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Here’s to hoping he can do the same for dinner with his parents.
Chapter Twelve
It shouldn’t have been a surprise, of course, that Holden’s parents had booked a hotel in La Jolla. No doubt being in the same zip code as Avery would have had them breaking out in hives, anyway.
Still, as they made the exceptionally long drive to the exceptionally expensive hotel in the exceptionally clogged California traffic, Avery found herself feeling anything but exceptional.
True, that could have had something to do with the fact that she’d demolished half a cake on her own as the day progressed, but something told her it wasn’t quite that.
It was that she felt, well, stupid.
She’d spent five hours doing her makeup, her hair, picking out just the right outfit, and as they neared the hotel, she was reminded of just how tightly her hair was pinned up, just how long and itchy this skirt was, how staid and starched she’d become.
It wasn’t her.
Holden had even blinked at her when he’d come home after visiting with his mom, his mouth half open.
“What happened to you?” he’d asked.
“We’re still going to dinner, right?” She’d shrugged.
He’d said they were, but he hadn’t elaborated on his shock. He hadn’t needed to.
After all, the last time she’d had dinner at the Morris house, she’d worn a pair of short shorts with holes in the protruding pockets and a suggestive T-shirt advertising a lollipop brand.
It went without saying that Mrs. Morris had not found the outfit charming. But time had passed since then. Almost six years, in fact. She was an adult now, and she was capable of behaving herself and holding her tongue…if only for one night.
She opened her purse and glanced at the emergency flask she’d packed herself. A little liquid courage never hurt anything, right?
Holden pulled into the huge parking lot, and they stared at the perfectly manicured landscape for a moment before turning to face each other.
“I can still turn around, you know. Tell them you’re sick,” he offered.
She pulled the flask from her purse and took a long pull before offering it to Holden.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Straight tequila.” She winced. “Gets the job done, though.”
He held up a hand. “I’m good. And don’t worry. My parents know what this means to me. You’re going to be fine. I even asked my mother to try and be a little nicer to you while we were out today.”
“Oh. Good.” She nodded. This, she knew, was Holden’s way of trying to smooth things over…again. He’d attempted it before, of course, and each time he seemed to think he’d curtailed his mother’s outright hostility.
Instead, Mrs. Morris just found different, more sneaky ways of letting Avery know just how much she disapproved of her.
So, all she had to do was find out which method Holden’s mom had decided on tonight.
Avery stowed her emergency flask then hopped from the truck and met Holden around the front of the car. Without hesitation, he placed his hand on the small of her back and led her inside, and her entire body sang at his touch.
What had he said? His parents knew what this meant to him? What exactly did that mean?
After all, they already knew her—and knew her fairly well. So, what was so special about tonight? What had changed?
She frowned, then quickly pasted a smile on her face as she spotted Holden’s parents at a table in the far corner of the room. Already, they had two opened bottles of wine on the table and Holden’s mother was eyeing Avery wearily over the top of her lifted wineglass. She took a sip then stood and outstretched her arms for her son.
“Holden, darling, come sit down.” Holden embraced her, and his mother kissed him on both cheeks.
“Avery, nice to see you again, too,” she added, almost as an afterthought. Holden glanced at his father from the corner of his eye, but the older man only gave one solemn nod.
