“Good point.” Maybe she was being too flippant and dismissive, but it was hard to think clearly around him. At the moment, he was wearing board shorts and flip-flops, and a dusting of sand on his bare chest. She couldn’t keep herself from noticing he was a true redhead, with ginger-colored chest hair that came together in an arrow shape, pointing south. She found herself wishing she’d worn more attractive clothes for her flight instead of the usual yoga pants and shapeless top.

He helped her move the bottles from the case to a sideboard bar—vodka, tequila, rum, bourbon. “You’re bringing coal to Newcastle,” he said. “This is the O’Donnell place. Booze is as plentiful as water.”

“It’s my contribution to the feast. Along with this amazing centerpiece.” It was a crazy arrangement of birds-of-paradise in the shape of a turkey.

“Nice,” he said. “Mom will love it.”

They finished unloading everything and he stuck out his hand. “Welcome to Sea Breeze. Yes, my parents named their house. I had nothing to do with it.”

She looked around the kitchen—granite countertops, stainless-steel appliances, a view of the flat forever of the Atlantic. “It’s beautiful. Really nice of your family to have me.” She looked around the kitchen again. “Where is everyone?”

“The beach,” he said. “We’re having a beach day.”

“Sounds nice. I’ve never been to the beach on Thanksgiving.”

“I just came back to get the turkey in the oven and get a jump on some of the side dishes.”

“Oh, he cooks, too? I’m impressed.”

“Just wait until you taste my cooking. I’m awesome in the kitchen.”

She thought he’d be awesome in any room of the house. “Wait a minute. I need to alert the media.”

“How’s that?”

“I need to tell them that hell has frozen over. It’s Thanksgiving, and a man is preparing the feast all by himself.”

“Not anymore, he’s not.” He tossed her an apron. “You’re going to help me.”

“Fair enough. I guess.”

“Tell you what,” he said. “Get your beach things on and you can give me a hand in the kitchen. Then we’ll head down to the beach and join the others.”

“Sounds good.”

He helped her with her bag and showed her to a guest room, which was airy and bright with white painted plantation shutters and bedding in tropical prints, a stack of fluffy towels in the adjoining bathroom.

“You should find everything you need here,” he said. “My mom loves having company.”

“This is an amazing room. Better than a five-star hotel.”

“If you forgot anything, you’ll find stuff in the closet—extra swimsuits, robes, flip-flops, you name it. Just help yourself.” As he set her suitcase on the bamboo luggage rack and stepped out, she felt herself, for the first time in forever, feeling happy about the holiday.