Beach Blanket Santa

Or whether he’d only imagined Sarah’s warm brown eyes registering interest as she’d held his gaze, saying good night.

    Sarah padded toward the kitchen in her slippers thinking she’d heard noises there. But it was after two in the morning. Surely Matt couldn’t be up? She rounded the corner, then stopped in her tracks. It was Matt standing nude on the far side of the open refrigerator door! All she could spy from her position was the top of his gloriously muscled chest, bare shoulders, and his deep blue eyes peering in her direction.
    “Sarah?” he asked with surprise. “What are you doing up?”
    She took a giant step back, hands to her cheeks, which felt as hot as coals. “I…uh…” She dropped her hands with a questioning look. “What are you doing up?”
    He glanced downward as if checking something, then once again met her eyes. It was pretty hard to tell in the dim light of the kitchen, but Sarah could almost swear his face had colored as well. “I’m just getting a snack.”
    “Do you always eat naked?” she blurted out, the words racing off her tongue.
    A slow, sly grin worked its way across his sexy face. “Not usually,” he said, shutting the refrigerator door.
    Sarah gasped and shut her eyes. “Ah!”
    She’d hoped she would hear him making his retreat. Or at least, goodness knows, grabbing a dishtowel. Instead she just heard silence, coupled with competing winds.
    “Well, they may be a little ratty, but I don’t think my camp shorts look that bad.”
    Sarah peeked between splayed fingers to see he was right. In fact, what he wore—something akin to boxers—made him look absolutely terrific. He smiled and held out some cheese. “I was just sitting down for a bite. Want to join me?”
    “Will there be wine involved?” she asked, thinking she needed it badly. Not a whole lot, just a small glass. Enough to calm her nerves—and erase the picture she’d just envisioned.
    “There could be.”
    “Do you think you could put a few more clothes on?”
    He laughed warmly. “Anything you’d like. Do you prefer jeans or sweatpants?”
    “Doesn’t matter,” she said, feeling her cheeks warm again.
    “Why don’t you pick the wine while I go change?”

    Sarah found the corkscrew with unsteady fingers. Staying here alone with Matt wasn’t nearly as easy as she’d imagined. Every time he centered those gorgeous blue eyes on hers, the memories came racing back. Most of them, anyhow.
    “Still don’t have it open yet?” Matt asked, resurfacing in record time. He wore jeans and an old gray sweatshirt. Only his feet were bare as before.
    Sarah grimaced, wrestling with the bottle. “Cork seems to be stuck.”
    “Here, let me help with that.”
    He stepped forward to take the bottle, and Sarah’s heart beat faster. It was hard to forget what being in his arms had been like. More impossible still to erase the memory of his kiss.
    Matt easily opened the wine and poured them each a glass. Once he’d set some cheese and crackers on a platter, they each settled down on one of the barstools abutting the center island.
    “I’m sorry I walked in on you that way,” Sarah began.
    “Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. You had no way to know I was out here.”
    “No.”
    It niggled at Sarah that neither of them had brought up their previous night together. Her practical side longed to finally clear the air, but her more emotional self wasn’t sure she could take it. Being told by a guy why you weren’t appealing to him was never a joy. Although she’d guessed her besotted behavior had something to do with it, she’d always had a feeling there’d been something more. Something else about that evening she hadn’t completely understood.

    They sat for a moment in awkward silence, both nibbling on cheese and crackers as the storm continued to rage outdoors. At this pace, there’d be no getting out of here tomorrow, or maybe even the day after that. Though it was hard to focus on leaving with the soft light from the kitchen surrounding Sarah in its homey glow. She looked so sweet sitting there in her pajama pants and sweatshirt, just like a vision from a dream. He’d watched her dreaming once before.
    “Sarah?” he asked, then sipped from his wine. “Can I ask you a question?”
    “I don’t see why not.”
    “Why did you tell me to go?”
    She glanced at him, taken aback, as if she hadn’t expected the question. “Me?”
    “Yes. You . And that was after a whole night of you