keys with a determined smile.
Kyle Reardon was in for a visitor this Christmas Eve.
And it wasn’t going to be Santa Claus.
Chapter 6
It was a clear, cold night, serenely still, the stars scattered like chips of ice against a dark expanse of frigid sky. The air was crisp and clean, like chilled chablis, and the scent of wood smoke drifted through it from the neighborhood chimneys, adding a subtle note to the bouquet. Leda inhaled deeply, pulling her collar closer around her neck. Thus fortified, she walked down to the street to examine the damage on her car.
There was one big dent with several scratches, which didn’t look too bad by the feeble light from the street lamps but might be a startling revelation on Christmas morning. A Phelps van had arrived in the middle of the afternoon, with her car trailing behind it, driven by a teenager who knocked on her door and handed over the keys she’d left with Reardon. When Leda asked about the towing bill, the kid shook his head and said that Mr. Kendall wanted him to tell her it was “on the house.” He loped off and got into the van, which then drove away.
There was no sign of Reardon.
Leda unlocked her door and set the package carefully on the floor in the back, guarding against the sudden stops, likely in this weather, that might turn her offering into bird seed by the time she arrived. Then she got in front and steered the little car cautiously onto the icy road, skittish about driving after the incident that morning. She took it slow, and as the distance to Sara Master’s house was not far, Leda found herself pulling to stop across from the two story colonial before she had formulated what she wanted to say to Reardon. She shut off the engine and stared into space, unable to come up with a witty entry line, or even an entertaining explanation for her presence. She invariably turned into a brainless dolt in emotional moments; after the fact, she could always invent charming and interesting repartee, but at the required time she drew a blank. She was drawing one now, so she surrendered and examined the lower floor of the house, occupied by Sara and her husband. It was brightly lit, and the Christmas tree in the bay window blazed like a torch, so Leda concluded glumly that the Masters were home. She was hoping that they might be out, so that her visit would have a better chance of going unobserved. But there was a light in Reardon’s apartment too. Her father had always closed the hangar early on Christmas Eve and Phelps had apparently maintained the custom.
Leda started the car again and parked it around the corner, away from Sara’s prying eyes. She wasn’t ashamed of her interest in Reardon, but if Sara saw her she would definitely tell Monica. A Christmas Day confrontation with her aunt, in front of an audience of staring relatives, was to be avoided at all costs. Leda locked the doors and walked back to the house, quietly taking the exterior stairway to the second floor. Clutching her package like a good luck charm, she knocked on Reardon’s door.
She could hear music coming from the apartment, but there was no answer to her summons. She knocked again, harder, and after a few moments Reardon pulled the door open, barefoot and shirtless, clad only in a pair of corduroy jeans. His lips parted in surprise when he saw Leda.
“Hello, Kyle,” she greeted him. “This is for you.” She extended the package she held.
He stared at it, then at her. “A Christmas present?” he said.
“A thank you gift. For your heroic rescue.”
He snorted. “It was hardly heroic. It wasn’t even a rescue. But thanks anyway, I appreciate it.” He took the plate and they looked at each other.
“May I come in?” Leda asked primly, seeing that he was not going to cooperate. She knew he wasn’t rude; he would invite her inside if she asked him to do so.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he answered, stepping back to let her pass. “It must be freezing out there.”
Leda
Kyle Reardon was in for a visitor this Christmas Eve.
And it wasn’t going to be Santa Claus.
Chapter 6
It was a clear, cold night, serenely still, the stars scattered like chips of ice against a dark expanse of frigid sky. The air was crisp and clean, like chilled chablis, and the scent of wood smoke drifted through it from the neighborhood chimneys, adding a subtle note to the bouquet. Leda inhaled deeply, pulling her collar closer around her neck. Thus fortified, she walked down to the street to examine the damage on her car.
There was one big dent with several scratches, which didn’t look too bad by the feeble light from the street lamps but might be a startling revelation on Christmas morning. A Phelps van had arrived in the middle of the afternoon, with her car trailing behind it, driven by a teenager who knocked on her door and handed over the keys she’d left with Reardon. When Leda asked about the towing bill, the kid shook his head and said that Mr. Kendall wanted him to tell her it was “on the house.” He loped off and got into the van, which then drove away.
There was no sign of Reardon.
Leda unlocked her door and set the package carefully on the floor in the back, guarding against the sudden stops, likely in this weather, that might turn her offering into bird seed by the time she arrived. Then she got in front and steered the little car cautiously onto the icy road, skittish about driving after the incident that morning. She took it slow, and as the distance to Sara Master’s house was not far, Leda found herself pulling to stop across from the two story colonial before she had formulated what she wanted to say to Reardon. She shut off the engine and stared into space, unable to come up with a witty entry line, or even an entertaining explanation for her presence. She invariably turned into a brainless dolt in emotional moments; after the fact, she could always invent charming and interesting repartee, but at the required time she drew a blank. She was drawing one now, so she surrendered and examined the lower floor of the house, occupied by Sara and her husband. It was brightly lit, and the Christmas tree in the bay window blazed like a torch, so Leda concluded glumly that the Masters were home. She was hoping that they might be out, so that her visit would have a better chance of going unobserved. But there was a light in Reardon’s apartment too. Her father had always closed the hangar early on Christmas Eve and Phelps had apparently maintained the custom.
Leda started the car again and parked it around the corner, away from Sara’s prying eyes. She wasn’t ashamed of her interest in Reardon, but if Sara saw her she would definitely tell Monica. A Christmas Day confrontation with her aunt, in front of an audience of staring relatives, was to be avoided at all costs. Leda locked the doors and walked back to the house, quietly taking the exterior stairway to the second floor. Clutching her package like a good luck charm, she knocked on Reardon’s door.
She could hear music coming from the apartment, but there was no answer to her summons. She knocked again, harder, and after a few moments Reardon pulled the door open, barefoot and shirtless, clad only in a pair of corduroy jeans. His lips parted in surprise when he saw Leda.
“Hello, Kyle,” she greeted him. “This is for you.” She extended the package she held.
He stared at it, then at her. “A Christmas present?” he said.
“A thank you gift. For your heroic rescue.”
He snorted. “It was hardly heroic. It wasn’t even a rescue. But thanks anyway, I appreciate it.” He took the plate and they looked at each other.
“May I come in?” Leda asked primly, seeing that he was not going to cooperate. She knew he wasn’t rude; he would invite her inside if she asked him to do so.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he answered, stepping back to let her pass. “It must be freezing out there.”
Leda
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