Kristan Higgins - The Perfect Match

“This is very uncomfortable.”

“Just theoretically.”

“Yes, Levi. Theoretically,” Faith said.

“Better you than me, pal,” Connor muttered.

Levi closed his eyes briefly. “It’s not your looks. You’re a little...unapproachable.”

Honor’s mouth dropped open. “What?” She was not! She was very pleasant! Very approachable. Extremely polite. Like...finishing-school polite. First Lady’s social secretary polite and pleasant. That was basically her life, being nice to people all the livelong day, no matter how much she occasionally wanted to strangle them.

“Exactly,” Connor agreed. “You’re—what do you girls call it? Walled off. Shut down. You have armor.”

“I don’t have armor!” Honor barked. “I don’t! What armor? There’s no armor!” Spike barked in agreement.

“You want to go out for dinner?” Levi asked Faith.

“Maybe you’re just unaware of the vibe you give off,” Colleen said. “The hairbands, for example. Do they scream sex? No.”

“I’m not unapproachable,” Honor said to her brother-in-law.

“Okay, you’re not. I apologize. Faith, save me.”

“I have an idea,” Faith said. “Honor, pretend you’re meeting Connor for the first time. Like you guys are on a first date, you’ve been chatting online, but this is the first time you’ve laid eyes on each other.”

“Great idea,” Honor said. “Sit, Connor.”

Unapproachable. Armor. Please. Spike came over and whined to be picked up. She obliged, kissing the dog on the head. So approachable. Even animals thought so.

“That dog will have to go,” Colleen said. “It’s worse than a cat.”

“How dare you,” Honor murmured, giving Colleen a look. “Come on, Connor. Get in character.”

“Yeah, Conn, get to it,” said Colleen. “We have a bar to run. Who’s opening tonight, anyway?”

“Monica.” Connor sighed and sat obediently across from Honor at the foot of the bed. “Hi, are you Honor? I’m Connor.”

“Oh, Connor and Honor! That rhymes!” Colleen said. “Sorry. Back to you two.”

“Hi, Connor. Nice to meet you.” Totally approachable. She shot Levi an icy glare. He was busy giving Faith a steamy, let’s-get-it-on look.

“You’re even prettier than your picture,” Connor said.

“Thanks.” She smiled brightly.

“Eesh, you look like a wolverine when you smile like that,” Colleen said. “Easy, girl.”

Honor sighed, then tried again, baring only a few teeth this time.

“Now you look feeble. Don’t worry about it, we’ll work on that later. Just keep going.”

Connor was Faith’s age. A nice guy. Good-looking. An excellent bartender. Otherwise, she didn’t know him too well. “So tell me about yourself,” she said.

“Good line,” Faith murmured, swatting at Levi’s hand.

“I’m a bartender who likes the smell of crisp autumn leaves and Johnson’s baby shampoo.”

Honor paused. “That’s kind of creepy.”

“See? You’re gutting me already. I feel emasculated.”

“Well, then, you need to sac up a little, don’t you?”

“And we’re done,” Connor said. “Levi, how about that beer, pal?”

* * *

PRU WENT OFF with the guys, but Faith and Colleen spent another half hour giving her advice on how to talk to men, which was not something Honor would’ve suspected she needed to be taught. With Brogan, she’d just been herself.

Okay, not a great example. Thinking his name still made her brain cringe.

The troops finally left, and Honor got dressed in the outfit Faith had picked out. Jeans (Colleen’s, and they stopped a good four inches below the belly button and felt freakishly uncomfortable), purple suede ankle boots with three-inch heels (Faith’s, obviously), a pale green shirt (Colleen’s), pearls (Mom’s), four silver bracelets (Faith’s) and long, dangling silver earrings (Faith’s again).

Clearly, Honor had no idea how to dress herself. Then again, that was the point. Short hair, better clothes, makeup. She’d be married in no time.

“Droog. This is my husband, Droog.” Okay, it lacked a certain élan.

Spike was sleeping on Honor’s pillow, worn out from emasculating Blue, who wanted very much to love Spike but which Spike wouldn’t allow. Her doggy had been a rescue, so Honor wasn’t sure what her history was with other dogs. Bossy, obviously, which Honor admired.

At any rate, Mrs. J. would take her into her apartment for the night and watch whatever violent TV show she was into this week. The housekeeper loved Spike more than she loved most humans.

She tiptoed down the stairs, terrified of falling in the high-heeled boots and breaking a femur or rupturing her spleen, and went into the kitchen.

“Oh, God!” she blurted. She leaped back into the hallway, pressing her back against the wall. Holy. Fungus. “Sorry, sorry!”

“We weren’t doing anything!” her dad yelled as a kitchen chair crashed to the floor. “It’s not what you think!”

“Honor Grace Holland, why are you sneaking around this house, creeping up on people?” Mrs. Johnson said.

“We were just kissing!” Dad said.

“Is it safe to come back in?” she asked, feeling a laugh start to wriggle around in her stomach.

“Yes! We weren’t...we were just... Oh, jeesh. Is that the phone?”

“Don’t you move, John Holland. We were not kissing, Honor,” Mrs. Johnson said darkly. “Your father, the ridiculous man, asked if he could kiss me just the one time. And just the one time it will be, John Holland, if you can’t keep track of which of your many children is skulking around corners.”

“Okay, okay,” Honor said, going back into the kitchen. Dad’s face was bright red, and Mrs. Johnson looked like she was about to kick a baby dolphin, she was so mad. “I’m sorry I didn’t make more noise. I didn’t know there was a romance unfolding here. I’ll tie a bell around my neck next time.”

“There are no bells required! There is no romance!” Mrs. J. thundered. “It was an experiment only, and one of complete failure, given your intrusion, Honor. We thought you had left with the others. Your father said we were alone.”

“Mrs. J., I’m sorry, okay? Don’t murder my dad.” He sent her a grateful look.

The clock ticked on the wall.

“So,” she said. “Dad and Mrs. J. I like it.”

“There’s nothing to like, you wretched child,” the housekeeper muttered.

“Oh, stop. Your guilty secret is safe with me. But let me tell you, if I’d been Faith, you’d be packed into the back of her car, on your way to a justice of the peace this very minute. And Jack would be dead on the floor of a heart attack.”

“My poor Jackie,” Mrs. J. said. Honor rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, more power to you,” she said. “I’m going on a date. Mrs. J., would you watch Spike?”

“Of course. Where is the little baby now? And why did you name her Spike? She should have a delicate name. A girl’s name. Princess or Sugar-Paws.”

“Or Hyacinth,” Dad said. It was Mrs. Johnson’s first name, and he was gazing at the housekeeper with a dopey smile.

Well, well, well. Honor said good-night and walked out to her car.

Last fall, Dad had decided to start dating...sort of...but after a few failed attempts, he seemed to give up. Mrs. Johnson was single (they all thought; she was a mystery wrapped in an enigma), and she’d been with the family since Mom died.

But a romance between the two of them, huh? If there’d been handwriting on that wall, Honor had missed it completely.

It could work, though. Certainly, Mrs. Johnson was a wonderful (if terrifying) person. She took good care of Dad and all his kids. Certainly, she knew all of them inside out and out.