The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(97)

When she glanced back at Tom and the kids, Tom wasn’t there. Abby was showing Charlie something on her phone.

Dad and Mrs. J., however, were approaching, as well as Goggy and Pops. “How are you?” Dad asked, sitting down next to her. “Having a good time? You look so pretty, Petunia!”

“This party is wonderful,” Mrs. Johnson said sternly. “You have done a magnificent job, Honor dear.”

“I didn’t care for the shrimp,” Goggy said. “I prefer herring.”

“Yet you ate seven of them,” Pops observed, getting an elbow in the ribs from his bride.

“Where’s Tom? I haven’t seen you dancing together,” Dad said, feigning a casual air. “Everything okay with you two?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” Honor said. “I have to be in charge and all that.” A lame excuse. Surreptitiously, she looked around for Tom, hoping he wasn’t at the bar.

At that moment, the Paul Anka song ended (thank you, Jesus), and there was some anemic applause. “Another dedication, folks, this time for our chairperson tonight, Honor Holland—”

Uh-oh.

“—from her fiancé. Kind of a strange song choice, but he insisted it was her favorite. ‘Paint It Black’ by the Rolling Stones.” The opening chords twanged, and Honor closed her mouth.

“I love this song!” Abby exclaimed. “Cool, Honor! I didn’t know you liked the Stones!”

As Mick Jagger started bewailing the grim state of his soul, all eyes swiveled to Honor. “Uh...” she said.

“Why does he want to paint the door black?” Goggy asked, frowning. “Red is a much nicer color.”

“Hallo, darling,” Tom said. “Shall we dance?”

He was already singing along, already dancing there in front of her, and wow, he was bad. Looked a bit like Faith when she had an epileptic seizure, albeit a bit more energetic. “Come on, darling!”

He grabbed her hands and yanked her out of the chair, towing her onto the dance floor. Oh, dear God. She caught a glimpse of Faith laughing, and Colleen, too, and Levi shaking his head, grinning. Tom was jolting around her with complete abandon, singing with his countrymen at the top of his lungs, grinning so that his eyes crinkled, off-key and...and...completely adorable.

Then Abby grabbed Charlie’s hand and pulled him out on the floor, and he began jumping up and down, Abby much more graceful. Tom grabbed Honor’s hand and spun her around, and as Mick despaired that he’d ever be happy again, Tom wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly on the cheek.

Levi and Faith were on the dance floor now, and Pru and Carl, Connor and Colleen, and Tom stepped on Honor’s foot and she didn’t care one bit.

The night had just turned fun.

Tom was sweaty and ridiculous and utterly irresistible. His crooked smile made him go from knee-weakeningly hot to dorktastically goofy, and honestly, if he would smile at her like that every day, she’d never ask for another thing.

Except his love. And his baby.

Screw their arrangement. She wanted his heart.

* * *

TOM WAS ALMOST sorry when the ball ended.

“This was fun,” Charlie said as they pulled up in front of the Kelloggs’ house. “See you, guys.”

Tom almost choked in surprise. Two entire sentences, unprompted. Polite sentences at that.

“Great having you along, mate.”

“Thanks for coming, Charlie,” Honor added. “And thanks for dancing with Abby.”

He smiled. Charlie Kellogg actually smiled. Crikey, it had been a long time since Tom had seen that.

They watched to make sure he got inside okay, and then Tom pulled away from the curb and drove the short distance to their place.

Now that they were alone, they didn’t talk.

He’d made her smile. Laugh, even. Rather saved the day, in his own humble opinion, which was the least he could do, given that she’d worked so hard on this night. He’d bet that tomorrow morning, people would be talking more about Honor and her strange Brit than about Brogan and his viperous little fiancée and the bun in her oven.

He’d seen Honor’s face when the other couple was dancing. He knew that face, that helpless, confused look. He’d seen it in the mirror often enough when he was with Melissa, after all. Perhaps he should’ve been jealous, but instead, without a lot of thought, he found himself doing something to change her mood.

He pulled up in front of their house. Odd, that—their house. Home. He got out and slid across the hood of the car so he could open her door before she did. Another smile, making him feel like he’d won the Irish sweepstakes.

“Miss Holland?” he said, offering his hand, and she took it. Didn’t let go, either. Then again, she was teetering a bit in those heels. Which were quite slutty and evocative. Wouldn’t mind seeing her wearing those and nothing but, all pale skin and—

“Thank you,” she said. “For the song.”

“What’s that? Oh. Sure, it was nothing.” He let go of her hand and unlocked the door, causing Ratty to awake from her coma and begin hurling herself against the door.

“Honor,” he began. “For what it’s worth, I think Brogan’s a right prat.”

Her eyes flickered. “What exactly does that word mean, anyway?” she asked, fiddling with her bag.