“Mmm-hmm.”
“Shit.” The urge to kiss her was back. “I’m sorry.”
“It was hard. We were really close.” She paused. “I haven’t had too many close relationships. You might’ve guessed that.”
He tucked some hair behind her ear. “I wonder what she’d think of all this,” he said softly.
Honor smiled. “Me, too.” She glanced down at her dog, and her cheeks pinkened. “I guess we should get a marriage license.”
At which point the clock would start ticking till their wedding...and his green card. “Yes.”
“I’ll get one Monday, then.”
He took her hand and turned it palm up, stroking the silky skin of her wrist. “Thank you,” he murmured. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.
Her eyes were soft and wide, her lips slightly parted. His eyes dropped to her mouth.
And then, just as he was about to kiss her, she stood up abruptly and picked up the sleeping dog, cuddling it against her chest. “I should—I should go to bed. Um... Good night.”
With that, she padded upstairs, leaving him alone in the cold living room.
Which was not what he expected at all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IT WAS ONE of those days. Not in the good sense.
First, Honor had woken up to the sounds of Tom in the shower. He was whistling slightly, and not very well, and the image of him, warm and wet and soapy, had the eggs tossing aside their dairy-free meals and stampeding for the door.
They were getting married. They were going ahead with it. She’d come home from work yesterday and stopped at city hall for a license, and once that was filed, they had sixty days. That meant that by June 10, she would be someone’s wife.
Tom’s wife.
The thought inspired equal parts of terror and disbelief, with a side of lust and a chaser of panic. They were going through with it. Committing fraud against the government of the United States of America.
And then again, there was that lust.
Last night, she sat at the kitchen table after dinner and filled out the paperwork. Learned a few things about Thomas Jude Barlow. First, he was younger than she was by three years. Just in case the years are precious wasn’t enough. Secondly, he’d been born in the back of a cab.
Thirdly, well...she couldn’t remember what thirdly was, not with Tom in the shower just fourteen or so feet away.
He’d been about to kiss her the other night on the couch. And she stopped it. Why, she had no flippin’ idea. Cowardice, probably. Because if he kissed her, she’d sleep with him, and if she slept with him, she was pretty sure she’d fall in love with him, and she was already a bit swoony, and he wasn’t. Not at all.
Men didn’t feel the same way women did about sex. They’d take it when offered, same as they wouldn’t pass up a cookie warm from the oven. No, it was the women who counted calories and fell in love. Which was really not fair. Okay, Pru didn’t count calories, not the way she and Carl were going through hot fudge these days. And Faith didn’t, either, always looking like a porn star when she ate dessert, which was often.
The water turned off, and Honor resisted the urge to run into the hallway and get a glimpse of Tom in a towel. She got dressed instead, feeling clumsy and irritable with lust. Spent four minutes with Tom before he left for the Barbarian Horde at his college. She felt almost jealous. Maybe she’d take a mechanical engineering class, too.
Her work morning was filled with eight scheduled phone calls, a marketing meeting with Ned, Jack and Jessica to talk about wine club sales and writing an article for a tourism magazine. Then, she somehow acquired Goggy, who showed up at the office after lunch, when Honor was finishing up a conference call with the sales staff. “Who’s this?” she asked, staring suspiciously at Jessica. “Honor, who is this?”
“It’s Jessica, Goggy. Guys, my grandmother just came in,” Honor said.
“Hi, Mrs. Holland!” came a chorus of voices from the phone.
“How do you do that?” Goggy asked, ever amazed that Edison’s little invention had such diversity. “It sounds like there’s a dozen people in there!”
“It’s a conference call,” Honor said.
“Amazing!” The old lady clucked in awe.
“Okay, call me with any questions. Thank you!”
There was a chorus of goodbyes, and Honor hung up. “This is Jessica Dunn, Goggy. You met her before.” Was it her imagination, or was Goggy forgetting more these days?
“Have I?” Goggy pursed her lips. “I don’t remember. You’re very pretty, dear.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Holland. Would you like some coffee?”
“Oh, no, thank you. It goes right through me. I used to be able to drink it all day long, but not anymore.”
“Jess, will you email those talking points to the gang?” Honor asked. Now that she was used to it, it was pretty nice having an assistant.
“You bet. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Holland.”
“I’m sorry if I interrupted, Honor. I didn’t realize you were on the phone,” Goggy whispered. Better late than never.
“I’ve got a bunch of errands to do, Goggy. What can I do for you?”
Goggy sighed. “You young people. Always running around.”
“I have to go to Rushing Creek. Want to come along?” It was all part of the sainthood campaign. Honor was fairly sure she was a shoe-in, but she did love her grandmother.
“Rushing Creek? That place? I’d rather be murdered in my own bed than live there,” Goggy said happily. “But I’ll come, sure! Thank you, sweetheart!”
It took Goggy fifteen minutes at the Old House to find a coat (“in case it rains”), apply more Blushing Peach lipstick (“you never know who you’ll run into”), go to the bathroom (“I’d probably catch a disease at that horrible mental hospital”) and trundle into the car.
Sainthood seemed assured.
“How’s Tom?” Goggy asked on the car ride over.
“He’s great.”
“How did you meet again?”
Honor shot her grandmother a look. No, it seemed Goggy was completely serious. “Um, you fixed us up, remember?”
“I know that, dear,” the old lady said. “I meant where did you meet him. I misspoke. Don’t get that look on your face. I don’t have Alzheimer’s.”
“We met at O’Rourke’s.”
“Right, right. I’m glad for you, honey. It’s nice that one of us found happiness through an arranged marriage.”
“It’s not really an arranged marriage, Goggy,” Honor said, hoping Goggy wouldn’t inadvertently blow it. “You fixed us up. You have good instincts with people.” Flattery would distract her, hopefully.
“That’s true,” Goggy said. “I always thought so, but it’s nice to hear. How does this car work again? There’s no key.”
As they pulled into the Rushing Creek complex, Honor wished for the thousandth time that her grandparents would consider living here. So much safer, cleaner, brighter... “You sure you and Pops want to stay in the Old House forever?” Honor asked.
“It’s our home, honey.”
“I know, but didn’t you ever want to live somewhere else?”
Goggy shrugged. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve never lived anywhere but on the Hill.”
“Neither did I, until a few weeks ago. Don’t you think it’d be fun to live somewhere different?”
“Oh, who knows? Maybe.” Progress! That was a more positive answer than Goggy had ever given before. “What are we doing here, anyway?”
“I have to drop off some tickets for the Black and White Ball. You and Pops are coming, aren’t you?”
“Of course, of course. Except I’ll have to dress up.” Goggy sighed heavily. “And probably dance with that old fool
. He has two left feet, that one.”
“I don’t know. You guys looked pretty cute at Faith and Levi’s wedding.”
Goggy gave a little smile. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
Honor took out her phone and sent a quick text to Margaret, the director of Rushing Creek. Any chance we could see a unit? I’m doing a soft sell on my grandmother.
Margaret came through.
“Plenty of closet space,” she said, showing Goggy the master bedroom of a very pretty apartment, “and a spare room for visitors.”
“No one visits me anymore,” Goggy said with a significant look at Honor.
“Don’t look at me. Look, Goggy, this kitchen has so much counter space! Much more than the Old House.”
“Hmmph. What do I need with counter space?”
“Imagine baking Christmas cookies in here,” Honor said. “So much easier than doing it all on the kitchen table.”
“Have you ever had a bad cookie in my house?” Goggy asked.
Honor put her arm around her. “Never. You make the best everything, and don’t tell Mrs. Johnson I said that, or she’ll kill me. I’m just saying it’d be nice for you to have a place like this, new and clean and efficient. You deserve it.”
“Well,” Goggy said, mollified. “That’s a nice thought, sweetheart.”
Progress indeed.
After Rushing Creek, they drove into town to talk to Laura Boothby about the flowers for the ball. “I was thinking ivory centerpieces with black velvet ribbons tied around the vases,” she said, turning the pages of Laura’s photo album.
“Beautiful,” Laura said. “Great idea.”
“But it’s the Black and White Ball,” Goggy protested. “Not the Black and Ivory Ball.”
“Right, but this will just be a little contrast. Remember when Lyons Den hosted two years ago? And they had pink flowers?”
“I thought that was tacky,” Goggy said.
“Oh, no, it was wonderful,” Laura said. “Jeremy has the best taste. And he’s such a good doctor!”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Goggy said. “He’s practically my grandson. And those hands? So gentle.”
Which reminded Honor...she and Tom would need a blood test. Not that one was required, but she wanted one, anyway. Just to make sure there were no red flags for baby-making.
“Honor, while you’re here, would you like to look at wedding bouquets?” Laura asked craftily.
“Um, no, that’s okay. Not yet, anyway.”
“Oh, come on. Just a little peek.”
And somehow, an hour passed. First, visions of a wedding dress. Now, poring over pictures of roses and lilies and hydrangeas. Like a regular bride...which, of course, she wasn’t.
But she was falling for him. She knew that. How could she not? First, the smile. The accent. The tattoos, which she’d never really liked before and now heartily adored.
And then there was his unflagging love of Charlie, who didn’t give Tom so much as a crumb of affection, and for whom Tom was rewriting his life.
And then there was the kissing. That one night of moon-and-back sex, when Honor had acted like a stranger and felt right at home. One amazing night that seemed to be playing in a constant loop in her head, making her break off in midsentence weeks after the fact.
Hot diggety.
It was probably being around all this love... Dad and Mrs. Johnson snuggled up on the couch, arguing amiably about who should win Top Chef. Faith and Levi, who seemed like two magnets when they were in the same room, always near each other, always touching somehow. Even Pru and Carl, with their goofy grins and rock-solid knowledge that the other was simply there, still dependably in love.
She and Tom were a business arrangement. They were both getting something out of this. He would have his green card, and she was saving face.
Yes. People were now looking at Honor with new respect these days. Tom Barlow, the hottie Brit with the killer smile, had chosen quiet, reliable, boring Honor Holland.
What Honor knew, and shouldn’t forget, was that Tom Barlow was only with her because of his unofficial stepson.
Otherwise, there was no way she’d get a guy like that.
“Honor?”
She looked up abruptly. “Sorry, Goggy. What were you saying?”
“I think these are nice. I’ve always loved carnations.”
“Very pretty. I’ll think about it. Thanks, ladies. Goggy, we should go. I have to hit up some businesses for raffle donations.”
They went to O’Rourke’s, where Colleen once again complimented her on “shagging and bagging Tom”; to Lorelei’s Sunrise Bakery, where the eternally cheerful baker offered to make their wedding cake for free in thanks for all the business Blue Heron had given them; to Mel’s Candy Shoppe, where Mr. Stoakes told her she could eat as much candy as she wanted, now that she was off the market. To Hart’s Jewelers, where Tom had apparently bought her ring, as she was welcomed in and fussed over like a soldier returning from war.
“You really like it, then?” Mrs. Hart asked.
“I love it,” Honor said honestly. Every time she looked at the ring (which was often), she seemed to notice something new.
“He’s adorable. Well done, dear,” Mrs. Hart said, beaming.
“I fixed them up,” Goggy announced. “I knew it was Meant to Be. They’re perfect for each other. A perfect match. A grandmother knows about these things. We have a certain sense about us—”
“Okay, Goggy, we should go,” Honor said. “Thanks for the donation, Mrs. Hart.”
“See you soon!” the jeweler said. “For your wedding bands!”
“Right! Yes. Thanks again.”
“I’m hungry,” Goggy said. “Let’s eat. Is it too early for dinner?” She glanced at the man’s watch she wore. “Nope. Four-thirty. That works for me.”
“One more stop, okay? The gym said they’d offer a six-month membership.”
“Why do people go to gyms?” Goggy asked.
“I have no idea,” Honor answered. “But people do.”
And Tom’s car was in the parking lot. Today was the self-defense class. Coincidence? Probably not.
They went into Cabrera’s Gym, Goggy clutching her purse in both hands like she was about to encounter a gang of thugs in desperate need of coupons. It was dark (the less you saw, Honor supposed, the less grossed out you’d be). Music boomed over the loudspeakers. “Can I help you?” said a young man behind the desk.
“Is Carlos here?” Honor said.
“He’s over there with the kids.” The man pointed, and Honor peered ahead.
There they were—Charlie, Helena, Abby and quite a few other kids. The class seemed to have mushroomed.
Tom was there, as well. He wore black boxing shorts and a faded blue T-shirt that said Gulfstream. The bottom of the Union Jack was just visible, and his hair was sweaty. She could see the chain of his Saint Christopher’s medal where it disappeared into his shirt, and the memory of that medal, hot against her own chest, made Down Under clench in a strong, hot surge.
She swallowed.
“Hallo, darling! And hallo, Honor.” He came over to Goggy, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Kids, for those of you who don’t know, this is Honor Holland, my fiancée, and her lovely grandmother, Mrs. Holland.”
“Call me Elizabeth,” Goggy murmured, batting her sparse eyelashes.
“Hi, Auntie,” Abby said.
“Hi, Honor,” Charlie echoed.
Well, well. Charlie spoke to her. Voluntarily and everything.
“Honor, I didn’t know you were engaged to Tom here! Congratulations!” Carlos said.
“Mmm-hmm,” Honor said faintly, dragging her eyes off Tom’s mouth.
“You want a gift certificate for the thing? The b
all, right? I’ll go take care of that. Back in a flash.” Carlos smiled and trotted off to his office.
“Darling, will you help me here?” Tom asked, putting his arm around her shoulders. The smell of soap and sweat made her knees nearly buckle. Would it be wrong to lick his neck in front of the kids? Yes. Probably. Maybe not.
“Right, kids, so here’s my lovely Honor, and as I was saying, boxing’s a sport for everyone, isn’t it, love?”
“It so is,” she said.
“Honor herself adores it, though you can’t tell from the look of her. But we’ve seen Rocky at least twenty times, isn’t that right, love?” He grinned at her, and her knees did buckle then, but she managed to stay upright.
“Oh, yes. At least. And Cinderella Man.”
“Right.” He gave her a squeeze. “Don’t forget Warrior.”
“And Raging Bull.”
He leaned in close, his mouth almost touching her ear. “You have no idea how randy you’re making me by knowing all these films,” he whispered, and her breath was suddenly ragged. He turned back to the kids. “And Honor here weighs about how much, love?”
“Nice try,” she said.
“Less than I do, at any rate. But if she knew where to hit—”
“The groin,” she said. “Go right for the nuts, girls. Sorry, boys, but it’s true.” Goggy nodded in agreement.
Tom turned and looked at her. “Darling! I didn’t know you had a violent streak. Yes, the groin is an excellent target. But say you can’t do that. You still have a lot of options. If Honor knew where and how to hit, she could level me. Couldn’t you, sweetheart?”
“Yes. I could.” Gray eyes. So...unfair, somehow, the gentle color of a rainy sky on a winter morning, and wasn’t someone feeling romantic? That mouth of his. She could do a lot with that mouth. Or rather, he could.
What are we waiting for? the eggs asked.
How about “not an audience of children”? Honor mentally answered.
Don’t get testy with us, the eggs said. We’re just trying to get a little action here.
“Into the ring with you, then,” Tom said.
What? Her stomach lurched. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m not dressed for it.” Indeed. A pencil skirt and blouse, the sturdy-heeled pumps that Faith had deemed “not too nunnish” on their last lunch date.
Blue Heron [2] The Perfect Match Page 22