High-Caliber Holiday by Susan Sleeman

helping the less fortunate, she wouldn’t want to live it in her own life. He was sure of that.
    * * *
    Morgan stared at her plate of salmon, roasted green beans and garlic mashed potatoes. It turned her stomach just looking at the food, but with Brady watching her carefully from across the table, she had to eat. If she mentioned how nauseous she’d been feeling all day, plus the nagging headache that had developed in the last few hours, she suspected he’d insist on Darcie looking at her or worse, he’d drag her to a doctor. Neither was necessary.
    Not when she knew both symptoms were from stress. Just like she’d experienced every day during the trial for the mill. Back then, she’d used exercise and long bubble baths to alleviate her symptoms, and she’d do the same thing tonight.
    First, she had to force down this meal. She took a bite of potatoes and swallowed as she looked at Brady. He was taking in the room, seeming unusually uncomfortable. But why?
    Morgan tried to look through his eyes at the private club with a costly membership fee and was restricted to invitation only. Rich drapes hung on the windows and thick grass cloth wallpaper covered the walls. Pricey linens and place settings sat in front of them, and expensive leather chairs circled the table.
    The word
pretentious
came to mind. She didn’t know Brady’s background, but even with her upbringing, it was easy to see the snobbishness of her parents’ club. She could see why he’d feel out of place while she felt right at home. She’d had dinner here most Friday nights as she’d grown up. Still met her mother here for lunch, which was why it was on her calendar and why Brady had wanted to check it out. Now he was looking like he wished he hadn’t insisted.
    As the host for this meal, it was up to her to make him feel more at ease.
    â€œHow’s your steak?” she asked, to engage him in conversation.
    â€œPerfect,” he replied and sliced another bite. “You come here often?”
    She shook her head and forked a few green beans. “I did growing up, but now only with my mom for lunch. My budget doesn’t stretch to meals like this on my own.”
    â€œI know you said there wasn’t anyone here that you could think of who might target you, but now that we’re here, has anyone come to mind?’
    â€œNo, why? Are you seeing someone suspicious?”
    â€œNo. Everyone seems too caught up in their own world to even notice you exist.”
    â€œOuch.” She laughed.
    â€œYou know what I mean.”
    â€œI do. They’re kind of a pretentious lot, aren’t they?”
    â€œNot something I’m used to, that’s for sure.” He looked down and held out the tie the maître d’ had provided. “You should have warned me I had to wear a coat and tie. I own them, you know, and I wouldn’t have to wear this house jacket.”
    â€œI’m sorry. I didn’t even think of it. My dad and Preston don’t think anything of borrowing a coat if they drop in unexpectedly.”
    â€œI doubt they were wearing five-year-old Wranglers and a T-shirt,” he said, the discomfort heavy in his words.
    She should have considered his attire—maybe that he hadn’t shaved—but she liked the scruffy beard forming. Liked the way his jeans and T-shirt fit. She couldn’t very well tell him that.
    â€œYou mentioned growing up in Minnesota,” she said, changing the subject. “How’d you end up in Portland?”
    â€œIt started with the marines right out of high school. I left them about five years ago and took time to backpack across the country. You know, to get a good look at the place I’d been fighting for. County had a job opening for a sniper, and I liked how open and accepting people in Portland are. Seemed like a good fit and a good place to finish my college degree.”
    â€œHow long have you lived