The Perfect Match (12 page)

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.”