“I—I don’t know. Right now, I have to get ready to go to work. Miss Morgan will be here any minute.”
He pulled the step stool he’d bought for Wren closer to the kitchen sink. “Hop up here, kiddo. Let’s wash your hands.”
She obeyed, but her little body trembled as she gulped in a raspy breath.
Why was she so upset about the sugar and the cookies? He made a mental note to reach out to his case worker about the frequent meltdowns. First, he’d ask Savannah. She probably had some insight to share from her teaching experience.
He turned on the water and tested the temperature before Wren put her hands under the spigot.
“Can we sing the birthday song?”
Smiling, he squirted hand soap into her open palms. “Sure. Rub, rub, rub.”
She slicked the suds back and forth, her blue eyes riveted on his.
“What’s the matter?”
“You start,” she said.
“First, I need to make sure it’s not your birthday. I’d feel terrible if I missed it.”
She shook her head. “My birthday is October twelve.”
“Phew.” He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. “I was worried there for a second.”
She tipped her head back and giggled. “No, silly. But we’re supposed to sing the song when we wash our hands.”
“Oh, right.” He added soap to his own hands. “Tell me again why we sing?”
“Because that means we gots all the germs,” Wren said.
“Perfect. Okay.” He cleared his throat, then joined her in singing a terribly off-key rendition of the birthday song. When they were finished, he pulled the blue-and-white-checkered towel from the cabinet and helped her dry off.
“Do you know where the broom and dustpan are?”
She shook her head.
“Let me show you.” He helped her off the step stool. Through the kitchen window, sunlight reflected off a car as it pulled into his driveway. “Miss Morgan is here.”
“Can we go to the park?” Wren skipped beside him as he led the way toward the closet in the hallway where he kept his housecleaning supplies.
“I have to go and work at the store. Miss Morgan’s going to take care of you, remember?”
“Let’s ask her if she’ll take me to the park.” Wren hopped from one foot to the other. “Can we take snacks and a juice box?”
“We’ll see.” He opened the closet. “This is the broom and the dustpan.”
“They’re so little,” she said, scrunching her nose.
“They’ll get the job done.” Levi handed her the plastic dustpan with the small brush attached. “Let’s go clean up that sugar together.”
“But she’s at the door,” Wren said. “I heard the knock.”
“Let’s invite her in, and then we need to clean up.” He set the dustpan and broom down; then they crossed to the door together. He pulled it open. His breath hitched. Savannah looked especially cute in a pale pink T-shirt, dark-washed jeans and white sneakers. Her hair glinted in the sunlight, and the ends of her ponytail bobbed against her shoulder. She smiled. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Miss... Wait.” Wren looked up at him, a tiny wrinkle in the space between her pale eyebrows. “What do I call her again?”
Her loud whisper drew laughter from Savannah. A sound even sweeter than he remembered.
Before he responded, Savannah spoke up. “I’m her babysitter, not her teacher. Why can’t she call me Savvy?”
“Sabby.” Wren giggled again, struggling with the v’s. “That’s funny.”
Levi stepped back and motioned for Savannah to come inside. “If that’s what you think is best, she may call you by your first name.”
“It is what I think is best.” Savannah offered him a don’t worry, I’ve got this look, then put her hand out. “Wren, give me five. We’re going to have so much fun.”
Wren slapped Savannah’s outstretched palm with a loud smack.
Savannah feigned a grimace. “You’re strong.”
A quick glance at the clock sent panic surging through him. Wow, he was late. Not that it was a huge deal. It was Dad’s turn to open the store this week. Still, he couldn’t forget the barbed comments Dad had made since Wren moved in. He’d stopped short of saying he wasn’t pleased with Levi’s decision to become a foster parent. But the message was still loud and clear. He’d simply have to prove his father wrong. This wasn’t a choice he’d made lightly. Given the option, he’d provide refuge for any child who needed a safe place.
“Sabby, can we go to the park?” Wren tugged her blanket from the back of the sofa and clutched it to her chest. “With juice boxes?”
“Let me show her around first,” Levi said. “Then you can plan your day together.”
Wren didn’t answer. Instead, she wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and hummed softly. Already distracted. He debated reminding her to sweep up the sugar. Not a task she’d handle independently. He’d have to take care of it later.
