The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(65)

“He’s gone. Maybe we can just burn the place down,” Abby said.

For the next hour, they stuffed bags with Pops’s precious belongings, which included a bent golf club, a broken mirror and newspapers from the 1960s. Abby talked almost nonstop, bless her, and Charlie answered, shyly at first, then with more confidence as their talk turned to music.

“And what have we here?” Tom asked from the far end of the basement, bending down to examine something. “Hallo. These might be worth something.” He looked up at Honor and grinned.

It was a pile of magazines. Men’s magazines, to be specific.

Tom opened one up. “Miss September, 1972. Not bad.” He straightened up. “Think we should check eBay and see what these are going for?”

“Oh, ick.”

“Nothing ick about her. She’s lovely.”

“Shush. Just toss them.” Man! There were dozens.

“Hopefully we don’t read about a priceless collection of Playboys found at the dump later this week.” He glanced across the cellar at Charlie. “You’re right, though. Best get rid of these before the lad sees them. Hard enough being a pubescent boy without this kind of stimulation.”

They shoveled the magazines into a black trash bag, and amid the smell of stone and old paper, Honor caught a hint of Tom’s soap.

It felt like years since they’d slept together.

When the Playboys were bagged, Tom stood up and pulled off his gloves. “Honor, do you still want to get married?” he asked, his voice quiet.

She jerked her gaze to his. “Sure. Yes.”

“Because if you don’t, I need to make another plan.”

“No. I do.” She took a deep breath. “Do you?”

“Yes.” His face was solemn.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Seeing na**d women has only lit a fire to get it done.” He grinned, and Honor’s knees practically buckled. On the one hand, it’d be awfully nice to have a serious conversation with him for more than one or two seconds; on the other, that smile went straight to Down Under.

“Guys! Look what we found!” Abby said, and the two teenagers came over.

Tom looked away. “Is it alive?” he asked.

“Yeah!” Charlie said, holding up his find.

It was a snake.

“Snake!” Honor shrieked, leaping behind Tom. “Snake! Snake!”

Charlie jerked back, and, oh, fungus, he dropped it, the snake was on the floor, wriggling and black and evil. Then it was gone in a hideous, lithe movement, and Honor was climbing onto the garbage bag full of Playboys and crawling onto Tom, clutching his head and awkwardly heaving herself onto him.

“Bit of a phobia, darling?” he asked gamely, boosting her a bit.

“Where is it? Where is it?” she said, already sticky with sweat. If that thing went over her foot—or in her pants—oh, God! The idea of its hideous, cold, twisting body against her skin made her dry-heave in terror.

“I forgot you were scared of snakes,” Abby said.

“Well, it’s gone now,” Charlie muttered, squatting down.

Tom hoisted her so she was basically piggyback on him. “Settle down, love, you’ve scared it.”

“I’ve scared it? Who in their right mind picks up a snake and holds it! What if it’s poisonous?”

“It was a garter snake,” Charlie said.

“What if was a poisonous garter snake?”

“No such thing, darling.” Tom shifted.

“Don’t put me down! Please! Get me out of here.” She tightened her grip around his throat, earning a choking sound. Couldn’t be helped.

“Here it is,” Charlie said.

“No! Stop it, Charlie! Please!” She gripped Tom with her legs so hard he wheezed.

He loosened her chokehold around his neck. “Charlie, get rid of it, mate.”

“Do you want to hold it, Honor?” Charlie asked sweetly.

Honor burst into tears.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry!” the boy said, looking stricken.

“No, no, she’s got a phobia. Obviously,” Abby said, putting her hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Let’s get it out of here, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said, and already resentment was darkening his face.

“Me, too. Sorry,” Honor said, tears still streaking down her face. “I’m afraid of snakes.”

“Yeah. I got that.”

Oh, God, this was so embarrassing. She was wrapped awkwardly around Tom and shaking with revulsion, but she wasn’t about to set foot on the floor, either. Not when the place was riddled with nests of vipers, no sir.

Tom started to put her down.

“No!” she barked, making him flinch, as her mouth was right next to his ear. “What if there are more? Don’t put me down! Don’t move! Don’t drop me!”

“All right, settle down. But here, slide around so I can see you,” he said, and he pulled at her, Honor still gripping him like a jockey, her arms locked around his neck. “Christ, you’re not making this easy, are you?”

“I can’t! I’m afraid, okay? Sue me.”

His shoulders shook. He may have been laughing, the wretch. A few more tries, and he tugged her so that she was facing him. Well, she would be facing him if she could bring herself to, um, face him. Instead, she buried her face in his shoulder, shuddering.