Christmas Wishes: Christmas Letters / Rainy Day Kisses. Debbie Macomber

to know how many children you and Wynn are going to have?” LaVonne asked triumphantly.

      “Any twins?” K.O. asked, playing along. She might as well. LaVonne was determined to tell her, whether she wanted to hear or not.

      “Twins,” LaVonne repeated in dismay. “Oh, my goodness, I didn’t look that closely.”

      “That’s fine.”

      LaVonne took her seriously. “Still, twins are definitely a possibility. Sure as anything, I saw three children. Multiple births run in your family, don’t they? Because it might’ve been triplets.”

      “Triplets?” It was too hard to think about this without her morning cup of coffee. “Listen, I need to get off the phone. I’ll check in with you later,” K.O. promised.

      “Good. You’ll give me regular updates, won’t you?”

      “On the triplets?”

      “No,” LaVonne returned, laughing. “On you and Wynn. The babies come later.”

      “Okay,” she said, resigned to continuing the charade. Everything might’ve been delightful and romantic the night before, but this was a whole new day. She was beginning to figure out his agenda. She’d criticized his beliefs, especially about Christmas, and now he was determined to change hers. It was all a matter of pride. Male pride.

      She’d been vulnerable, she realized. The dinner, the wine, Chef Jerome, a carriage ride, walking in the snow. Christmas. He’d actually used Christmas to weaken her resolve. The very man who was threatening to destroy the holiday for children had practically seduced her in Seattle’s winter wonderland. What she recognized now was that in those circumstances, she would’ve experienced the same emotions with just about any man.

      As was her habit, K.O. weighed herself first thing and gasped when she saw she was up two pounds. That fabulous dinner had come at a price. Two pounds. K.O. had to keep a constant eye on her weight, unlike her sister. Zelda was naturally thin whereas K.O. wasn’t. Her only successful strategy for maintaining her weight was to weigh herself daily and then make adjustments in her diet.

      Even before she’d finished putting on her workout gear, the phone rang again. K.O. could always hope that it was a potential employer, but caller ID informed her it was her sister.

      “Merry Christmas, Zelda,” K.O. said. This was one small way to remind her that keeping Santa away from Zoe and Zara was fundamentally wrong.

      “Did you get it?” Zelda asked excitedly. “Did you get Dr. Jeffries’s autograph for me?”

      “Ah...”

      “You didn’t, did you?” Zelda’s disappointment was obvious.

      “Not exactly.”

      “Did you even talk to him?” her sister pressed.

      “Oh, yes, we did plenty of that.” She recalled their conversation, thinking he might have manipulated that, too, in order to win her over to his side. The dark side, she thought grimly. Like Narnia without Aslan, and no Christmas.

      A stunned silence followed. “Together. You and Dr. Jeffries were together?”

      “We went to dinner....”

      “You went to dinner with Dr. Wynn Jeffries?” Awe became complete disbelief.

      “Yes, at Chez Jerome.” K.O. felt like a name-dropper but she couldn’t help it. No one ate at Chez Jerome and remained silent.

      Zelda gasped. “You’re making this up and I don’t find it amusing.”

      “I’m not,” K.O. insisted. “LaVonne arranged it. Dinner was incredible. In fact, I gained two pounds.”

      A short silence ensued. “Okay, I’m sitting down and I’m listening really hard. You’d better start at the beginning.”

      “Okay,” she said. “I saw Wynn, Dr. Jeffries, in the French Café.”

      “I already know that part.”

      “I saw him again.” K.O. stopped abruptly, thinking better of telling her sister about the confrontation and calling him names. Not that referring to him as Jim Carrey and Charles Dickens was especially insulting, but still... “Anyway, it’s not important now.”

      “Why isn’t it?”

      “Well, Wynn and I agreed to put that unfortunate incident behind us and start over.”

      “Oh, my goodness, what did you do?” Zelda demanded. “What did you say to him? You didn’t embarrass him, did you?”

      K.O. bit her lip. “Do you want to hear about the dinner or not?”

      “Yes! I want to hear everything.”

      K.O. then told her about cocktails at LaVonne’s and her neighbor’s connection with the famous chef. She described their dinner in lavish detail and mentioned the carriage ride. The one thing she didn’t divulge was the kiss, which shot into her memory like a flaming dart, reminding her how weak she really was.

      As if reading her mind, Zelda asked, “Did he kiss you?”

      “Zelda! That’s private.”

      “He did,” her sister said with unshakable certainty. “I can’t believe it. Dr. Wynn Jeffries kissed my sister! You don’t even like him.”

      “According to LaVonne I will soon bear his children.”

      “What!”

      “Sorry,” K.O. said dismissively. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”

      “Okay, okay, I can see this is all a big joke to you.”

      “Not really.”

      “I don’t even know if I should believe you.”

      “Zelda, I’m your sister. Would I lie to you?”

      “Yes!”

      Unfortunately Zelda was right. “I’m not this time, I swear it.”

      Zelda hesitated. “Did you or did you not get his autograph?”

      Reluctant though she was to admit it, K.O. didn’t have any choice. “Not.”

      “That’s what I thought.” Zelda bade her a hasty farewell and disconnected the call.

      Much as she hated the prospect, K.O. put on her sweats and headed for the treadmill, which she kept stored under her bed for emergencies such as this. If she didn’t do something fast to get rid of those two pounds, they’d stick to her hips like putty and harden. Then losing them would be like chiseling them off with a hammer. This, at least, was her theory of weight gain and loss. Immediate action was required. With headphones blocking outside distractions, she dutifully walked four miles and quit only when she was confident she’d sweated off what she’d gained. Still, a day of reduced caloric intake would be necessary.

      She showered, changed her clothes and had a cup of coffee with skim milk. She worked on the Mulcahys’ Christmas letter, munching a piece of dry toast as she did. After that, she transcribed a few reports. At one o’clock LaVonne stopped by with a request.

      “I need help,” she said, stepping into K.O.’s condo. She carried a plate of cookies.

      “Okay.” K.O. made herself look away from the delectable-smelling cookies. Her stomach growled. All she’d had for lunch was a small container of yogurt and a glass of V8 juice.

      “I hate to ask,” LaVonne said, “but I wasn’t sure where else to turn.”

      “LaVonne, I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

      Her friend nodded. “Would you write my Christmas letter for me?”

      “Of course.” That would be a piece of cake. Oh, why did everything come down to food?