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The waitress nodded and strode away.
“I bet that hurt,” Holden said, nodding toward the waitress and her piercings.
“She pulls it off,” Avery said. “I can’t say I’d be able to do the same, so more power to her.”
He nodded. “Oh, you could definitely pull it off. You’d look good in a paper sack.”
Avery looked around, trying to avoid that soft, thoughtful expression Holden got sometimes. She didn’t know why, but it always left her with a feeling of impending doom. It only happened every now and then, but it was something she had to shut down.
Fast.
For some inexplicable reason, she wondered if he looked at his other lady friends the same way. If his full mouth curved into a smile while he examined their figures, or daydreamed about other things her mind wouldn’t allow her to think about.
Probably not. Not that it mattered.
“Listen, Avery, I wanted to ask you something—” He stretched his hand out, palm up on the table. But before he was able to say anything else, their pitcher of beer arrived, and the drink sloshed across the table as the woman set it down. Then, without a word of apology, she sauntered away.
Holden sopped up the liquid with his napkin, and Avery seized her moment.
“Come to think of it, I think I saw that waitress last week when I was here on a date.”
Holden nodded as he cleaned the table, urging her on. She’d expected more of a reaction from him. She needed time to think, but her brain scrambled for names, only coming up with characters from late-night talk shows and children’s cartoons. Somehow, she didn’t think Bullwinkle would pass unnoticed.
She had been on one date since his last tour, but it was definitely not one she’d care to remember or relive. Maybe embellishing the truth would be a better alternative…
She cleared her throat. “Yeah, his name was Fred Fitzgerald. He’s a fire captain.”
“You guys hit it off?” Holden sipped his beer, leaning back in his seat. Avery swirled her own drink, not daring to distract herself with it.
Had she and Fred hit it off? They did as much as one could hit it off with a traveling kitchen wares salesman who insisted on discussing his love of origami and the fine art of crocheting.
Which was to say, not at all.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if his clammy hands and cold sweat hadn’t haunted her dreams for a week after the end of their date.
Yes, lying was definitely the best option.
“Well, the real question is what didn’t we hit it off of, if you know what I mean.” She raised her glass to his, clinking them together before she took a small swig. All the while, she was careful to maintain eye contact.
That would be the only way to convince him, even if her innuendo made literally no sense outside of sex on a putting green.
“I’m glad California is agreeing with you.” He sipped his beer.
That was it? That was all he had to say?
Avery internally groaned and asked the question she hated hearing the answer to. “How are your folks?”
“They’re doing well. Mom was promoted to head of the D.A.R.”
She concentrated every muscle in her body toward not rolling her eyes. The Daughters of the American Revolution. What a laugh. Mrs. Morris had wanted to sign her up, willing the universe to make Avery acceptable enough to associate with her son, no matter how many decades she had to go back in order to legitimize her. But as it turned out, Avery’s family were of French descent and had been dissenters against the American Revolution.
Add the trailer park and the single mother out of wedlock into the mix, and Mrs. Morris was more than a little gung ho to be rid of Avery Forrester. Not that the woman had ever been one to put much effort into hiding that fact.
Despite all their history, Avery had never been able to bring herself to tell Holden how she felt about his mother. Besides, she was pretty sure he’d already heard enough straight from the old cow’s mouth.
“Dad retired from the service. He’s thinking of running for congress next term.”
“Hmm.” Avery hummed into her beer. It was hardly a shock. Political office was the next natural step for Morris men. Holden had come from a long line of senators and attorney generals. And while they might not have been Kennedys, Holden’s parents were making one hell of an effort to fix that fact with their children.
