The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(73)

Goggy shrugged. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve never lived anywhere but on the Hill.”

“Neither did I, until a few weeks ago. Don’t you think it’d be fun to live somewhere different?”

“Oh, who knows? Maybe.” Progress! That was a more positive answer than Goggy had ever given before. “What are we doing here, anyway?”

“I have to drop off some tickets for the Black and White Ball. You and Pops are coming, aren’t you?”

“Of course, of course. Except I’ll have to dress up.” Goggy sighed heavily. “And probably dance with that old fool. He has two left feet, that one.”

“I don’t know. You guys looked pretty cute at Faith and Levi’s wedding.”

Goggy gave a little smile. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Honor took out her phone and sent a quick text to Margaret, the director of Rushing Creek. Any chance we could see a unit? I’m doing a soft sell on my grandmother.

Margaret came through.

“Plenty of closet space,” she said, showing Goggy the master bedroom of a very pretty apartment, “and a spare room for visitors.”

“No one visits me anymore,” Goggy said with a significant look at Honor.

“Don’t look at me. Look, Goggy, this kitchen has so much counter space! Much more than the Old House.”

“Hmmph. What do I need with counter space?”

“Imagine baking Christmas cookies in here,” Honor said. “So much easier than doing it all on the kitchen table.”

“Have you ever had a bad cookie in my house?” Goggy asked.

Honor put her arm around her. “Never. You make the best everything, and don’t tell Mrs. Johnson I said that, or she’ll kill me. I’m just saying it’d be nice for you to have a place like this, new and clean and efficient. You deserve it.”

“Well,” Goggy said, mollified. “That’s a nice thought, sweetheart.”

Progress indeed.

After Rushing Creek, they drove into town to talk to Laura Boothby about the flowers for the ball. “I was thinking ivory centerpieces with black velvet ribbons tied around the vases,” she said, turning the pages of Laura’s photo album.

“Beautiful,” Laura said. “Great idea.”

“But it’s the Black and White Ball,” Goggy protested. “Not the Black and Ivory Ball.”

“Right, but this will just be a little contrast. Remember when Lyons Den hosted two years ago? And they had pink flowers?”

“I thought that was tacky,” Goggy said.

“Oh, no, it was wonderful,” Laura said. “Jeremy has the best taste. And he’s such a good doctor!”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Goggy said. “He’s practically my grandson. And those hands? So gentle.”

Which reminded Honor...she and Tom would need a blood test. Not that one was required, but she wanted one, anyway. Just to make sure there were no red flags for baby-making.

“Honor, while you’re here, would you like to look at wedding bouquets?” Laura asked craftily.

“Um, no, that’s okay. Not yet, anyway.”

“Oh, come on. Just a little peek.”

And somehow, an hour passed. First, visions of a wedding dress. Now, poring over pictures of roses and lilies and hydrangeas. Like a regular bride...which, of course, she wasn’t.

But she was falling for him. She knew that. How could she not? First, the smile. The accent. The tattoos, which she’d never really liked before and now heartily adored.

And then there was his unflagging love of Charlie, who didn’t give Tom so much as a crumb of affection, and for whom Tom was rewriting his life.

And then there was the kissing. That one night of moon-and-back sex, when Honor had acted like a stranger and felt right at home. One amazing night that seemed to be playing in a constant loop in her head, making her break off in midsentence weeks after the fact.

Hot diggety.

It was probably being around all this love... Dad and Mrs. Johnson snuggled up on the couch, arguing amiably about who should win Top Chef. Faith and Levi, who seemed like two magnets when they were in the same room, always near each other, always touching somehow. Even Pru and Carl, with their goofy grins and rock-solid knowledge that the other was simply there, still dependably in love.

She and Tom were a business arrangement. They were both getting something out of this. He would have his green card, and she was saving face.

Yes. People were now looking at Honor with new respect these days. Tom Barlow, the hottie Brit with the killer smile, had chosen quiet, reliable, boring Honor Holland.

What Honor knew, and shouldn’t forget, was that Tom Barlow was only with her because of his unofficial stepson.

Otherwise, there was no way she’d get a guy like that.

“Honor?”

She looked up abruptly. “Sorry, Goggy. What were you saying?”

“I think these are nice. I’ve always loved carnations.”

“Very pretty. I’ll think about it. Thanks, ladies. Goggy, we should go. I have to hit up some businesses for raffle donations.”

They went to O’Rourke’s, where Colleen once again complimented her on “shagging and bagging Tom”; to Lorelei’s Sunrise Bakery, where the eternally cheerful baker offered to make their wedding cake for free in thanks for all the business Blue Heron had given them; to Mel’s Candy Shoppe, where Mr. Stoakes told her she could eat as much candy as she wanted, now that she was off the market. To Hart’s Jewelers, where Tom had apparently bought her ring, as she was welcomed in and fussed over like a soldier returning from war.