The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(44)

But back to the issue at hand. She’d just proposed to Tom Barlow, whom she’d met exactly three times. Her second proposal in two months. They’d be meeting again this afternoon to talk it over.

Holy orgasm.

See what good sex could do? Check that. Great sex. Sex on the floor! And things were pretty fabulous down there! She had a little rug burn on one knee and one shoulder, but the rest of her had been all for it.

Tom hadn’t seemed to mind, either.

No, indeed. The memory of his amazing mouth, and the way his face could change from so...intense to kind of goofy and sweet made her knees wobble as she climbed the stairs. The walk of shame, please. It was the walk of pride today.

“Hey there, Spikey-doodles,” she said to her dog, who was curled on her pillow, snoring. “Want to go skating? Hmm?”

She took a shower, and it was funny. Before this morning, showers had been a way to get clean, and all of a sudden, she was lathering and daydreaming and thinking thoughts that rivaled the billows of steam.

Honor Holland: the type of woman who picks up British hotties in bars. Who went back to Hottie Tom Barlow’s place and shagged him within an inch of death.

Who was maybe going to marry him.

A wave of icy panic slapped through the steamy water. Oh, God. What was she thinking?

She was meeting him later on, after the family wine tasting at four. A brisk skate at the pond would be just the thing. She got dressed, put Spike in a pink fleece doggy sweater, kissed the dog’s little face four times, then tucked her into her jacket. In the mudroom, she grabbed her skates and headed out to Willow Pond, where the ice would still be thick enough.

Honor had skated all her life. She’d even done a little competing before Mom died. eCommitment had asked her to list her hobbies, and Honor was relieved to see that she still had one, at least, not counting watching documentaries on bizarre medical conditions.

She didn’t skate too often—a few times a winter with Abby, and on Christmas Day, which was a family tradition. The Finger Lakes were too deep to freeze in the winter, but Blue Heron had a much shallower pond, a beautiful little secret, down near Tom’s Woods, ringed in hemlocks and Douglas fir trees. The wind had scoured the snow from the ice, and if there was a more beautiful spot on earth, Honor didn’t know what it was.

Honor sat down on her usual rock, strapped on her skates, checked that Spike was secure into her coat and pushed off. The wind whisked through her short hair and brought tears to her eyes as she glided around the pond. A cardinal flashed across the snow; Spike gave a little bark and wriggled in delight. Push and glide, push and glide. She flipped around and skated backward now, protecting her little dog from the wind.





Tom Barlow.

Reasons for:

Good in bed. (Shallow but so true.)

Noble reason for staying.

Likes kids.

Obviously able to commit.

Seems nice. (Okay, that was pretty weak. She could only imagine telling her father that one.)





Reasons against:

Basically a total stranger.

Doing this is illegal.

Isn’t in love with me.





“Then again,” Honor said aloud, her breath coming harder now, “that’s not uncommon. No one’s ever been in love with me before.”

Spike barked.

“Except you,” she corrected.

There was no reason to think Tom was any worse of a choice than the men on eCommitment. And then there were Goggy and Pops. Theirs had been an arranged marriage. Okay, bad example.

If I land this jump, Honor thought, it’s a sign I should go for it.

She did the easiest jump she knew, just a little leap. Fell on her ass.

“If I land this second jump,” she told Spike, “it’s a sign I should go for it.”

She fell on that one, too.

* * *

HONOR SPENT THE rest of Saturday in her office, researching marital fraud and immigration and giving herself an ulcer. Good God. To soothe herself, she forced herself away from YouTube and checked some orders from her distributors, ran a quick inventory, designed a new label and made sure the Black and White Ball link was live. Jessica was great, but it came as almost a relief that Honor still had things to do. Then, exactly at four, she left her office, Spike under her arm, and went into the tasting room.

This was, understandably, her favorite part of the wine business. The family gathered several times a year at least to pour the newest vintage, discuss its flavors and selling points. If it was a new variety, they’d pick a name—Half Moon Chardonnay, for example, because the harvest had gone on into the night one October and the moon had been so clear.

The rest of the family was already there. Pru, with Carl, who was making a rare appearance, and Ned. Faith and Levi, holding hands. Jack and Dad, both of them in faded work shirts and Blue Heron baseball caps. Mrs. Johnson was setting out wineglasses. Goggy and Pops sat at opposite ends of the tasting bar where, even so, they managed to annoy each other. Abby was curled into a chair, reading. “Hi, honey,” Honor said, giving her niece’s head a kiss.

Then Goggy spotted her and pounced, surprisingly lithe for a woman in her eighties. “Whatever happened with you-know-who?” she asked, dragging Honor a few yards away. “Who needed the you-know-what?”

“Um, let’s talk later,” Honor whispered.