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.”

Abby left, and Honor started off for a table so she could sit down and take some weight off her beleaguered feet. How Faith managed these shoes was a great mystery. “To Meghan from Steve, ‘One More for Love,’” the DJ said. “Great song, guys.”

“Honor! You look so gorgeous!” Jeremy Lyon gave her a kiss on the cheek, crazy handsome in his tux.

“Same to you,” Honor said. “Hi, Patrick.” Jer’s significant other gave a small wave. He was adorably shy.

“So you’re getting married,” Jeremy said. “Will I be invited? Please? Pretty please?”

“Oh, sure,” Honor said. “Of course.”

Jeremy winked at her. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?”

“Thanks, buddy. Now go dance, you two. Put these straight people to shame.”

They obeyed.

“How you doing, boss?” Jessica asked.

“Good, good,” Honor said.

“Anything need doing?”

“Nope. You look gorgeous, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Jessica wore a short white turtleneck dress that would look boring on anyone else. As it was, she looked like a Norwegian supermodel. Black shoes. No makeup. Simple and stunning, making Honor feel like she was trying way too hard.

“You’re off the clock, Jess,” Honor said. “Have fun, okay? Enjoy yourself, get a drink, eat.”

“Will do. Hey, and you, too, okay?”

“Thanks. I will.”

Nice to have someone looking out for her. Jessica went off to talk to Levi, her old friend. The woman had a way with men, that was undeniable. Maybe Honor should fix Jack and Jessica up. Then again, what did she know?

“Honor. You’re beautiful.”

Brogan. “Hey there,” Honor said.

“To Paul from Liza, ‘Someone Like You’ by Adele!” the DJ boomed, and the song of perpetual misery and inability to move on wailed from the speakers.

“Looks like the night is a big success,” Brogan said, an easy grin on his face.

“Yes, yes. We had an anonymous donation for ten thousand dollars,” she said, glancing around for a sister. Nope. Never around when you needed one.

“Did you?” he asked, winking.

“Yes. Very—oh. It was you, wasn’t it?”

“I believe it was anonymous,” he said, his grin widening.

“Thank you.” For some reason, Honor’s heart felt thorny. Guilt money. Brogan was throwing money at her cause because he—

“Babe, there you are! Oh, hi, Honor. Don’t you look nice.”

“Dana. You, too.” Dana wore a short, white lace dress that looked as bridal as could be. Her ring—the one Honor had so loved before she’d realized that antique was really more her style—flashed, and matching rocks winked from her ears.

“So where’s this fiancé of yours?” Dana asked. “Did he come?”

“Oh, sure. He’s here. Schmoozing, I think.” Hopefully not drinking to excess or brooding in the back somewhere.

“How’s his eye?” Brogan asked.

“It’s good,” Honor answered, her face prickling.

“Right! I heard you sent him to the E.R. Wow, Honor.” Dana arched a silky eyebrow. “Impressive.”

“She doesn’t know her own strength, do you, darling? Here’s your wine, by the way.” Tom, thank God. He put a heavy arm around her shoulders, firmly back in the role of smitten fiancé.

Hey. She’d take it.

“So when is your wedding?” Dana asked.

“June 2, darling? Are we set on that date?” Tom asked.

“I think so,” she said.

“Is that your ring?” Dana asked, seizing her hand. “Oh, wow! It’s really cute. Brogan, isn’t that sweet?”

“It’s beautiful,” he said. His eyes were...kind. Then he glanced at Dana, and his expression changed, and Honor recognized it immediately, having seen it on her own face for fifteen years, every time she was about to see Brogan.

Love. Slightly helpless, a touch confused, a dash of vulnerable and a whole lotta happy. Brogan hadn’t planned on falling for Dana, Honor could see it. It really had just happened...at least, for him.

“So we booked the Pierre,” Dana was saying, “because Brogan knows the Steinbrenners, of course, and they do a lot of business there, so it should be pretty fab. But I have to admit, I’m a little nervous about meeting so many sports gods, right? I mean, like, Robbie Cano? At my wedding?”

“And who’s that?” Tom asked. Honor felt like kissing him.

“He’s the third baseman for the Yankees,” Dana said.

“Second baseman,” Honor and Brogan corrected at the same time.

Tom was looking at her. Flashed that adorable smile, though his eyes stayed somber.

“Heard you’re quite a hero,” came a voice.

“Colleen!” Tom said with genuine warmth. “My favorite bartender.”

“My favorite Brit,” Colleen returned. “Hey, guys. Everyone having fun?”

“Absolutely,” Honor said.

“Who’s your lucky date, Colleen?” Tom asked.

“My brother.”

Tom laughed. “Ah. How uncomfortable for all of us.”

Her laugh was big and hearty. “We’re just friends, as the saying goes. So, Tom, there are no secrets in small towns, as you probably know by now. I heard you saved Honor from drowning. I won’t lie. That’s hot, Tommy boy.”

“What?” Brogan barked. Dana’s eyes narrowed.

“I wasn’t drowning,” she said. Tom raised an eyebrow. “But yes, he was very brave and heroic.”

“Le sigh,” Colleen murmured.

“Stop flirting,” Connor said, joining their little knot. “He’s taken.”

“I know!” Colleen said. “I told you they’d be great together.”

“Did you?” Connor said.

“Yes. I totally called that one. Don’t you remember?”

“No.” Connor gave Tom a long-suffering look. “I tend to ignore most of what she says.”

“To your own detriment,” Colleen said. “I know everything.”

“What’s eight times seven?” her brother asked.

“Everything except math.” She grinned at Honor.

“What about us?” Dana said. “Did you call Brogan and me?”

An awkward silence fell like an undercooked cake. “No, Dana,” Colleen said frostily. “Can’t say that I did.”

“I know. It took us totally by surprise, too.” She smiled—too hard, Honor thought, and for a second, she felt a flash of pity. Dana was an outsider; here with Brogan, but without a...a gang, as it were. Drawing attention to herself, well, that was Dana’s way of making sure she wasn’t forgotten.

She was insecure. Funny. Honor had never noticed that before.

“I hope you guys will be really happy,” she said, and Colleen sighed.

“Thank you,” Brogan said gently.

“Yeah, thanks!” Dana chirped. “Babe, let’s dance, what do you say?” With that, she pulled Brogan onto the dance floor and slid her arms around him.

“I hate her,” Colleen said. “I need a drink. Conn, come with me. I’m going to find you a date who’s not your twin sister. See you later, guys.”

Which left her standing alone with Tom. “Hi,” she said.

“Hallo.” He glanced around. “Shall we sit?” he asked, and her feet practically cried with gratitude.

He cared about her. She knew that. He may have even liked her.

But he didn’t love her. All that shone from Brogan’s eyes when he looked at Dana did not shine from Tom’s. He was a tangled ball of emotions, Tom Barlow was, and whatever affection or attraction he felt for her was snarled in with disappointment and past heartbreak and possibly even some fear, then walled behind a six-foot cement barricade. The gentler, sweeter emotions were buried deep, flashing through only in times of duress, or loneliness.

Because Tom was a lonely man, and this acknowledgment made her feel a bit like crying.

“So,” she began, but then Charlie was there, bounding up to Tom’s side, his black hair flopping in his eyes.

“Tom, Abby said she might be interested in the boxing tournament,” he said, and then those gray eyes did light up, and Honor’s heart ached with the hope that flashed there, the helpless, hapless love he so obviously carried for this boy who was never his stepson.

Dang it.

She was in love.

“Listen,” Abby said. “I might be interested, but probably not. I’m enough of a pariah with boys, okay?” She flopped down in the chair next to Honor.

“Yeah, right,” Charlie said, blushing furiously.

“Charlie, you have no idea, because you’re so nice,” Abby said easily. “But seriously. My uncle is the police chief. My idiot brother shows my fat na**d baby pictures to anyone who comes through the door. Dad glares at every boy in town, and no one can forget the fact that my mother came to a school concert dressed as a Hobbit.”

“Then being a kick-ass boxer can only help,” Tom said, glancing at Charlie. “Right, mate?”

“Yeah! Totally!” Charlie said. He sat down next to Tom, and Tom’s eyes met Honor’s.

This was why he was with her, Honor Holland, perpetual wallflower and old baseball glove. Because of Charlie.

Here she was again, in love with a man who didn’t love her back.

“Another dedication, folks,” said the DJ. “To Dana from the man who can’t wait to be your husband, ‘You’re Having My Baby’ by Paul Anka.”

“Oh, my God,” Abby said. “Honor, aren’t you friends with that guy? Make him stop.”

“Yes, darling, please do,” Tom said.