She sighed, feeling her throat      tighten.

 

 

You’re       special to me, too, Brogan, and I’m glad you’re happy.

 

 

The eggs rolled their cataract-riddled eyes.

 

Please       don’t give my girls-gone-wild moment another thought. In fact, I’d really       appreciate it if we never talked about it again. :) I’ve got a crammed       schedule for the next two weeks

 

—lying—

 

but maybe       we can get together after that, okay? Take care.

Honor

 

 

It was better than the truth. I love you.       I’ve spent two months trying to talk myself out of loving you. How could you       not know? Even if you really didn’t see how I felt, Brogan, because you’re       an obtuse male, Dana did, so now my best friend has stabbed me in the heart,       and you’re marrying her.

Last night, Honor had stayed up till 3:00 a.m., looking up the      the term toxic friendship on Google and reading      every article she could find on it.

Dana had a whole lotta ex–best friends. Honor had been treated      to many a story about them, from Dana’s sister to her neighbor to her high      school BFF. And while Honor recognized that Dana was temperamental and tended to      see things in black-and-white, she always thought she could handle it. In the      five years that they’d been friends, a few people had said something to Honor      about Dana—Gerard Chartier from the firehouse commented once that he thought      Honor could do better in the friend department than Dana, and Mrs. Johnson had      said she didn’t trust her (but then again, Mrs. J. didn’t trust too many      people).

Nope, Honor thought she could handle Dana’s big personality.      And why would Dana fall out with her, after all? She was a great      friend—available, sympathetic, a great listener. Their friendship was different. Honor would be exempt from the      dramatics Dana described with such gusto.

Stupid. Apparently, she had no clue about women. Or men, for      that matter.

But you know what? The days of ignoring red flags and waiting      around for stuff to happen...those days were over.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Dad said at her door at six o’clock sharp.      His gentle eyes were worried. “Everyone’s here.”

“Your father and I don’t want you to feel self-conscious,” Mrs.      Johnson said, worming past Dad to administer simultaneous pats and scowls. “It’s      just that we’re all very concerned about you, child. Very concerned. Deeply      concerned.”

“Thanks.” Honor forced a smile and followed them to the tasting      room. It was really the only comfortable place on the vineyard where everyone      could sit. Downstairs, a long, U-shaped bar dominated the room, but upstairs,      there was a private tasting room for special events—one of Honor’s ideas. That      area was like a giant living room, complete with leather couches, a stone      fireplace and a smaller bar along one wall. The post-and-beam ceiling was      exposed; an old Oriental carpet covered much of the wide-planked floor.

Everyone was there, and heck, there      were just too many people in this family. There were times when being an orphan      held great appeal. David Copperfield never had to go to a family meeting, did      he? Nor did Oliver Twist.

“Thanks for coming,” Honor said to the room at large.

“A catfight?” Goggy blurted. “In a bar? Over a man?”

“I just wish I’d been there,” Pops said, winking at Honor. “You      won, I hope.”

“It’s not funny!” huffed Goggy. “Since when do my grandchildren      fight in bars? I mean, I’d expect that of you, Prudence, but Honor?”

“Why would you expect that of me?” Pru said. “Have I ever been      in a fight? No. I haven’t.”

“Well, I could picture it,” Goggy said. “Though with Carl, not      another woman.”

Honor suppressed a sigh. Pru was colorful, Faith had the looks,      Jack was the perfect son...Honor was what, then?

The boring one.

Which was going to change. Yes.

“Honor definitely won,” Jack said. “You’d all be proud.”

“I never really warmed up to that woman,” Pru said. “Though she      does have great hair.”

“Pass me the cheese,” Pops ordered.

“No more cheese for you!” Goggy said. “You know what it does to      your stomach.”

“Okay, shut up, everyone,” Honor said mildly. Not that she      didn’t love her family. But with four generations present, two brothers-in-law,      Faith, Pru, a teenage niece, a nephew who couldn’t make eye contact without      laughing, her bickering grandparents, Dad and Mrs. Johnson exchanging worried      looks...well, it was feeling a wee bit overwhelming. “Dad, get this over with,      okay? I’d like to make a few changes around here.”

“I have an announcement,” Dad said. “We’re making a few changes      around here.” He seemed to realize he’d just echoed Honor, because he looked at      her in surprise.