The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(38)

“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.”