The Perfect Match

The Perfect Match by Kristan Higgins Page B

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Authors: Kristan Higgins
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the garage by
eight, and Dad was usually in bed by nine-thirty. Farmer’s hours and all
that.
    She folded her hands in front of her. “Dad, I’m embarrassed
enough as it is. I don’t need people thinking I had some kind of breakdown at
O’Rourke’s and have to hire all these people.”
    Dad was quiet for a minute. “Well, you did have a little breakdown, Petunia.”
    “I just lost my cool. It wasn’t as big a deal as it
sounds.”
    “And when have you ever lost your cool?” he asked.
    Dang. She didn’t answer.
    “Honey, I know it doesn’t seem like I pay too much attention,”
Dad said. “But I know a few things. When your mother died, you...” His voice
grew soft. “You grew up fast. You did everything you were supposed to, and you
never needed much from the rest of us. Cornell, Wharton, and then you came home
and looked after me.”
    She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I really wanted
to, Daddy. I love my life.”
    “I believe that.” He paused. “But I also know you’ve loved
Brogan a long time.”
    It was so mortifying, hearing the words said aloud like that.
She shrugged, not trusting her voice.
    “And I always did hope things would work out for you two,” he
said. “I can only imagine how you must feel, hearing that your best friend is
marrying him instead of you.”
    “It was just a surprise,” she said, and her voice shook.
    He covered her hand with his own. “So this is a turning point.
Time for you to devote some thought to what you want in life, rather than just
waiting around for that bozo to call you.”
    Well, hell. Dad did pay attention, after all.
    “I’m not asking,” Dad said. “I’m ordering. As your father and
as the legal owner of Blue Heron.”
    “So bossy. You can’t tie your shoes without me.”
    “I’ve actually gotten pretty good at that,” Dad said, smiling
so that his kind eyes crinkled in the corners. “Mrs. J.’s been teaching me. So
here’s the deal. Your hours have been cut. You start at nine, you leave at five,
or I’m dragging you out myself.”
    “Right,” Honor said. “Like anyone can get a full day’s work
done in that time.”
    “That’s the magic of my plan,” Dad said. “You won’t get it
done. You and Ned and Jessica will get it done. Now I’m going to the Old House
before Mrs. J. and your grandmother get into a fight over how long to cook the
potatoes, and you have to come, too.”
    Honor sighed. “All right. Give me a few minutes, okay?”
    Dad kissed the top of her head and left. After a minute, she
went outside. It was already dark, and the stars spread across the sky in an
endless, creamy sweep. The air smelled like wood smoke.
    She loved Blue Heron with all her heart. It was home, and it
was her pride and joy, too. In the eleven years since grad school, a lot had
changed around here. When she came on board as director of sales, the vineyard
was a cute, family-run business. Rather than rest on those laurels, she came up
with a business plan that enhanced everything good about the place and added ten
times more—prestige, visibility, recognition—all without losing the homeyness of
eight generations of the Holland family farm. She’d proposed the construction of
the post-and-beam tasting room and gift shop ten years ago, overhauled the
labeling and brand, created a marketing campaign that brought Blue Heron’s name
to the attention of every outlet that mattered, from the New York Times to Wine Spectator . Blue
Heron was practically a required stop on any tour of the Finger Lakes wine
region. Honor knew she had a lot to be proud of. She loved working with her
family, loved—to be honest—being the one in charge of the business end.
Delegating had never been her strong suit.
    But she never thought she’d have to worry about aging eggs.
Never really pictured living in the New House with her dad and Mrs. J.
forever.
    There was supposed to be more. A husband. A family of her
own.
    She wanted to be special to someone.

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