The Perfect Match Read Free Page A

floating. Every time his name popped up in her email or on her phone, her uterus quivered. And recently, he’d told her he was hoping to cut back on his travel, be around more.
    Maybe the time really was right. Her eggs, his settling down...marriage might be just the thing.
    Yes. She needed a list. She opened her Mac and started typing.

    Shock and awe to get him to see you in different light (think of something memorable).
    Make marriage seem like a logical step in the friendship.
    Do it soon so you don’t chicken out.

    T HREE HOURS LATER , Honor got out of her car, tightened the sash on her beige raincoat, swallowed and went up the steps to Brogan’s house. Her mouth was dry, her hands clammy. If this didn’t work...
    The years are precious, egg-wise.
    Sigh.
    No. Not sigh. Go, team! That was more like it. We want company! she imagined her tiny, aging eggs demanding. In her mind, they were starting to thicken around the middle, wore reading glasses and were developing an affinity for pinochle. Don’t age, she warned them. Mommy’s got company coming.
    For one quick second, she let herself indulge in a mental picture of the future. The New House once again filled with children (or at least one or two). Kids who would romp through the fields and woods with her dad; they’d be able to tell a Riesling grape from a Chablis before they started kindergarten. Children who’d have Brogan’s amazing eyes and her own blond hair. Or maybe Brogan’s thick, curly chestnut hair. Yeah. His was better.
    With that picture firmly in mind, she knocked on Brogan’s door. The smell of garlic was thick in the air, and her stomach rumbled all of a sudden. On top of everything else, Brogan was a good cook.
    “Hey, On!”
    Okay, so he did have a flaw (see? no rose-colored glasses for her), and that was to shorten her five-letter, two-syllable name. She always pictured it spelled On, because Hon would’ve been short for honey, and he never called her that.
    “This is a nice surprise!” he said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. “Come on in.”
    She went in, heart thudding. Remembered to smile. “How are you?” she asked, her voice sounding tight to her own ears.
    “I’m great! Let me just stir this so it doesn’t burn. I hope you can stay for dinner.” He turned to the stove.
    Now or never. Honor untied her sash, closed her eyes and opened the coat, and let it slide to the floor. Oh, crap, she was standing in front of the table, so his view would be blocked. Stepping around it, she waited. Buck naked. Shock and awe, shock and awe... It was chilly in here. She swallowed and waited some more.
    Brogan’s father poked his head into the kitchen. “Smells good—oh. Hello, Honor, dear.”
    Brogan’s father.
    Brogan’s father .
    Oh, fungus .
    Honor dove under the table, knocking over a chair with a crash, crawled a few paces and grappled for the damn coat. Held it in front of her. Noticed the floor could use cleaning.
    “Dear? Are you all right?” Mr. Cain asked.
    “Did you say Honor’s here?” Mrs. Cain.
    God, please kill me, Honor thought, jerking the coat around her shoulders. “Um, one second,” she said, her voice higher than usual.
    Brogan bent down, his face puzzled. “On? What are you doing under—oh, man!”
    “Hi,” she said, trying to get an arm in her sleeve.
    “Dad, Mom, get out for a sec, okay?” He was already wheezing with laughter.
    Where was the damn sleeve? Brogan squatted next to her. “Come on out,” he managed, wiping his eyes. “You’re safe for the moment.”
    She crawled out, then stood, wrapping the coat around her. Tightly. “Surprise,” she said, her face on fire. “Sorry. I’ll try never to be spontaneous again.”
    He tipped her chin up, and there it was, that mischievous, slightly lecherous smile, dancing eyes. Her skin tightened, lust mingling with mortification. “Are you kidding? My father will like you even more than he already does.”
    The words gave her hope. Honor