Savannah opened her mouth to object, but Levi’s foot found hers under the table and gave a very clear go with it nudge.
“Your timing is impeccable, as always, Candace.” Levi’s patronizing tone was lost on the nosy woman. “Can we help you with something?”
Candace’s smile dimmed. “Just wanted to remind you that the deadline to purchase tickets for our big formal reunion event is coming up. Wouldn’t want you two to miss out.”
Savannah choked back a laugh. How did the woman manage to sound so sincere when she couldn’t possibly mean what she said?
“Noted.” Levi’s thumb caressed the back of her hand, sending a delightful sensation zinging up her arm. “We’ll be there.”
Candace’s mouth opened, then closed. “Great. Talk soon, then.”
As soon as Candace walked away, Savannah slid her hand away from his. “What. Was. That?”
Eyes bright with amusement, Levi lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “That was me putting our plans in place.”
“Levi, I don’t think—”
“Don’t worry. We’re not hurting anyone. Besides, her world revolves around talking about people. She’ll move on to something else by dinnertime.” Levi picked up the last remaining bite of his burger. “All kidding aside, thank you for helping me. You have no idea how much this means to me. And to Wren as well.”
What had she gotten herself into? From the corner of her eye, she spotted Candace chatting with three of their former classmates. Four pairs of eyes swiveled their way. An icy ball of dread lodged in her belly. Levi had been right. Candace hadn’t wasted time spreading the word.
Savannah managed to find her voice. “I promise I’ll take good care of Wren.”
Doubt twisted her insides, reminding her of the last time she’d made a similar pledge and failed miserably. Or committed to keeping a deeply personal secret. She tamped down the negative thoughts and forced confidence she didn’t feel into the smile she offered her new fake boyfriend. She could do this. For Levi and for Wren. No one ever needed to know about her past missteps.
Chapter Three
The next morning, Levi rushed to get ready for work. He’d overslept and now had less than ten minutes before Savannah would be here to stay with Wren for the first time.
And it was way too quiet.
He hung his wet towel on the rack, ran his fingers through his damp hair and then opened the bathroom door. Yep. Too quiet.
“Wren?”
No answer.
“Wren, are you still watching your show?”
Nothing.
He’d agreed to let her watch one episode of her favorite animated show after she’d finished eating her breakfast. Had she muted the volume? He hurried out of the master bath and into the living space. He blinked against the sunshine streaming through the wall of windows to his left. The television had been turned off. Wren’s well-loved pink-and-white-striped blanket sat abandoned on his gray microfiber sofa.
“Wren?”
“I’m right here.”
Her exaggerated whisper made him smile. “What are you doing?”
She didn’t respond.
His chest tightened, and he followed the sound of her voice into his small kitchen. What in the world? A trail of sugar led from the cabinet beside the stove across the laminate floor to an alcove where he’d had a desk built into the custom cabinets. Wren had quickly claimed the spot as her own on her first day living with him, so he’d complied and stowed his chair away in the shed out back. He didn’t have time to sit at the desk anyway.
The frayed edge of Wren’s princess dress and her bare feet revealed her location. He sank down beside her, carefully avoiding the sugar trail.
She had slid back against the wall. A plastic mixing bowl, a whisk and what was left of a five-pound bag of sugar sat beside her.
“What are you making?”
“I wanted to make cookies.” She hung her head, refusing to look at him. “With sugar. I couldn’t remember the rest. And I’m not supposed to use the stobe.”
He drew a deep breath and silently prayed for the right words. Her mispronunciation of the word stove tickled him. It was hard to be annoyed when she looked so cute. Should he praise her for not using the stove or firmly remind her that she wasn’t supposed to bake without a grown-up?
“All right, pumpkin. Scoot on out of there, please. We need to clean this up. Quickly.”
Her chin shot up. “But what about my cookies?”
He extracted the whisk and the bowl. “Come on. Let’s start by washing your hands. Miss Morgan will be here soon.”
“Will she help me make cookies?”
“Maybe.” Pushing to his feet, he set the bowl on the counter. “I’m not sure we have the ingredients.”
“Because I used all the sugar,” she wailed, her eyes filling with tears.
Oh no. Please, not the crying. Not now. “We can get more sugar if we need to.”
“Today?” she sobbed, sliding out from her hiding spot.
