Christmas Letters by Debbie Macomber
Wynn had thoughtfully ordered for her, and there was a latte waiting on the table, along with a bran muffin, her favorite. K.O. didn't remember mentioning how much she enjoyed the café's muffins, baked by Alix Townsend, who sometimes worked at the counter. The muffins were a treat she only allowed herself once a week.
"Good morning," she said, sounding a little more breathless than she would've liked. In the space of a day, she'd gone from distrust to complete infatuation. Just twenty-four hours ago, she'd been inventing ways to get out of seeing Wynn again, and now…now she could barely stand to be separated from him.
She broke off a piece of muffin, after a sip of her latte in its oversize cup. "How did you know I love their bran muffins?" she asked. The bakery made them chock-full of raisins and nuts, so they were deliciously unlike blander varieties. Not only that, K.O. always felt she'd eaten something healthy when she had a bran muffin.
"I asked the girl behind the counter if she happened to know what you usually ordered, and she recommended that."
Once again proving how thoughtful he was.
"You had one the day you were here talking to some guy," he said flippantly.
"That was Bill Mulcahy," she explained. "I met with him because I wrote his Christmas letter."
Wynn frowned. "He's one of your clients?"
"I told you how I write people's Christmas letters, remember?" It'd been part of their conversation the night before. "I'll write yours if you want," she said, and then thinking better of it, began to sputter a retraction.
She needn't have worried that he'd take her up on the offer because he was already declining. He shook his head. "Thanks, anyway." He grimaced. "I don't want to offend you, but I find that those Christmas letters are typically a pack of lies!"
"Okay," she said mildly. She decided not to argue. K.O. sipped her coffee again and ate another piece of muffin, deciding not to worry about calories, either. "Don't you just love Christmas?" she couldn't help saying. The sights and sounds of the season were all around them. The café itself looked elegant; garlands draped the windows and pots of white and red poinsettias were placed on the counter. Christmas carols played, just loudly enough to be heard. A bell-ringer collecting for charity had set up shop outside the café and a woman sat at a nearby table knitting a Christmas stocking. K.O. had noticed a similar one displayed in A Good Yarn, the shop across the street, the day she'd followed Wynn. Christmas on Blossom Street, with its gaily decorated streetlights and cheerful banners, was as Christmassy as Christmas could be.
"Yes, but I had more enthusiasm for the holidays before today," Wynn said.
"What's wrong?"
He stared down at his dark coffee. "My father left a message on my answering machine last night." He hesitated as he glanced up at her. "Apparently he's decided— at the last minute— to join me for Christmas."
"I see," she said, although she really didn't. Wynn had only talked about his parents that first evening, at Chez Jerome. She remembered that his parents had been hippies, and that his mother had died and his father owned a company that manufactured surfboard wax. But while she'd rattled on endlessly about her own family, he'd said comparatively little about his.
"He didn't bother to ask if I had other plans, you'll notice," Wynn commented dryly.
"Do you?"
"No, but that's beside the point."
"It must be rather disconcerting," she said. Parents sometimes did things like that, though. Her own mother often made assumptions about holidays, but it had never troubled K.O. She was going to miss her parents this year and would've been delighted if they'd suddenly decided to show up.
"Now I have to go to the airport on Sunday and pick him up." Wynn gazed out the window at the lightly falling snow. "As you might've guessed, my father and I have a rather…difficult relationship."
"I'm sorry." She wasn't sure what to say.
"The thing is," Wynn continued. "My father's like a big kid. He'll want to be entertained every minute he's here. He has no respect for my work or the fact that I have to go into the office every day." Wynn had told her he met with patients most afternoons; he kept an office in a medical building not far from Blossom Street.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
Wynn accepted her condolences with a casual shrug. "The truth is, I'd rather spend my free time with you."
He seemed as surprised by this as K.O. herself. She sensed that Wynn hadn't been any more prepared to feel this way about her than she did about him. It was all rather unexpected and at the same time just plain wonderful.
"Maybe I can help," K.O. suggested. "The nice thing about working at home is that I can choose my own hours." That left her open for job interviews, Christmas letters and occasional baby-sitting. "My transcription work is really a godsend while I'm on my job quest. So I can help entertain him if you'd like."
Wynn considered for a moment. "I appreciate your offer, but I don't know if that's the best solution." He released a deep sigh. "I guess you could say my father's not my biggest fan."
"He doesn't believe in your child-rearing ideas, either?" she teased.
He grinned. "I wish it was that simple. You'll know what I mean once you meet him," Wynn said. "I think I mentioned that at one time he was a world-class surfer."
"Yes, and he manufactures some kind of special wax."
Wynn nodded. "It's made him rich." He sighed again. "I know it's a cliché, but my parents met in San Francisco in the early 70s and I think I told you they joined a commune. They were free spirits, the pair of them. Dad hated what he called 'the establishment.' He dropped out of college, burned his draft card, that sort of thing. He didn't want any responsibility, didn't even have a bank account— until about fifteen years ago, when someone offered to mass-produce his surfboard wax. And then he grabbed hold with both hands."
K.O. wondered if he realized he was advocating his parents' philosophy with his Free Child Movement. However, she didn't point it out.
"In the early days we moved around because any money Dad brought in was from his surfing, so the three of us followed the waves, so to speak. Then we'd periodically return to the commune. I had a wretched childhood," he said bleakly. "They'd called me Radiant Sun, Ray for short, but at least they let me choose my own name when I was older. They hated it, which was fine by me. The only real family I had was my maternal grandparents. I moved in with the Wynns when I was ten."
"Your parents didn't like your name?"
"No, and this came from someone who chose the name Moon Puppy for himself. Mom liked to be called Daffodil. Her given name was Mary, which she'd rejected, along with her parents' values."
"But you— "
"My grandparents were the ones who saw to it that I stayed in school. They're the ones who paid for my education. Both of them died when I was a college senior, but they were the only stable influence I had."
"What you need while your father is here," K.O. said, "is someone to run interference. Someone who can act as a buffer between you and your father, and that someone is me."
Wynn didn't look convinced.
"I want to help," she insisted. "Really."
He still didn't look convinced.
"Oh, and before I forget, my sister left three messages on my phone. She wants your autograph in the worst way. I thought you could sign her copy of The Free Child next Friday when— " It suddenly occurred to her that if Wynn's father was visiting, he wouldn't be able to watch the twins with her. "Oh, no," she whispered, unable to hide her disappointment.
"What's wrong?"
"I— You'll have company, so Friday night is out." She put on a brave smile. She didn't actually need his help, but this was an opportunity to spend time with him— and to prove that his theories didn't translate into practice. She might be wrong, in which case she'd acknowledge the validity of his Free Child approach, but she doubted it.
Wynn met her eyes. "I'm not going to break my commitment. I'll explain to my father that I've got a previous engagement. He
"When does he arrive?" K.O. asked. She savored another piece of her muffin, trying to guess which spices Alix had used.
"At four-thirty," Wynn said glumly.
"It's going to work out fine." That was almost identical to what she'd told LaVonne earlier that morning.
Then it hit her.
LaVonne needed a man in her life.
Wynn was looking for some way to occupy his father.
"Oh, my goodness." K.O. stood and stared down at Wynn with both hands on the edge of the table.
"What?"
"Wynn, I have the perfect solution!"
He eyed her skeptically.
"LaVonne," she said, sitting down again. She was so sure her plan would work, she felt a little shiver of delight. "You're going to introduce your father to LaVonne!"
He frowned at her and shook his head. "If you're thinking what I suspect you're thinking, I can tell you right now it won't work."
"Yes, it will! LaVonne needs to find a man before her college reunion in June. She'd— "
"Katherine, I appreciate the thought, but can you honestly see LaVonne getting involved with an ex-hippie who isn't all that ex— and is also the producer of Max's Wax?"
"Of course I can," she said, refusing to allow him to thwart her plan. "Besides, it isn't up to us. All we have to do is introduce the two of them, step back and let nature take its course."
Wynn clearly still had doubts.
"It won't hurt to try."
"I guess not…"
"This is what I'll do," she said, feeling inspired. She couldn't understand Wynn's hesitation. "I'll invite your father and LaVonne to my place for Christmas cocktails."
Wynn crossed his arms. "This is beginning to sound familiar."
"It should." She stifled a giggle. Turnabout was fair play, after all.
"Maybe we should look at the olives in the martinis and tell them we got a psychic reading," Wynn joked.
"Oh, that's good," K.O. said with a giggle. "A drink or two should relax them both," she added.
"And then you and I can conveniently leave for dinner or a movie."
"No…no," K.O. said, excitedly. "Oh, Wynn this is ideal! We'll arrange a dinner for them."
"Where?"
"I don't know." He was worrying about details too much. "We'll think of someplace special."
"I wonder if I can reach Chef Jerome and get a reservation there," Wynn murmured.
K.O. gulped. "I can't afford that."
"Not to worry. My father can."
"That's even better." K.O. felt inordinately pleased with herself. All the pieces were falling into place. Wynn would have someone to keep his father occupied until Christmas, and LaVonne might find a potential date for her class reunion.
"What are your plans for today?" Wynn asked, changing the subject.
"I'm meeting Vickie and a couple of other friends for shopping and lunch. What about you?"
"I'm headed to the gym and then the office. I don't usually work on weekends, but I'm writing a follow-up book." He spoke hesitantly as if he wasn't sure he should mention it.
"Okay." She smiled as enthusiastically as she could. "Would you like me to go to the airport with you when you pick up your father?"
"You'd do that?"
"Of course! In fact, I'd enjoy it."
"Thank you, then. I'd appreciate it."
They set up a time on Sunday afternoon and went their separate ways.
K.O. started walking down to Pacific Place, the mall where she'd agreed to meet Vickie and Diane, when her cell phone rang. It was Wynn.
"What day?" he asked. "I want to get this cocktail party idea of yours on my schedule."
"When would you suggest?"
"I don't think we should wait too long."
"I agree."
"Would Monday evening work for you?"
"Definitely. I'll put together a few appetizers and make some spiked eggnog. I'll pick up some wine— and gin for martinis, if you want." She smiled, recalling his comment about receiving a "psychic" message from the olives.
"Let me bring the wine. Anything else?"
"Could you buy a cat treat or two? That's in case LaVonne brings Tom or one of her other cats. I want her to concentrate on Moon Puppy, not kitty."
Wynn laughed. "You got it. I'll put in a call to Chef Jerome, although I don't hold out much hope. Still, maybe he'll say yes because it's LaVonne."
"All we can do is try. And there are certainly other nice places."
Wynn seemed reluctant to end the conversation. "Katherine."
"Yes."
"Thank you. Hearing my father's message after such a lovely evening put a damper on my Christmas."
"You're welcome."
"Have fun today."
"You, too." She closed her cell and set it back in her purse. Her step seemed to have an extra bounce as she hurried to meet her friends.
Chapter 10
Saturday afternoon, just back from shopping, K.O. stopped at LaVonne's condo. She rang the doorbell and waited. It took her neighbor an unusually long time to answer; when she did, LaVonne looked dreadful. Her hair was disheveled, and she'd obviously been napping— with at least one cat curled up next to her, since her dark-red sweatshirt was covered in cat hair.
"Why the gloomy face?" K.O. asked. "It's almost Christmas."
"I know," her friend lamented.
"Well, cheer up. I have great news."
"You'd better come inside," LaVonne said without any real enthusiasm. She gestured toward the sofa, although it seemed to require all the energy she possessed just to lift her arm. "Sit down if you want."
"Wouldn't you like to hear my good news?"
LaVonne shrugged her shoulders. "I guess."
"It has to do with you."
"Me?"
"Yup. I met Vickie and Diane at Pacific Place, and we had lunch at this wonderful Italian restaurant."
LaVonne sat across from her, and Martin automatically jumped into her lap. Tom got up on the chair, too, and leisurely stretched out across the arm. She petted both cats with equal fondness.
"I ordered the minestrone soup," K.O. went on to tell her, maintaining her exuberance. "That was when it happened." She'd worked out this plan on her way home, inspired by Wynn's joke about the olives.
"What?"
"I had a psychic impression. Isn't that what you call it? Right there with my two friends in the middle of an Italian restaurant." She paused. "It had to do with romance."
"Really?" LaVonne perked up, but only a little.
"It was in the soup."
"The veggies?"
"No, the crackers," K.O. said and hoped she wasn't carrying this too far. "I crumbled them in the soup and— "
"What did you see?" Then, before K.O. could answer, LaVonne held out one hand. "No, don't tell me, let me guess. It's about you and Wynn," her neighbor said. "It must be."
"No…no. Remember how you told me you don't have the sight when it comes to yourself? Well, apparently I don't, either."
LaVonne looked up from petting her two cats. Her gaze narrowed. "What did you see, then?"
"Like I said, it was about you," K.O. said, doing her best to sound excited. "You're going to meet the man of your dreams."
"I am?" She took a moment to consider this before her shoulders drooped once more.
"Yes, you! I saw it plain as anything."
"Human or feline?" LaVonne asked in a skeptical voice.
"Human," K.O. announced triumphantly.
"When?"
"The crackers didn't say exactly, but I felt it must be soon." K.O. didn't want to tell LaVonne too much, otherwise she'd ruin the whole thing. If she went overboard on the details, her friend would suspect K.O. was setting her up. She needed to be vague, but still implant the idea.
"I haven't left my condo all day," LaVonne mumbled, "and I don't plan to go out anytime in the near future. In fact,
"You're overreacting."
Her neighbor studied her closely. "Katherine, you really saw something in the soup?"
"I did." Nothing psychic, but she wasn't admitting that. She'd seen elbow macaroni and kidney beans and, of course, the cracker crumbs.
"But you didn't take the class. How were you able to discover your psychic powers if you weren't there to hear the lecture from Madam Ozma?" she wanted to know.
K.O. crossed her fingers behind her back. "It must've rubbed off from spending all that time with you."
"You think so?" LaVonne asked hopefully.
"Sure." K.O. was beginning to feel bad about misleading her friend. She'd hoped to mention the invitation for Monday night, but it would be too obvious if she did so now.
"There might be something to it," LaVonne said, smiling for the first time. "You never know."
"True…one never knows."
"Look what happened with you and Wynn," LaVonne said with a glimmer of excitement. "The minute I saw those two raisins gravitate toward each other, I knew it held meaning."
"I could see that in the crackers, too."
This was beginning to sound like a church revival meeting. Any minute, she thought, LaVonne might stand up and shout Yes, I believe!
"Then Wynn met you," she burbled on, "and the instant he did, I saw the look in his eyes."
What her neighbor had seen was horror. LaVonne couldn't have known about their confrontation earlier that day. He'd clearly been shocked and, yes, horrified to run into K.O. again. Especially with the memory of her ranting in the café so fresh in his mind.
"You're right," LaVonne said and sat up straighter. "I shouldn't let a silly letter upset me."
"Right. And really, you don't even know how much of what your college friend wrote is strictly true." K.O. remembered the letter she'd written for Bill Mulcahy. Not exactly lies, but not the whole truth, either.
"That could be," LaVonne murmured, but she didn't seem convinced. "Anyway, I know better than to look to a man for happiness." LaVonne was sounding more like her old self. "Happiness comes from within, isn't that right, Martin?" she asked, holding her cat up. Martin dangled from her grasp, mewing plaintively. "I don't need a man to be complete, do I?"