The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(45)

“He’s nice, isn’t he? And handsome?”

And great in bed, Goggy. “Very nice,” Honor admitted.

“See? I told you.” Her grandmother gave her a triumphant smile, fluffed her hair and walked back to her seat.

Honor put thoughts of Tom aside. She’d deal with him soon enough, and besides, she had work to do.

When she’d graduated from Wharton, her first order of business was to overhaul the tasting room, and it was her pride and joy. A long, curved bar made by a Mennonite craftsman from wood harvested here on Holland land. A blue slate floor below, arching beams above, a stone fireplace in the corner and, best of all, the windows, which looked out over the vineyard and woods, all the way down to the Crooked Lake.

It never failed to thrill her.

As the boss of everything, she now turned to the rest of the family. “Everyone ready to taste some excellent wine?”

She poured the first, a pinot gris, and held the glass to her nose. Green apple was her first thought, then some vanilla and clove. Very nice.

“Anyone getting apple?” Dad asked.

“I am,” Goggy said. “Green apple. Tart.”

“I’m getting red apple. A new red apple. McIntosh,” Pops said.

“It’s definitely green apple,” Goggy said with a glare.

“I get red,” Pops said blithely. “An unripe red apple.”

“Which is a green apple,” Goggy growled.

“Isn’t it time for one of them to go to a nice farm?” Ned whispered.

“I heard that, young man,” Pops said. “Respect your elders.”

“I wish I could,” he said.

“A little limestone, maybe?” Faith said, and Honor nodded encouragingly. Faith hadn’t been around too much in the past few years. It was nice to have her back.

“I’m getting nesberry,” Mrs. Johnson said.

“Oh, yes, nesberry,” Dad agreed, smiling at Mrs. J., who didn’t seem able to meet his eyes.

“What’s a nesberry?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know. But I bet it’s wonderful,” Dad murmured.

“Anyone else picking up some hay?” Pru asked.

“Definitely,” Ned said. “Wet hay.”

“I’m getting overtones of fog and unicorn tears,” Abby said from the couch, “with just a hint of baby’s laughter.”

Honor smiled at her niece and typed up the other comments. The nose of the wine, the taste, the finish. The texture, the overtones, the legs. Wine was like a living thing, striking everyone a little bit differently, changing with air and age, dependent on the life that happened before.

This was the culmination of the family’s work. From the care of the soil and vines to the harvest to the wine-making itself, every one of them had a hand in it, big or small. The whole family, taking care of family business. Sort of like the Mob, but a little bit nicer. No murders, though you could never rule it out with Goggy and Pops, who were still fixated on the green-versus-unripe apple debate.

How strange, to picture Tom here, too. She might be married. Soon.

The thought of it made her knees zing with nervousness.

An hour later, they’d tried all four of the new varietals. In a few weeks, Honor would do another tasting with the staff and sales reps and get their input, too.

“While I’ve got you all here,” Dad said as Goggy and Mrs. J. wrestled glasses from each other in the battle for who worked harder, “I have, um, an announcement. Of sorts. Something to tell you kids.” He swallowed. Blushed. Stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Mom? Mrs. J.? Would you mind?”

“Fine,” Goggy said. “I’ll wash up later.”

“I’ll wash up later,” Mrs. Johnson growled.

“Mrs. John—uh, Hyacinth? Would you come over?” Dad asked.

Honor’s breath caught. She looked at Mrs. Johnson, who studiously avoided her gaze.

Well, well, well. Her throat was suddenly tight. She glanced at Faith, whose mouth was slightly open, and at Jack, who was eating some cheese with Pops.

“What’s the matter?” Goggy asked suspiciously. “Is someone dying?”

“No, no,” Dad said, wiping his forehead with a napkin, “you all remember how I started dating again last fall.”

“That woman. Lorena Creech. And those clothes! I saw her at the market last week, and she was wearing nothing but a—”

“Hush, woman, your son is trying to talk,” Pops interrupted, then paused. “Nothing but a what?”

“I’m not telling you now, old man,” Goggy said. “Not when you just told me to be quiet.”

“Go on, Dad,” Jack said. “If you must.”

“It’s kind of funny—no, not funny, really. Uh, why don’t you tell it, Mrs.—um, Hyacinth.”

“You have a first name?” Abby asked Mrs. Johnson.

“Shush, child.” Mrs. Johnson crossed her arms. “Faith, this is your fault, of course. You and Honor, on a mission to marry off your poor father.”

“I was also on the mission!” Pru said. “But I never get credit for that kind of thing. Is it because I wear men’s clothes?”

“Fine. All three of you girls are responsible, then.”