Christmas Letters by Debbie Macomber Page B

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?”
    K.O. stood up, gathering her packages as she did. Toys and books for the twins, wrapping paper, a jar of specialty olives.
    “Thanks for stopping by,” LaVonne said when K.O. started toward the door. “I feel a hundred percent better already.”
    “Keep your eyes open now,” she told LaVonne. “The man in the soup could be right around the corner.” Oron the top floor of their condo building, she added silently.
    “I will,” her neighbor promised and, still clutching Martin, she shut the door.
     
     
     
    Sunday afternoon Wynn came to K.O.’s door at three, his expression morose.
    “Cheer up,” she urged. “Just how bad can it be?”
    “Wait until you meet Moon Puppy. Then you’ll know.”
    “Come on, is your father really that bad?”
    Wynn sighed deeply. “I suppose not. He’s lonely without my mother. At loose ends.”
    “That’s good.” She paused, hearing what she’d said. “It’s not good that he’s lonely, but… Well, you know what I mean.” LaVonne might seem all the more attractive to him if he craved female companionship. LaVonne deserved someone who needed her, who would appreciate her and her cats and her…psychic talents.
    “You ready?” he asked.
    “Let me grab my coat.”
    “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
    “Wynn, I’m happy to,” she assured him, and she meant it.
    The airport traffic was snarled, and it took two turns through the short-term parking garage to find an available space. Thankfully they’d allotted plenty of time.
    Wynn had agreed to meet his father at baggage claim. No more than five minutes after they’d staked out a place near the luggage carousel, a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, with long dark hair tied in a ponytail, walked toward them. He didn’t have a jacket or coat.
    K.O. felt Wynn stiffen.
    “Wynn!” The man hurried forward.
    Wynn met his father halfway, with K.O. trailing behind, and briefly hugged him. “Hello, Dad.” He put his hand on K.O.’s shoulder. “This is my friend Katherine O’Connor. Katherine, this is my father, Moon Puppy Jeffries.”
    Moon Puppy winced. “Delighted to meet you, Katherine,” he said politely. “But please, call me Max. I don’t