A Beaumont Christmas Wedding

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Authors: Sarah M. Anderson
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Where he could look at her over a table with only the bare minimum interruption.
    But the place was hopping with Christmas shoppers taking a break. Shopping bags crowded the aisle, and there were more than a few people wearing elf hats and reindeer antlers. The hum of conversation was so loud he almost couldn’t hear Bing Crosby crooning Christmas carols on the sound system.
    “We can go someplace else,” he offered to Whitney.
    She pulled down her sunglasses and shot him a look, as if he’d dared her to throw a diva fit. “This is fine.”
    Matthew glanced around the restaurant again. He really didn’t want to sit at a bar-high counter next to her. On the other hand, then he could maybe brush against her arm, her thigh.
    They took the only two spots left in the whole place. A shaft of sunlight warmed their faces. Whitney took off her sunglasses and her knit hat and turned her face to the light.
    She exhaled, a look of serene joy radiating from her. She was so beautiful, so unassuming, that she simply took his breath away.
    Then it stopped. She shook back to herself and gave him an embarrassed look. “Sorry,” she said, patting her hair back into place. “It’s a lot colder here than it is in California. I miss the sun.”
    “Don’t apologize.” Her cheeks colored under his gaze. “Let’s order. Then tell me about California.” She notched a delicate eyebrow at him in challenge. “And I mean more than the basics. I want to know about
you
.”
    The corners of her mouth curved up as she nodded. But the waitress came, so they turned their attention to the daily specials. She ordered the soup and salad. He picked the steak sandwich. The process seemed relatively painless.
    But Matthew noticed the way the waitress’s eyes had widened as Whitney had asked about the soup du jour.
Oh, no
, he thought. The woman had recognized her.
    Maybe it wouldn’t be a problem. The restaurant was busy, after all. The staff had better things to do than wonder why Whitney Wildz had suddenly appeared at the counter, right?
    He turned his attention back to Whitney. Which was not easy to do, crammed into the two seats in this window. But he managed to pull it off. “Now,” he said, fixing her with what he really hoped wasn’t a wolfish gaze, “tell me about you.”
    She shrugged.
    The waitress came back with some waters and their coffee. “Anything else?” she asked with an ultraperky smile.
    “No,” Matthew said forcefully. “Thank you.”
    The woman’s eyes cut back to Whitney again and she grinned in disbelief as she walked away. Oh, hell.
    But Whitney hadn’t noticed. She’d unwrapped her straw and was now wrapping the paper around her fingers, over and over.
    Matthew got caught up in watching her long fingers bend the wrapper again and again and forgot about the waitress.
    “You’re confusing me,” she said, staring hard at her scrap of paper. “Again.”
    “How?” She gave him the side eye. “No, seriously—please tell me. It’s not my job here to confuse you.”
    She seemed to deflate, just a little. But it didn’t last. “You’re looking at me like that.”
    He forced his attention to his own straw. Hopefully, that would give her the space she needed. “Like how?”
    The silence stretched between them like a string pulling tight. He was afraid he might snap. And he never snapped. He was unsnappable, for God’s sake.
    But then his mind flashed back to the bare skin of her back, how the zipper had ended just at the waistband of her panties. All he’d seen was a pretty edge of lace. Now he couldn’t get his mind off it.
    “I can’t decide if you think I’m the biggest pain in the neck of your life or if you’re— If you—” She exhaled, the words coming out in a rush. “If you like me. And when you look at me like that, it just...makes it worse.”
    “I can’t help it,” he admitted. It was easier to say that without looking at her. Maybe this counter seating wasn’t all bad.
    Her hands

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