“Maybe it was after two, then,” K.O. said. She’d completely lost track of time, which was easy to do. Wynn was so charming and he seemed so interested in her and her friends.
Vickie’s husband, John, was a plumbing contractor. Despite Wynn’s college degrees and celebrity status, he’d fit in well with her friends. He’d asked intelligent questions, listened and shared anecdotes about himself that had them all laughing. John even invited Wynn to play poker with him and his friends after the holidays. Wynn had accepted the invitation.
Halfway through the meal Vickie had announced that she had to use the ladies’ room. The look she shot K.O. said she should join her, which K.O. did.
“That’s really Wynn Jeffries?” she asked, holding K.O.’s elbow as they made their way around tables and through the restaurant.
“Yes, it’s really him.”
“Does he know about the bookstore?”
K.O. nodded reluctantly. “He does now.”
“You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“Unfortunately, he found out all on his own.”
Vickie pushed open the door to the ladies’ as K.O. described the scene from the bookstore. “No way,” her friend moaned, then promptly sank down on a plush chair in the outer room.
K.O.’s face grew red all over again. “It was embarrassing, to say the least.”
“Was Wynn upset?”
What could he say? “He didn’t let on if he was.” In fact, once they’d left the store, Wynn seemed to find the incident highly amusing. Had their roles been reversed, she didn’t know how she would’ve felt.
“He didn’t blow up at you or anything?” Vickie had given her a confused look. “This is the guy you think should be banned from practicing as a psychologist?”
“Well, that might’ve been a bit strong,” she’d said, reconsidering her earlier comment.
Vickie just shook her head.
“He rode the merry-go-round with me,” K.O. said aloud, deciding that had gone a long way toward redeeming him in her eyes. When she glanced up, she realized she was talking to LaVonne.
“He did what?” LaVonne asked, bringing her back to the present.
“Wynn did,” she elaborated. “He rode the carousel with me.”
“Until two in the morning?”
“No, before dinner. Afterward, we walked along the waterfront, then had a glass of wine. We started walking again and finally stopped for coffee at an all-night diner and talked some more.” He seemed to want to know all about her, but in retrospect she noticed that he’d said very little about himself.
“Good grief,” LaVonne muttered, shaking her head, “what could you possibly talk about for so long?”
“That’s just it,” K.O. said. “We couldn’t stop talking.” And it was even more difficult to stop kissing and to say good-night once they’d reached her condo. Because there was so much more to say, they’d agreed to meet for coffee at the French Café at nine.
LaVonne had apparently remembered that Katherine didn’t have any coffee yet and filled her mug. “Just black,” K.O. told her, needing a shot of unadulterated caffeine. “Thanks.
“Why were you waiting up for me?” she asked after her first bracing sip of coffee. Then and only then did her brain clear, and she understood that LaVonne must have something important on her mind.
“You wrote that fantastic Christmas letter for me,” her neighbor reminded her.
“I did a good job, didn’t I?” she said.
“Oh, yes, a good job all right.” LaVonne frowned. “I liked it so much, I mailed it right away.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Well...” LaVonne sat down in the chair across from K.O. “It was such a relief to have something clever and...and exciting to tell everyone,” LaVonne said, “especially my college friends.”
So far, K.O. didn’t see any problem at all. She nodded, encouraging her friend to get to the point.
LaVonne’s shoulders sagged. “If only I’d waited,” she moaned. “If only I’d picked up my own mail first.”
“There was something in the mail?”
LaVonne nodded. “I got a card and a Christmas letter from Peggy Solomon. She was the president of my college sorority and about as uppity as they come. She married her college boyfriend, a banker’s son. She had two perfect children and lives a life of luxury. She said she’s looking forward to seeing me at our next reunion.” There was a moment of stricken silence. “Peggy’s organizing it, and she included the invitation with her card.”
“That’s bad?”
“Yes,” LaVonne wailed. “It’s bad. How am I supposed to show up at my forty-year college reunion, which happens to be in June, without a man? Especially now. Because of my Christmas letter, everyone in my entire class will think I’ve got more men than I know what to do with.”
“LaVonne, you might meet someone before then.”
“If I haven’t met a man in the last forty years, what makes you think I will in the next six months?”
“Couldn’t you say it’s such a tricky balancing act you don’t dare bring any of them?”
LaVonne glared at her. “Everyone’ll figure out that it’s all a lie.” She closed her eyes. “And if they don’t, Peggy’s going to make sure she tells them.”
Another idea struck K.O. “What about your psychic powers? Why don’t you go check out the litter box again?” On second thought, maybe that wasn’t such a great idea.
“Don’t you think I would if I could?” she cried, becoming ever more agitated. “But I don’t see anything about myself. Trust me, I’ve tried. So far, all my insights have been about you and Wynn. A lot of good my newfound talent has done me. You’re being romanced night and day, and I’ve just made a complete fool of myself.”
“LaVonne...”
“Even my cats are upset with me.”
“Tom, Phillip and Martin?” K.O. had never understood why her neighbor couldn’t name her feline companions regular cat names like Fluffy or Tiger.
“They think I’m upset with them. They’re all hiding from me, and that’s never happened before.”
K.O. felt guilty, but she couldn’t have known about the college reunion, any more than LaVonne did. “I’m sure everything will work out for the best,” she murmured. She wished she had more than a platitude to offer, but she didn’t.
“At this point that’s all I can hope for.” LaVonne expelled her breath and took another sip of coffee. That seemed to relax her, and she gave K.O. a half smile. “Tell me about you and Wynn.”
“There’s not much to say.” And yet there was. She honestly liked him. Vickie and John had, too. Never would K.O. have guessed that the originator of the Free Child movement she so reviled would be this warm, compassionate and genuinely nice person. She would’ve been happy to settle for one of those qualities. Despite everything K.O. had done to embarrass him, he was attracted to her. And it went without saying that she found Wynn Jeffries compelling and smart and...wonderful. But she was afraid to examine her feelings too closely—and even more afraid to speculate about his.
“You’ve spent practically every minute of the last two days together,” LaVonne said. “There’s got to be something.”
Shrugging, K.O. pushed her hair away from her face.
“You were with him until two this morning.”
“And I’m meeting him at the café in about an hour and a half,” she said as she glanced at the time on her microwave.
“So what gives?” LaVonne pressed.
“I like him,” she said simply. K.O. hadn’t been prepared to have any feelings for him, other than negative ones. But they got along well—as long as they didn’t discuss his book.
Overjoyed by her confession, LaVonne clapped her hands. “I knew it!”
K.O. felt it would be wrong to let her friend thi
nk she really believed in this psychic nonsense. She’d cooperated with LaVonne’s fantasy at first but now it was time to be honest. “Wynn said he asked you about me before you introduced us.”
LaVonne looked away. “He did, but it was just in passing.”
“He knew I lived in the building and had seen me around.”
Her neighbor shifted in her seat. She cleared her throat before answering. “All right, all right, I was aware that he might be interested.” She paused. “He asked me if you were single.”
Really? Wynn hadn’t told her that. “When was this?”
“Last week.”
“Was it before or after you discovered your psychic talents?”
“Before.”
Aha.
“Why didn’t he just introduce himself?”
“I asked him that, too,” LaVonne said. “Apparently he’s shy.”
“Wynn?”
LaVonne raised one shoulder. She frowned over at the phone on the counter. “You’ve got a message.”
It’d been so late when she finally got to bed that K.O. hadn’t bothered to check. Reaching over, she pressed the play button.
“K.O.,” Zelda’s voice greeted her. “Good grief, where are you? You don’t have a date, do you?” She made it sound as if that was the last thing she expected. “Is there any chance it’s with Dr. Jeffries? Call me the minute you get home.” The message was followed by a lengthy beep and then there was a second message.
“Katherine,” Zelda said more forcefully this time. “I don’t mean to be a pest, but I’d appreciate it if you’d get back to me as soon as possible. You’re out with Dr. Jeffries, aren’t you?” Zelda managed to make that sound both accusatory and improbable.
Another beep.
“In case you’re counting, this is the third time I’ve phoned you tonight. Where can you possibly be this late?”
No one ever seemed to care before, K.O. thought, and now her sister and LaVonne were suddenly keeping track of her love life.
Zelda gave a huge sigh of impatience. “I won’t call again. But I need to confirm the details for Friday night. You’re still babysitting, aren’t you?”
“I’ll be there,” K.O. muttered, just as if her sister could hear. And so will Wynn.
Zelda added, “And I’d really like it if you’d get me that autograph.”
“I will, I will,” K.O. promised. She figured she’d get him to sign Zelda’s copy of his book on Friday evening.
LaVonne drained the last of her coffee and set the mug in the sink. “I’d better get back. I’m going to try to coax the boys out from under the bed,” she said with a resigned look as she walked to the door.
“Everything’ll work out,” K.O. assured her again—with a confidence she didn’t actually feel.
LaVonne responded with a quick wave and left, slamming the door behind her.
Now K.O. was free to have a leisurely shower, carefully choose her outfit...and daydream about Wynn.
Chapter Nine
Wynn had already secured a window table when K.O. arrived at the French Café. As usual, the shop was crowded, with a long line of customers waiting to place their orders.
In honor of the season, she’d worn a dark-blue sweater sprinkled with silvery stars and matching star earrings. She hung her red coat on the back of her chair.
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 se
emed 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 babysitting. “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?”
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