“I’ll give her a call later.” K.O. hadn’t wanted to be obvious about this meeting. Still, when LaVonne met Max, she’d know, the same way Wynn and K.O. had known, that they were being set up.
“Don’t,” he said, cupping the coffee mug with both hands.
“Why not?”
He frowned. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
K.O. smothered a giggle. “Are you telling me you’ve found your own psychic powers?”
“Hardly,” he snorted.
“Wynn,” she said, covering his hand with hers in a gesture of reassurance. “It’s going to work out fine, trust me.” Hmm. She seemed to be saying that a lot these days.
He exhaled slowly, as if it went against his better judgment to agree. “All right, do whatever you think is best.”
“I’ve decided to simplify things. I’m serving eggnog and cookies.” And olives, if anyone wanted them. When she’d find time to bake she didn’t know, but K.O. was determined to do this properly.
“Come around five-thirty,” she suggested.
“That early?”
“Yes. You’re taking care of arranging their dinner, right?”
“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 for the 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 your dad?” 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