The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(66)

“There, there, sweetheart,” he whispered. “It’s gone.”

He smelled so good. An hour of working in a damp and filthy cellar, and he smelled like soap and rain, and he was warm, and solid, and safe.

After a minute or two, her breathing returned to normal, and the involuntary tears stopped leaking out of her eyes.

“Can I put you down now?” he asked.

She couldn’t stay like this forever. And it was rather, ah, intimate, her legs wrapped around his waist.

She lowered her feet and stood on his, still afraid to touch the floor. Tom pulled back a little. He cupped her face in his hands and slid his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away the tears. “Better?”

She nodded.

He nodded, too, a small smile flashing.

Then he kissed her forehead. Then her nose. Then her lips.

And this time, it wasn’t for anyone’s benefit. Just the two of them in this damp old cellar, his mouth so perfect against hers. He tilted her head, his arms like a fortress around her, the best feeling in the entire world. His hair was baby-soft. She’d forgotten that. And he tasted, so, so good.

“Guys. Gross.” Honor jumped back at the sound of her niece’s voice. “I mean, sorry you were freaked out, but please. I have to see enough of this at home.”

Tom cleared his throat. “Back to work, shall we?” he asked.

There was no way in hell she was going to stay down here. One snake probably meant a thousand, possibly a million. She shuddered again. “I’ll go upstairs and start on the kitchen,” she said.

And yet, even with the threat of snakes, she wanted to stay.

* * *

BY THE TIME Tom left to take Charlie to the gym and Prudence arrived with her sturdy truck for the dump run, fifteen garbage bags had been filled. Horrifyingly, both cellar and kitchen looked exactly the same. “See you at the wedding dress place?” Pru said.

“Sounds good.” Today, the three Holland girls were going with Mrs. Johnson to pick out a wedding dress. Against Mrs. Johnson’s will, it should be noted.

“We should buy yours while we’re at it,” her sister said.

“Oh, no. This is Mrs. J.’s day.”

“What are we gonna call her now?” Pru asked. “Mom doesn’t seem right. I swear, I didn’t even know she had a first name till a few weeks ago.”

“I have no idea. Listen, I have to run back and shower,” Honor said. “I’ll see you there.”

Four hours later, Honor, Faith and Prudence sat in Happily Ever After’s waiting area as the now disheveled and sweaty Gwen, who owned the store, brought Mrs. Johnson the sixteenth dress to try on. The girls had been shown zero, as Mrs. Johnson kept declaring the dresses foolish, hideous or, for some reason, arrogant. Her requirements were many: nothing that made her look whorish (strapless, in her world view), nothing that made her look cheap (which meant no beading or sparkle) and nothing that made her look doddering (no lace). No ball gowns would be tolerated (pretentious). No sheath dresses (nightgowns). Nothing shorter than floor-length (disrepectful), and nothing with a train (pompous).

“Does anyone have alcohol?” Faith asked. “I could really use a drink right now.”

“Or Valium,” Pru added.

“What are you and Tom planning for your wedding?” Faith asked.

Honor jumped. “Oh, I figured it would just be a city hall thing.”

“What? No! You have to get married at the Barn,” Faith said.

Honor cleared her throat. “It won’t be at the Barn. We, uh, we might just elope.”

“And kill your father, Honor Holland?” came Mrs. Johnson’s voice. The woman had batlike hearing.

“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Faith turned to her. “So. Let’s get to the good stuff. What was it like, your first kiss with Tom?”

“Oh, uh, it was great.” A lame answer. “Um, how was yours with Levi?”

“Amazing. He kissed me after a seizure.”

“Isn’t that against the law?” Pru asked.

“Not in this state. It was the morning after. Actually, our first kiss was in high school. That was hot, too. He’s the best kisser in the history of the earth.”

“I don’t know about that,” Pru said.

Honor didn’t, either. Tom was gifted in the kissing department. The memory of the kiss in the cellar made her feel downright...swoony.

“You’re blushing,” Faith said.

“Hey, you’d blush, too, if you know where Carl and I did it this morning,” Prudence said. “Oh. You were talking to her. Yeah, Tom’s a hottie, that’s for sure. That accent is incredible, even if I can barely understand him.”

“What kind of accent is that, anyway? Cockney?” Faith asked.

“Nope. Manchester. Just a basic blue-collar accent, I guess.” But yes, it had a certain pull to it.

Gwen darted past again, fear on her face and rightfully so, then returned a second later with another dress, brave girl. They could hear some murmuring and a respondent growl from Mrs. J.

Prudence sighed. “I can’t believe we of all people didn’t bring wine to this. Mrs. J., come on! Show us one, for the love of God!”

“Fine, you rude girls,” Mrs. Johnson called. “But I look ridiculous.”