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room. She did a lot of work there, and also watched TV, most often with her laptop open, doing all the things that she hadn’t gotten to during the workday.
    Going into her bedroom, she opened her closet and frowned at the sea of navy blue and gray. Hmm. Her clothes were either neat-as-a-pin business attire, or jeans and a Blue Heron sweatshirt, and she didn’t want to be wearing either if Brogan was about to...you know.
    Her hands were sweating.
    I have something important to tell you, and I want to do it in person. I hope—I think—it’ll make you really happy.
    What else could it be?
    From the bookcase, her mother’s image smiled out at her.
    Twenty years gone, and Honor still missed her. They’d been so close, and so alike, both practical with a healthy dose of yearning thrown in: Honor for a family, which Mom had had right out of college; Mom for travel and possibly a career, which Honor had in spades. Funny, that. They both wanted what the other had.
    Mom would’ve liked Brogan, Honor thought. Yes. She definitely would’ve.
    She showered, shaved her legs, moisturized. If she went back to Brogan’s house, she’d have to call, or Dad would call the chief of police, Levi Cooper, who happened to be married to Faith.
    She’d cross that bridge later on. Put on a pink dress she’d worn to a wedding a few years ago, added a gray cardigan so she didn’t look quite so dressed up, but still suitably feminine. Honor looked at her shoe options. Flats and a couple of pairs of basic pumps. She didn’t own slutty shoes. Too much to swing by Faith’s and borrow some? Probably.
    Calling a goodbye to Dad and Mrs. J., Honor got into her car, shivering at the cold. Drove down the Hill into the tiny village. Tonight, it looked more beautiful than ever, a coating of snow on the ground, lights in the windows of the houses and storefronts that ringed the town green, Crooked Lake dark and vast behind. The sky was a swirl of stars. O’Rourke’s was typically full, as the little pub was open year-round, the only place in town that was, and she could hear laughter and music from inside.
    So...romantic. There was no other word for it, though romantic didn’t figure a lot into Honor’s life.
    Tonight would be different.
    Brogan’s Porsche was already in the parking lot.
    This is it, she told herself, wishing abruptly she’d told her sisters to come tonight. But maybe it was better this way. Or...maybe...Brogan had asked them to come tonight, so they could see him popping the question live and in person. That would be just like him. The guy had flare.
    Proposing to him had been a bad move. Men liked to do the work, according to the nine books she’d read recently on understanding the male psyche.
    She touched her pearls for luck, then opened the door to O’Rourke’s. “Hey, Honor,” said Colleen from behind the bar. “Wow, you look nice!”
    “Check you out,” said Connor at the same time.
    “Thanks,” she murmured, not really seeing the O’Rourke twins, who ran the bar.
    Brogan was waiting for her, that knowing, incredibly sexy half smile on his face.
    Oh, Lordy. Could it be true? That in just a few minutes, she’d be engaged to marry this guy? She smiled back, heart galloping. “Great to see you,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek. He took her coat and hung it up, ever the gentleman, and, oh, man, she loved him more than ever, and that was saying a lot.
    Somewhere far in the back reaches of her psyche, the eggs were saying something about assumptions and whatever, sort of like an irritating storm warning running along the bottom of the television screen when you’re watching a really good show. Whatever. It was hard to form rational thought at the moment, which was odd, since her trademark was being the sensible one, the dependable, calm member of the Holland family.
    Not this night. This night, she was just a woman in love.
    The thoughts came in disjointed flashes, the only thing registering solidly was