The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(94)

“Okay,” her sister said. “I just felt like I should say something. I love you, Honor. Don’t be mad at me.”

The little sister shtick worked every time. Probably because it was sincere. Honor deflated. “I’m sorry. I know you’re coming from a good place and all that.”

“Any time you want to talk, I’m here, okay? Now, it’s mascara time. This stuff is great. It takes days to get it off.”

“And that’s great?”

“Trust me. Your lashes will be amazing.”

When Faith was done, Honor didn’t look like herself.

She looked better. She looked kind of...gorgeous, really. Whatever Faith had in her magical basket of cosmetics gave Honor a luminous glow. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes smoky, lips with just a little shine.

“You’re beautiful,” Faith said. “You look just like Mom.” She hugged Honor. “Now get out, because I have to get ready, and I think Levi and I might have a quickie—”

“What is wrong with my sisters?” Honor asked. “They don’t keep anything to themselves.”

“Hey, I was eavesdropping,” Levi said, appearing in the bedroom doorway with Honor’s coat and walking her to the door. “Sorry you have to go. See you at the party.” He managed not to slam the door in her face.

Walking carefully in Faith’s heels, Honor got into the car and drove home. It was time to get up to the Barn; she wanted to get there a little early to check on things, but not so early that Goggy and Pops, who’d doubtlessly been there since five, would pepper her with requests, such as Can I have a small glass of water? Not too big, because I won’t drink it all and don’t want to waste any, and Why aren’t you serving any raw herring?

Tom and Charlie were waiting for her. “Hi,” Charlie grunted.

“Hi, Charlie. You look very nice.” He was wearing a navy blue sports coat—Tom’s, no doubt, as it was big on the teenager. He’d washed off his eyeliner, and changed into black jeans that didn’t look like they were meant for three people. His T-shirt showed a gravestone covered in thorns and a skeleton hand emerging from the soil.

But he’d tried—maybe because Abby would be there tonight, maybe because Tom made him. Either way, her heart tugged.

As for Tom, he looked...edible. He was checking his phone, so she had a moment of unadulterated ogling. Dark and dangerous and very European, in a black suit and black shirt open at the neck. No tie. He’d opted not to shave, and the two days’ worth of stubble somehow made him look more sophisticated.

And he smelled so damn good, spicy and clean. Honor had a sudden, pulsating need to rub herself against him, like a cat.

But the air was thick with tension—he and Charlie must’ve had words, because Charlie was staring at the floor, looking almost literally bored to death. Tom was bristling with energy, and not the good kind. He glanced at her, then did a double take, but his expression didn’t change. On the counter next to him was a glass of whiskey. His first (and last), she hoped. But no, he wouldn’t drink too much with Charlie here. She was almost certain.

He picked up the florist box from the table. “For you, Miss Holland,” he said, holding out her wristlet. He flashed that perfunctory smile, his fingers brushing the skin of her arm, and her knees turned to pudding, despite his blank expression.

“After you,” Tom said, holding the door for her.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE BLACK AND White Ball was raking in money. That was the good part. The reason for its existence, after all. On top of the ticket sales and raffles, an anonymous donor had given ten grand, which would put them over the top for their goal.

The rest of the night, however, was kind of sucky.

Honor’s feet ached in the slutty heels, but she gamely ignored the throbbing as best she could, pressing the flesh of Marian White, the mayor, and the various members of the Conservation Trust, the big donors. Dad and Mrs. Johnson were out in their first appearance as a couple, Honor thought, and Mrs. J. looked quite lovely in a white dress. Dad cleaned up nicely, too.

The DJ was taking requests for twenty bucks a pop, all of which would go toward the cause. As a result, all sorts of romantic songs were rolling out as the DJ announced who’d dedicated which song to whom. “To Harley from Lana, ‘Still the One’...to Victor from Lorena, ‘Let’s Get It On’...to Prudence from Carl, ‘Love in an Elevator.’”

As for her own romantic state...who really knew?

Tom was wound tightly tonight, for reasons Honor didn’t know. Every time she saw him, he seemed to be glaring at her, or watching Charlie, who was sitting at a table in the back, playing with his iPhone.

“I’m so bored,” Abby said, taking a sip of her cranberry and seltzer.

“No, you’re not,” Honor said. “You’re gorgeous, you’re young, you have a new dress.”

“I do look pretty incredible,” her niece admitted.

“Abs, would you hang out with Charlie Kellogg?” she said. “He looks lonely.”

“Sure!” Abby said. “He’s a nice kid. Dork-tastic, know what I mean?”

“I do,” Honor said, though her own experience with Charlie had been mostly silent. “Does he have friends at school?”

“Yeah. I think so. I’ll go hang out with him. We can play Angry Birds.”