The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(64)

He groaned. “When you’re my age, you won’t want anyone telling you what to do, either, sweetheart. If I can’t clean the gutters, what’s next? I can’t dress myself? I can’t feed myself? This is my home. These are my things. Don’t make me a helpless old man who sits around in diapers.”

She felt a tug of sympathy. “No, Pops, that’s not the point. But you have to be realistic. Your balance isn’t great anymore, and it’s way too easy to trip in here. Let alone fall off the ladder like you did last year.”

“You might have a point. Probably not, but maybe. Now put that corkscrew back. That’s my favorite one.”

A knock came on the kitchen door, and Honor looked up.

It was Tom. And Charlie.

“Hallo,” her fiancé said. “Thought we’d lend a hand.”

“Oh! That’s...that’s really nice of you.” She’d mentioned where she was going this morning over breakfast. Hadn’t expected him to turn up.

“Mr. Holland,” Tom said to Pops. “You remember my stepson, don’t you?” The boy sighed with gusto and rolled his eyes, apparently unable to summon the energy to correct Tom on the title. “Charlie, say hello.”

“Hi,” Charlie said, shaking her grandfather’s hand.

“Hello, young man!” Pops said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Maybe you can be on my side and keep these marauding invaders out of my things.”

Charlie’s lips tugged, and Honor glanced at Tom.

His face was full of...yearning, like a dog at the pound who’s been passed over too many times but can’t help pricking up his ears at the sound of footsteps just the same.

Then he saw her looking, and gave her a quick smile that covered up any hint of loneliness.

He was a tough one, Tom Barlow. She felt like she knew him less now instead of more.

“When are you two getting married, anyway?” Pops said.

“Um, soon,” Honor said.

“We should take care of that, shouldn’t we?” Tom murmured.

They should. Once they filed for a marriage license, they had sixty days to get married, or Tom would be deported. Which was exactly why she hadn’t filed yet. What had seemed like a good plan now seemed as thin as March ice, and as sharply dangerous.

“Pops,” she said, “Let’s go down to the cellar. I know there’s stuff we should throw out down there.”

“I have to check the vines,” Pops said.

“Don’t run off, you coward. You said you’d tell me what I could throw away.”

“Nothing. There. I made it easy for you.”

Goggy reappeared in the kitchen, wearing a different dress and a little scarf, indicating that she was going out. “Hello, boys! Give me a kiss! I never know when I’ll get to kiss a handsome man, and here I have two!”

Tom obliged. Charlie did, too, and Goggy patted his cheek. Sweet, how she didn’t berate him for his black eyeliner and earrings. If he was a Holland, he’d never hear the end of it.

“I have a church meeting,” Goggy said. “There’s a huge debate over whether or not to replace the altar cloth. That Cathy Kennedy gets downright vicious sometimes! See you later, dears! Don’t touch anything upstairs, but by all means, get rid of some of your grandfather’s junk.”

“It’s not junk, old woman,” Pops retorted. She ignored him and left in a cloud of Jean Naté.

“I’m here,” came a weary voice. “As ordered. Like I don’t have better things to do on a Saturday.” Abby came in the back door. “Hi, guys,” she said. “Oh, hey, Charlie. I didn’t know you’d be here. Another slave for my aunt to boss around?”

Charlie’s face flamed. “I guess,” he mumbled. Ah, adolescence. Honor had been just as awkward around Brogan, come to think of it. Sigh.

“Let’s get to work,” Honor said. “Rubber gloves are under the sink, and I have plenty of trash bags, and stop glaring at me, Pops.”

“This would be a great place to hide a body,” Abby announced as they went down the warped cellar stairs. “Charlie, this place was built in—what, Pops?—1781?”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he said. “The first Holland got this land as a reward for fighting against your people, Tom.”

“Is that right?” Tom said. “Seems more of a punishment with this weather we’ve been having.”

He had a point. The temperature had dropped to twenty last night.

“Okay,” Honor said. “We can definitely get rid of some of this stuff.” She reached for a likely candidate.

“Put that down,” her grandfather said. “I need that.”

“Pops, it’s a moldy piece of cushion foam. And it’s torn.”

“So? I can wash it and use it for something.”

“Like what? When would you need moldy torn cushion foam?”

“It’s gross, Pops,” Abby said.

“I’m not going to stand here and watch you make fun of my things,” Pops said. “I have vines to check. Nice to see you, young man,” he said to Charlie. “And you,” he added to Tom. “Marry my granddaughter and make an honest woman out of her.”

“Yes, sir.” Tom shook his hand, and Pops clumped up the old wooden steps.