One Week with the Marine (Love on Location)

Her voice had taken on a slightly desperate edge that had him searching her face for clues as to what he was missing. She either really wanted to make a sand critter, or she was having some sort of nervous breakdown. In either case, he found himself nodding in agreement and scanning the beach for shells.

But as he watched her scurrying ahead of him, her feet kicking up sugary sand as she ran, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow tipped her off to his plan. She’d been acting strange all day. Earlier, at the restaurant, the impromptu wing-eating contest had made conversation near impossible. Even now, his lips burned from the heat of the sauce. Then, afterward, she’d been babbling a mile a minute, as if her constant chatter would hold him off or something.

Not going to happen.

A welcome sense of calm overtook him, and the steely resolve he usually reserved for battle settled into his bones. If she was on to him and thought he was going to be sidetracked, she was sadly mistaken. He’d let her squirm away from the truth for far too long. He was a man on a mission.

And Holden Morris never failed a mission.

“Okay, so what’s the plan? Did you want to make an animal or—”

Avery’s whole body seemed to relax as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about you, but that’s beyond my skill level. What about a castle? It’s probably the easiest thing to do, and we can get it done before the tide comes in.”

Maybe waiting a little longer was for the best, anyway. She was twitchier than a Marine in a minefield today. At least once the sun had set, they wouldn’t be in the harsh light of day, able to see every emotion, every thought, passing over one another’s faces. If she had to let him down, it would be easier for her if she didn’t have to see his face. Because the last thing he wanted to do was make her sad.

He threw himself into the task at hand, managing it like he did any other. Unfortunately, Avery did her version of the same, so for every perfectly calibrated, even turret he formed with their broke-ass bucket, she was right next to him making one that looked like it had come out the backside of a grizzly.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked, as she lifted the bucket up to reveal yet another malformed mound of sand. “What kind of castle could that foundation possibly support? One little siege or dragon attack and the whole frigging thing is going to come down. And besides, you just plopped that shit-pile right on top of my moat.”

She laughed, propping one hand on her slender hip. “Oh my God. Could you really be that much of a control freak? You seriously need to get a grip, soldier boy.”

“Fine.” He eyed the dilapidated castle and cocked his head, taking it in, in all its pathetic glory. “I’m going to think of it as abstract, then. Art over function,” he said, shooting her a wink. He snagged the bucket from her and filled it, then dumped out a second pile, just as fucked up as hers. “See, I can adapt.”

She gave him a thumbs-up of approval and began collecting more shells for decoration.

“Myla and I built a sandcastle one time on a trip to Puerto Rico. Actually, scratch that,” she said with a laugh. “We built half a sandcastle. Then, we got super drunk from sucking down mojitos in the sun and wound up pretending we were Gulliver and stomped all over it and the Lilliputians hiding inside.”

Her smile was soft with the memory, but her tone held a hint of sadness.

“Is everything okay with you guys?” he asked, pushing a spiral shell into place on the face of their castle and then wiping the sand off his hands.

“Yeah, we’re great,” she said, a little too brightly. She paused and lifted one shoulder. “I mean, we don’t get to see each other as much as we used to. She and Oliver are falling all over each other. New love and all that, but that’s the way it goes, you know? I’m so happy for her. They’re a great couple.”

He could tell she really believed that, but there was no doubting she missed her friend.

“So, what do you do for fun when I’m not here to drag around the city?” He wanted to cut his tongue off for a second, because he was just begging for more tales of her sexploits with Fred Fitzgerald. Luckily, she let him off easy.

“Well, Rodrigo and I have grown extremely close. He’s my TV binge buddy. As long as I’m willing to scratch him behind the ears, he’s willing to sit on the couch and pretty much let me see any show I want. So, we watch a lot of the Travel Channel. I actually made a corkboard map with little pushpins of all the places I’d like to go,” she said, her cheeks growing a little pink at the admission.

“Traveling is the best,” he agreed. “It’s one of the best things about the military. I’ve gotten to see so much of the world already.”

She shot him a questioning look and opened her mouth to say something but then snapped it shut, turning her attention to the scallop shell she held in her palm.

“What?” he asked. “What were you about to say?”

She chewed on her lower lip for a second before meeting his gaze. “Do you love it?”

He eyed her thoughtfully and let the question roll around in his head. “The military?” he asked, to buy some time.

“Yeah. Like, is it your true calling? Do you feel like it’s what you were born to do?”

He faced the rolling waves for a long moment and then nodded. “I love the camaraderie, needed the discipline, and I appreciate the experiences I’ve had. My calling? I think it is.”

“I’ve always wondered,” she said softly. “I mean, I know you’ve made it a positive experience, and you’ve thrived there. But if your family hadn’t pushed you so hard to enlist, do you think you’d have chosen that path?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. It wasn’t a question anyone had ever asked him, and one he’d never bothered to ask himself. He’d joined the Marines like his father and his grandfather before him. It wasn’t a choice, it just…was.

He watched her closely as she plucked a seagull feather from the sand and stuck it into the top of the highest turret.