The Perfect Match (5 page)

“So obviously, we didn’t plan on it. In fact, it was so crazy! We didn’t want to say anything to anyone until we were sure it was real, right, honey? But you know that saying. When it’s right, it’s right, and you don’t have to spend years wondering about it.”

Oh. That was meant for her. Gotcha.

Dana paused, squeezing Brogan’s hand. “Anyway, Honor, I know it’s a little weird, since you guys hooked up once in a while...” She smiled at Honor, a bright, movie-star smile. “But as you told me, that was done, and we hope you’ll be happy for us.”

All this first-person plural. Us. We. Our. What the hell was that about? No, seriously. What the ffffff—no, no, Honor wasn’t the type to swear, but really, what the ffff-ungus was that about?

“Excuse me?” Honor said, and her heart beat so fast that she honestly felt like she might faint. “You’re getting married?”

Brogan stopped talking. His face began to register something was off. “Uh, yeah.”

Dana reached over and squeezed her hand. “Maid of honor? What do you say?”

Right. Because if she asked Honor to be in the wedding, then clearly Dana was a
wonderful
friend. Clearly it wasn’t a case of swooping in and stealing—okay, not stealing, but definitely swooping—and taking Brogan. Brogan, of all people!

And why not? Brogan was handsome and nice and wealthy and glamorous, and Dana was a shark. Honor had seen it before, little flashes of those lethal rows of teeth, but man-oh-man-alive, she never thought Dana would turn on her.

Breathing. Right. Had to do that to stay alive. Honor sucked in a fast, hard breath, then another.

Brogan was now looking downright concerned. “On?”

She dragged her gaze from Dana’s face to his. “It’s Honor.”

He blinked those ridiculous (now that she thought of it) turquoise eyes. “Uh, Honor, you’re okay with this, right? I mean, we were never...” He winced. “I thought...”

“Honor? You’re not upset, are you?” Dana asked. “I mean, you and Brogan were never more than a friendly fu—”

That was when the wine appeared on Dana’s yellow shirt, right splat on her chest, some beads of red rolling into her exposed cleavage. Dana’s mouth opened and closed like a trout pulled out of the water, and Honor realized her glass was empty.

“Holy crap, Honor!” Dana shrieked, jolting backward in her chair. “What the hell?”

Honor stood up, her legs shaking with shock and—and—and something she wasn’t used to feeling, but it seemed to be fury.

Dana stood, too, mouth hanging open in outrage as she stared down at her shirt. She looked up. “You bitch!” she said.

Honor shoved her. Not hard, but still. She wasn’t proud of it, didn’t plan it, but there wasn’t really much time to think, because Dana shoved back, much harder, and Honor staggered a little, bumping into her chair, and then Dana shoved her again, and she could smell the wine and “Sweet Home Alabama” was playing on the jukebox, and then they were falling, and there was some grappling, and Honor’s head jerked and a sudden pain lanced through her scalp—for the love of God, Dana was pulling her hair and it
hurt,
and she grabbed some of Dana’s adorable, silky hair (which smelled like coconut, very nice) and gave
that
a tug, and a chair fell on top of them, and time was weird, it was so slow and so fast at the same time, and then Brogan was hauling Dana off her. “Honor, what are you
doing?
” Brogan asked, and Honor scrabbled up, too (hopefully not flashing anyone), then there was a crack and Honor’s face stung.

Her best friend had just slapped her.

Honor’s breath came in short gasps. A cocktail napkin was stuck to her left breast. She pulled it off and set it on the table.

Oh, God.

The bar was silent.

“Honor.” Jack, her big brother, and who said they were never around when you needed them? “Are you okay?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Peachy.” Her face
hurt.
The spot Dana slapped throbbed.

Brogan looked absolutely bewildered. “Honor,” he said. “I—I thought...I didn’t realize...”

“No? Well, then, you’re stupider than I thought.” Her voice was cool, despite the fact that she was shaking violently.

“Let’s get out of here,” her brother said, and she loved him so much right then.

“I can’t believe it!” someone barked from the bar, breaking the silence. Lorena Creech, the biggest mouth in town. “Honor Holland in a catfight! Wowzers!”

“Come on,” Jack muttered. “I’ll drive you home.”

But Honor just stood there another minute, unable to take her eyes off of Dana. Her
friend
. The one who watched movies with her on Saturday nights when neither of them had a date, who confided in her, laughed with her, didn’t seem to mind that she was maybe a little quiet, a little predictable. The one who’d told her to go for it, propose to Brogan...the one who’d handed her tissues after he said no.

The one who’d had a strange look on her face when she answered the door that night, and now Honor recognized what that expression had been: triumph.

The one who was wearing the same engagement ring Honor had admired.

In Dana’s eyes was a dark gleam of satisfaction.

“I’ll drive myself,” Honor said, finally looking at her brother. “Thanks, anyway, Jack.” She straightened her sweater, took her purse from the back of the chair.

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.

* * *

T
WO
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

T
HERE
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.

“Go ahead,” she said, pouring herself a hefty glass of wine. It
would only help, and besides that, it had a lovely nose of fresh-cut grass,
grapefruit and a hint of limestone.

Dad looked at Honor and put his leathery, grape-stained hand
over hers. “For a long time, I think we’ve all taken Honor for granted.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“She puts in way too many hours, travels all the time, takes
care of a hundred different things,” Dad went on. “Which is why I hired you an
assistant today.”

She blinked. “You did what? Don’t I get a say in who works for
me?”

“Great idea, Dad,” Jack said.

“You can’t just—” Honor began.

“No, sweetie,” Dad went on, his voice quiet but firm. “Mrs.
Johnson and I talked it over—” Uh-oh. If Mrs. Johnson was in on it, she was
doomed. “And it’s done. Also, I think it’s appropriate that Ned—” Dad nodded at
his grandson “—take over half of the sales calls.”

“Half? Not half!” Okay, sure, she’d wanted a little change.
Just not this much. “Look, just because—”

“Finally,” Ned said. “Wish I’d known all I had to do was to get
Honor to punch someone in a barroom brawl—”

“Shut up, son,” Dad continued. “Honor, he’s been tagging along
with you for a year. Time to let him step up.”

“Um, that’s okay, sure. Neddie, you’re great. But we don’t need
to reorganize the vineyard because I had one bad moment.”

“Sweetheart, you were punching your best friend in O’Rourke’s
the other night.”

Honor paused. “I didn’t actually punch her.”

“I heard in school that you tackled her,” Abby said.

“I didn’t.”

“And threw wine in her face.”

“Um, I did do that, yes. More on her chest, but...” She glanced
at Levi, who was still in uniform. He raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

“What kind of wine?” Jack asked.

“A pinot noir from California. Flat body, too much pepper, high
acidity.”

“It’ll be cool, Honor,” Ned said. “You can be my boss.”

“I’m already your boss,” she pointed out.

“I’ll just be more useful. It’ll be good for me. I can mend my
sinful ways.”

“You’d better not be sinning, sonny,” Pru said. “But yeah,
Honor, he can help.”

“Sure. Fine.”

“I hired Jessica Dunn to be your assistant,” Dad added.

“What?” Jessica Dunn? The waitress? “That’s fine, Dad. No. Ned
is more than enough. He’s very helpful.”

“She has a marketing degree and wants to get some experience.
Figured she could do some of the media and whatnot.”

“Dad, do you even know what media is?”

“No, not really, but she said she could handle it.”

“Well, so can I! I don’t need her. No offense, Levi.” He and
Jessica were childhood friends. Everyone knew that.

“None taken,” he said, stroking Faith’s neck.

“She starts tomorrow,” Dad said.

“Dad—” Honor’s jaw was locked again. She loved that aspect of
her job—the press releases, articles, updating the website, running Twitter and
the vineyard’s Facebook page, schmoozing with the tourism bureaus, wooing
reporters, travel writers and wine reviewers. “I don’t need an assistant. Ned is
more than enough.”

“I don’t mind,” Ned said. “Jessica’s wicked pretty.”

“Not to you she’s not,” Pru said. “She’s way too old for you.
Got it?”

“Maybe she’s a cougar,” Ned said.

“Ned, you’re so disgusting,” Abby said, raising her head from
her textbook to glare at her brother.

“Honor, child,” said Mrs. Johnson, “whatever this media is, you
do too much of it. You work constantly, you eat at your desk, you have no
children for me to spoil, and it’s a shameful and terrible way to live.”

“No one was complaining last week,” she protested.

“No one was rolling on a filthy tavern floor last week,
either.” Mrs. J. gave her an arch look.

“You have an assistant now, sweetheart,” Dad said. “Enjoy
it.”

“But media is about half my job, and sales is the other half.
What am I supposed to do?” Honor asked, not liking that edge of hysteria in her
voice.

“Live a little,” Dad said. “Get some hobbies.”

“Watching
World’s Biggest Tumor
doesn’t count,” Jack said.

“You’re the one who called me last week to make sure I TiVoed
Cottage Cheese Man,
you hypocrite!”

“The Black and White Ball is coming pretty soon,” Faith pointed
out soothingly. “You’re chairman this year. That’ll be a lot of work.”

“Jessica starts tomorrow,” Dad said. “Family meeting adjourned.
Who’s hungry?”

“I’m starving,” Prudence said.

“I made ham,” Goggy announced, beating Mrs. Johnson to the
punch. “If you feel like coming down, not that any of you visit anymore, but
there’s also a Walnut Glory cake if you do decide to drop by.”