By Debbie Macomber
Katherine O'Connor usually spends her days at a comfy café on Blossom road in Seattle--where she writes Christmas letters for people. She's strong at making their daily lives sound extra fascinating. extra funny. extra dramatic.
But for Dr. Wynn Jeffries, who additionally frequents the café, Christmas ability lies and deception. in truth, the well known baby psychologist recommends that oldsters "bury Santa lower than the sleigh." Katherine, despite the fact that, feels that his parenting philosophy is one sizeable mistake--at least, in line with her five-year-old dual nieces, who're being raised in keeping with his "Free Child" methods.
She argues with Wynn approximately his theories, whereas he argues that her letters are not anything yet lies. They disagree approximately essentially everything--and but, someway, they don't really need to prevent arguing.
As the days--and nights--move toward Christmas, Katherine and Wynn either observe that love skill accepting your modifications. and xmas is ready the belongings you share....
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Additional info for Christmas Letters
She couldn’t see him in the dark, but there was no mistaking the sound of glass crunching as he slammed the jacket-wrapped butt of the gun against a window. Before Krista could so much as gasp, he’d reached in and popped the lock on the driver’s side door and slid in. “No way,” Krista said. ” “It’ll probably take me twice as long, and we don’t have that kind of time,” Sean said, a familiar edge creeping into his voice. Krista took a step back. “I’m a prosecutor. I can’t commit a felony—” “Right now you’re a fugitive,” Sean said.
How anyone thought you could be capable of murder is beyond me. ” Yes, she had. But Sean didn’t bother to remind her of what she’d said to the reporter from the Seattle Tribune after his conviction, about how you thought you could know someone and never see the evil lurking inside. Let her have her false memories and her overdone affection if it made her feel like she was making up for thinking the worst of him. “Thanks, Nance. I see my regular table’s empty. ” He led Krista to the corner booth next to the window, nodding at the handful of other patrons.
Krista kept her gaze pinned to Sean’s face as she tried to ignore the sheer drop-off on her side of the road. She wasn’t usually a nervous passenger, but the guardrail along the highway was little more than window dressing against the hundred-foot fall. A curt nod was his only response. Krista started to press him, but the words caught in her throat as they saw the sharp curve coming up. ” “I’m trying,” Sean said through gritted teeth. ” The engine screamed and the smell of burning clutch permeated the truck cab.
Christmas Letters by Debbie Macomber