One Week with the Marine (Love on Location)

“Nice to see you both, of course.” He didn’t bother standing. No doubt he would chalk this up to injuries sustained during his years of combat, but Avery knew what it really was—a power play. In Holden’s family, it’s what everything came down to.

“We ordered the chef’s tasting menu,” Mrs. Morris chimed. “Thought it might be fun. Seven courses and everything.”

Avery glanced down and spotted the array of silverware in front of her, on both sides of her plate and a few in front, too. Of course, she’d photographed enough weddings to know how to conduct herself at a formal meal, but that didn’t change the fact that she knew exactly what Mrs. Morris was doing. In fact, she knew it so deep in her bones that she could have guessed the next words the other woman would say before they came out of her mouth.

“I’ll, of course, help guide you through the silverware, dear. I know it can be confusing.” She offered Avery another genial smile, and Avery simpered in return.

“How kind of you.”

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” Holden’s father’s words all sounded like commands, and Avery was shocked to find that he was speaking to her rather than Holden.

“Oh?” she asked.

He gave a curt nod. “You look less like your mother than I remember. Did you dye your hair? Put on some weight?”

Avery blinked, her mouth open.

“How is your mother?” Mrs. Morris asked quickly, sounding as if she were asking about someone who’d recently been diagnosed with terminal leprosy. “I haven’t heard much about her lately.”

This, Avery knew, was an out-and-out lie. If there was one thing the people of their tiny Maryland town couldn’t get enough of, it was gossiping about Emily Forrester. Which husband had come begging her to take him back? Who was her newest boy toy? What was she doing all those nights, hanging around the bar?

She was like the town mascot—except instead of a fluffy animal or marauding pirate, she was a fifty-something woman in a miniskirt and platform heels.

“She’s well, I think. I haven’t talked to her lately.”

“Busy on her honeymoon?” Mrs. Morris asked.

Avery’s smile stiffened. Her mother hadn’t remarried since her last divorce almost a year ago.

“Something like that,” she said.

“Right,” Holden interrupted. “Looks like these are for us.” He nodded toward a waitress who carried a tray laden with small dishes on which sat even smaller spoons.

“Amuse-bouches.” Mr. Morris nodded.

“That translates to ‘the perfect bite,’” Mrs. Morris said to Avery.

Avery, in respo

nse, reached for the wine, filled her glass, and made sure the bottle wasn’t far from reach. “How nice.”

Holden glanced at everyone in turn, and when their plates were all in front of them, he cleared his throat. “Well, I’d like to propose a toast.” He lifted his glass. “Today, Avery discovered that she would be featured in a gallery, and that’s certainly cause to celebrate. Congratulations, Avery.” He grinned at her, and for the first time all night, her smile actually felt genuine.

If only for a moment.

“And to Holden,” Mr. Morris added, “and his continued military success. May you find many promotions and victories in your future.” He clinked glasses with his wife, then offered a reluctant “cheers” to Avery.

They drank, and Avery fought the urge to open her throat and toss back the entire glass. After all, the sooner she could get her buzz going, the better.

When they’d barely touched their appetizer, however, another round of food came. This time, it was shrimp cocktail.

The waitress sat their plates down again, sweeping away the round before this, and Avery stared wearily at her shrimp fork.

“I’m so excited to see what the gallery does this weekend. You should see Avery’s work, it’s incredible,” Holden said.

“Yes, I think I saw a few pieces in the penny saver mailer last year,” Mrs. Morris said.

Avery smiled brightly, then picked up her shrimp fork, knowing that the other woman was watching all the while. She’d show the old bat that she wasn’t trailer trash anymore.