“Can we have the top down?” asked AJ.
“It’s freezing out.”
“I’m plenty warm in this coat.”
Bo hesitated. It was the boy’s first snow, he reminded himself. Bo had never had a “first snow” as a boy. He’d had hurricanes and hail storms, floods and plagues of fire ants, but he’d never seen the snow until he was an adult. “Just remember,” he warned, blasting the car’s heater, “you asked for it.” He pushed a button on the console, and the canvas top of the convertible retracted, neatly folding itself away. He steered out onto the street and headed toward the center of town. “People are going to think I’m outta my gourd,” he muttered.
It was worth it, though, to see the way AJ’s eyes sparkled. It was one of those rare winter days that was as clear as the air was cold. The sky shone with a depth and clarity that seemed sharp enough to shatter. The sun laid golden fronds over the brilliant white landscape. Too bad it was so freaking cold. The heated seats and warm air blowing from the vents kept them from freezing to death as they rode with the top down on and the radio turned up loud, playing Stevie Ray Vaughan.
They garnered a few looks from shoppers in the town square as Bo trolled for a parking spot. For a few minutes, he felt…kind of glad. He hadn’t been expecting that. The happiness. The feeling of connection. It was a terrible thing, what was happening to AJ, and Bo was going to do everything in his power to fix it, but for these few moments, driving along in the sunshine with his boy, he felt happy.
“It sucks that we’re meeting because of what happened with your mom,” Bo said, “but I always wanted to meet you.”
“Then why didn’t you?” AJ asked. The question was simple, direct and devastating. “It’s not hard.”
“Your mom didn’t think it was a good idea, and I had to respect that.” There was a lot more to it than that, but he didn’t think AJ needed to hear all of it, not now.
He turned up the car’s stereo. As he came around the corner, his gaze was drawn to a long-legged redhead in the distance, coming out of women’s shop called Zuzu’s Petals, carrying a big shopping bag. He felt a flicker of interest. Could it be…? Nah, he realized. Just wishful thinking.
Seven
The thump of a car stereo caught Kim’s attention as she exited the clothing boutique. She’d armed herself with the basics—thermal underwear, wool pants and a couple of sweaters. She was already wearing new jeans and boots and a new jacket, and was ready to embrace winter. This was something she’d missed, living in southern California. Crisp white winters, ice-skating and snowboarding.
She had never worked with winter-sports athletes. Well, there was one, almost. She’d been assigned to work with a hockey player named Newton Granger, and he’d been missing so many teeth, he sounded like he had a speech impediment. Despite facing the myriad perils of the hockey rink, he had a pathological fear of dentists. Kim had tried to create an image of the strong, silent type, but the guy had a goofy, spontaneous and gap-toothed grin that spoiled the effect every time.
Athletes, she thought. Never again. She was forging ahead to bigger and better things. She wasn’t sure what things, but they would definitely be bigger and better.
Parcels in hand, she spotted the source of the thumping stereo. It was a low-slung sports car—with the top down—just rounding the corner into the main square of town. Sunlight flashed over the convertible, which looked as if it would be more at home in Malibu than upstate New York in the dead of winter.
The car swung into a parking space in front of the Sport Haus, a shop that specialized in winter garments and gear. Its black canvas top arched up and over, obscuring the driver and passenger. A moment later a tall man got out. For a second, recognition flared, but she couldn’t quite place him. A moment later, a half-grown boy exited the passenger side. The kid looked as cold as Kim felt, huddled into an oversized jacket, no hat, hands shoved into his pockets. He kept looking around with an expression of wonder, like the groundhog poking his head out. The guy looked—all right, she was not completely numb—like the type proper girls weren’t supposed to like. He had an easy way of moving that hinted at a bit of an attitude. Kim had made a study of these things. It was her job to observe the image a person projected, and—in the case of her clients—to hone that image into a public persona.
While she was shopping, Kim’s appetite had kicked in. It occurred to her that she hadn’t felt hungry since the black-tie affair in L.A. The fare that night had consisted of tiny samplings of baby vegetable timbale and field greens dressed in champagne vinaigrette and truffle oil.
Screw the diet, she thought, and went into the Sky River Bakery, one of the oldest and indisputably the most popular establishment on the square. Kim always visited the landmark bakery when she was in Avalon.
The moment she stepped into the glowing warmth of the crowded bakery, it felt like the only good decision she had made in a long time. Sweetness literally hung in the air here, the scents of sugar and yeast and butter filling her until there was room for nothing else. The warmth and smells were nearly unbearable—cinnamon, chocolate, brewing coffee, baking bread. The hiss and gurgle of a cappuccino maker punctuated the sound of
