Page 39 of A Cozy Christmas Blizzard
“Ah... I don’t think they’ll get that far.”
“But they might,” she said hopefully. “You make the reservation, and if they don’t want to go, then we will. Okay?”
He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” Wynn took one last swallow of coffee and stood. “I’ve got to get to the office.” Slipping into his overcoat, he confided, “I have a patient this morning. Emergency call.”
K.O. wondered what kind of emergency that would be—an ego that needed splinting? A bruised id? But she knew better than to ask. “Have a good day,” was all she said. In his current mood, that was an iffy proposition. K.O. couldn’t help wondering what Max had done to upset him.
“You, too,” he murmured, then added, “And thank you for looking after Moon Puppy.”
“His name is Max,” K.O. reminded him.
“Maybe to you, but to me he’ll always be the hippie surfer bum I grew up with.” Wynn hurried out of the café.
By five that afternoon, K.O. felt as if she’d never left the treadmill. After walking for forty minutes on her machine, she showered, baked and decorated three dozen cookies and then met Wynn’s father for a whirlwind tour of the Seattle waterfront, starting with Pike Place. She phoned LaVonne from the Seattle Aquarium. LaVonne had instantly agreed to drinks, and K.O. had a hard time getting off the phone. LaVonne chatted excitedly about the man in the soup, the man K.O. had claimed to see with her “psychic” eyes. Oh, dear, maybe this had gone a little too far... .
Max was interested in absolutely everything, so they didn’t get back to Blossom Street until after four, which gave K.O. very little time to prepare forthe meeting.
She vacuumed and dusted and plumped up the sofa pillows and set out a dish of peppermint candies, a favorite of LaVonne’s. The decorated sugar cookies were arranged on a special Santa plate. K.O. didn’t particularly like sugar cookies, which, therefore, weren’t as tempting as shortbread or chocolate chip would’ve been. She decided against the olives.
K.O. was stirring the rum into the eggnog when she saw the blinking light on her phone. A quick check told her it was Zelda. She didn’t have even a minute to chat and told herself she’d return the call later.
Precisely at 5:30 p.m., just after she’d put on all her Christmas CDs, Wynn arrived without his father. “Where’s yourdad?” K.O. demanded as she accepted the bottle of wine he handed her.
“He’s never on time if there’s an excuse to be late,” Wynn muttered. “He’ll get here when he gets here. You noticed he doesn’t wear a watch?”
K.O. had noticed and thought it a novelty. LaVonne wasn’t known for her punctuality, either, so they had at least that much in common. Already this relationship revealed promise—in her opinion, anyway.
“How did your afternoon go?” Wynn asked. He sat down on the sofa and reached for a cookie, nodding his head to the tempo of “Jingle Bell Rock.”
“Great. I enjoyed getting to know your father.”
Wynn glanced up, giving her a skeptical look.
“What is it with you two?” she asked gently, sitting beside him.
Wynn sighed. “I didn’t have a happy childhood, except for the time I spent with my grandparents. I resented being dragged hither and yon, based on where the best surf could be found. I hated living with a bunch of self-absorbed hippies whenever we returned to the commune, which was their so-called home base. For a good part of my life, I had the feeling I was a hindrance my father tolerated.”
“Oh, Wynn.” The unhappiness he still felt was at odds with the amusing stories he’d told about his childhood at Chez Jerome and during dinner with Vickie and John. She’d originally assumed that he was reflecting his own upbringing in his “Free Child” theories, but she now saw that wasn’t the case. Moon Puppy Max might have been a hippie, but he’d imposed his own regimen on his son. Not much “freedom” there.
“Well, that’s my life,” he said stiffly. “I don’t want my father here and I dislike the way he’s using you and—”
“He’s not using me.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but apparently changed his mind. “I’m not going to let my father come between us.”
“Good, because I’d feel terrible if that happened.” This would be a near-perfect relationship—if it wasn’t for the fact that he was Wynn Jeffries, author ofThe Free Child. And the fact that he hadn’t forgiven his father, who’d been a selfish and irresponsible parent.
His eyes softened. “I won’t let it.” He kissed her then, and K.O. slipped easily into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her and they exchanged a series of deep and probing kisses that left K.O.’s head reeling.
“Katherine.” Wynn breathed harshly as he abruptly released her.
She didn’t want him to stop.
“You’d better answer your door,” he advised.
K.O. had been so consumed by their kisses that she hadn’t heard the doorbell. “Oh,” she breathed, shaking her head to clear away the fog of longing. This man did things to her heart—not to mention the rest of her—that even a romance novelist couldn’t describe.
Wynn’s father stood on the other side of the door, wearing another Hawaiian flowered shirt, khaki pants and flip-flops. From the way he’d dressed, he could be on a tropical isle rather than in Seattle with temperatures hovering just above freezing. K.O. could tell that Max’s choice of clothes irritated Wynn, but to his credit, Wynn didn’t comment.
