The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(51)

“Very,” he said. “What’s new with you, baby?”

“Um, well, funny that you asked.” She cleared her throat, trying to remember a time when she’d lied to her dad. It had been a few decades. Possibly never. “You know that guy I’ve been seeing?” Sorry, Daddy.

“No. What guy?” He frowned.

“Um, the guy I told you about?”

The kitchen door banged open. “Jackie!” Mrs. Johnson said from her domain. “Are you hungry, dear boy?”

“Mrs. Johnson, you get more beautiful every week.” Honor rolled her eyes, but sure enough, her brother came into the living room a second later, holding a piece of the lemon pound cake Honor had been told she couldn’t touch. “Hey, Dad. What’s up, sis?”

Right. Well, better to have an ally (sort of) in the form of her big brother. “I was telling Dad about a guy I’ve been seeing.” She fixed Jack with a stern gaze.

“Really? I thought you were headed for the convent.”

“Oh, Jack. Don’t make me hurt you again.”

Dad put down his newspaper. “Getting back to this person...what’s his name, anyway?”

“Tom. Tom Barlow. The mechanical engineer, remember?” Best to feed Dad information as if he already knew it.

Dad frowned. “Huh. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Anyway, what about him? You want to have him up for dinner?”

“Oh, sure. But, uh, the bigger news is, um, we’re moving in together.”

For a second, Honor thought her father might clutch his chest and drop stone-cold dead. Silence filled the room, thick and ominous. The mantel clock ticked loudly.

“No, you’re not,” Dad said loudly. “I don’t even know this Tom person. Who’s Tom? You’re not moving in with a stranger I’ve never even met. Why on earth would you do that? Is this about Mrs. Johnson and me?”

“Shouldn’t you be allowed to call her by her first name, Dad?” Jack asked around a mouthful of cake. “Since you’re sleeping with her?”

“Jackie! Don’t you dare discuss this!” Mrs. Johnson banged a pot down in the kitchen, then stomped out to the living room. “This is your fault, John Holland,” she declared. “You and this silly marriage idea. Honor, you’re not going anywhere. John, I refuse to come between you and your children.”

“Now look what you’ve done, sis,” Jack said. “Can I have another piece of cake, Mrs. J.?”

“Jack, shut up. And Mrs. J., please,” Honor said. “You are so going to marry Dad. Just calm down. I’m thirty-five years old.”

“That is getting up there,” Jack murmured.

Honor shot him a murderous glance. “I can move in with someone if I want to, and I do. I’d like to live somewhere other than the house where I was born.”

“You were born in the hospital,” Dad said sharply.

“You can’t move in with some stranger,” Mrs. Johnson said. “I don’t condone living in sin.”

“Well, then, you should stop shtupping Dad, shouldn’t you?”

Dad looked like he was indeed considering that heart attack, and Mrs. Johnson gave her a regal, icy look.

“Sorry, Mrs. J.,” she said. “But I am going to move in with Tom. He has a very cute place in town, and I want to do it. It’s not because of you two. It’s because of...him.” She felt her face get hot. “He’s really great.”

“No, he’s not!” Dad yelped. “He’s not great. If he’s so great, how come I’ve never met him? How long has this been going on?”

“Not long, John Holland, not long,” Mrs. Johnson intoned. “But you weren’t paying attention, were you? No, you were chasing after some woman—”

“Aren’t you the woman in question, Mrs. J.?” Jack asked.

“—and your daughter is going to live with a stranger who could be a serial killer.”

“And then there’s that,” Jack said.

“He’s a math teacher. I mean, mechanical engineering. He’s a professor at Wickham. And he’s very nice. British, too.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Dad asked. “Don’t they make serial killers in England? Haven’t you ever heard of Jack the Ripper?” He looked at his only son for solidarity. “Tell her, Jack. This is ridiculous. You can date him, Honor, but moving in? It’s rash.”

As her father, Mrs. J. and Jack all weighed in, Honor couldn’t help noting how vastly different the standards were for the four grown Holland children. Faith was never questioned, as she was the delicate flower of the bunch, her occasional seizure giving her an opt-out clause for everything. Honor knew it wasn’t by choice, but she couldn’t help thinking Faith was pretty damn clever, being born with epilepsy. Prudence had sown her wild oats when the rest of them were still little, and those oats had largely gone unnoticed as Mom and Dad had diapers to change and toddlers to chase. Plus, Pru had married Carl at age twenty-three, spawned two lovely kids and now served more as entertainment than a cause for concern. Jack was the son and heir and little prince, and therefore beyond reproach.

But it always seemed to Honor that a higher standard had been applied to her. She was the one who’d brought no surprises, who’d done exactly what was expected, who never caused her parents a moment’s worry. Good old Honor. The boring one.