Page 1 of His Vivacious Angel
Chapter One
Autumn
What kind of parent leaves their kids and cart unattended, in the middle of the grocery aisle, at eleven o’clock at night? Seriously, who in their right mind would do that? The girl, no older than nine or ten, dressed in teddy-bear pajamas, clutches the handle of a full shopping cart with a car seat improperly latched on top. She anxiously flicks her tearful gaze to me when I approach, then to the end of the aisle, as she nudges the cart away from me, while another child is screaming their head off somewhere deeper in the store.
I hook my heavy handbasket over my left forearm and hold out my right hand, slowing my stride so I don’t scare her any further. “Hi, honey. Where are your parents?”
Her little chin wobbles. She’s hesitant when she says in a quiet voice, “My daddy says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“And he would be right.” I check on the sleeping infant, who is at least buckled in the car seat properly. “Is your daddy here?”
She nods, her messy, blonde ponytail sliding forward. Her small knuckles turn white on the cart handle as she continues inching away from me.
“What about your mommy?”
The girl shakes her head, tucking her chin against her chest.
“We don’t have to talk, but I’d feel better if I could wait with you until your daddy comes back, so I know you’re safe. Would that be okay?”
She nods once more, thankfully. I wouldn’t have been able to leave her on her own even if she hadn’t. I resist the urge to tap the toe of my high heel sandals on the rubbery vinyl flooring with impatience, silently cursing her daddy out in my mind for leaving his children alone. The girl’s shoulders lift with tension the longer we wait, and after five minutes, I’ve had enough.
“My basket is really heavy. Would you mind if I set it down?” I motion to her shopping cart’s full basket.
When she doesn’t respond, I move slowly so as not to startle her, organizing and stacking the cans of hypoallergenic formulas, diapers, wipes, every brand of pacifier on the shelves, along with an entire pantry’s worth of groceries, to make room for my handheld basket.
“That’s better,” I say and rub the red marks the thin metal handles left on my forearm. “Do you know your daddy’s phone number? I can call him.”
She twists her mouth, looking away. “I forgot.”
“That’s okay. How about we go to customer services and ask an employee to call your daddy over the speaker?”
Her shoulders slump, and even though it’s clear she’s still wary of me, she begins to steer the heavy cart toward the end of the aisle, having to lean left and right to see past the car seat.
“Here, now you should be able to see better,” I say, liftingthe bucket car seat to carry it down the aisle before she can stop me. I can breathe all the better now that, if the cart tips, the car seat won’t be in danger of falling.
The girl bites her lip, more tears streaming down her face now that I’m in possession of her little brother. I want to give her a hug and tell her everything will be okay. Her daddy is going to get a piece of my mind, and maybe a sandal up his ass, once he finally shows up.
We’re halfway through the store when a grizzly man in his early thirties comes tearing around a pyramid display of bulk packs of water bottles, hauling a toddler under his arm like a heavy duffel bag stuffed with angry cats. The toddler lets loose an ear-splitting scream that’s only a decibel lower than the man’s voice when he yells at me, “What do you think you’re doing? Get away from them!”
“Daddy!” the girl shouts, abandoning the cart to run to her dad and throw her arms around his waist.
“Josephine, are you okay?” the man asks, hugging her fiercely. With dark stubble, greasy golden-blond hair, a suspiciously stained white undershirt, and gray, groady sweatpants, it makes sense—thisis the kind of parent who leaves two children unattended.
I step back but keep hold of the car seat, my heart pounding with a spike of adrenaline as the toddler continues to flail. “What am I doing? What are you doing, leaving your kids alone for god knows how long, where anyone could kidnap them?”
“Like you?” He steps in front of his daughter, shielding her.
“Best case scenario, if I were. You ought to thank your lucky stars it was me and not some creep who found them.” Like their sister, the infant’s peach-fuzz hair is blond, which matches the toddler’s slightly longer, finer wisps. The color is a closershade to my nearly-white blonde hair than it is to the man’s darker strands. If I truly were to kidnap them, I could easily pass them off as my own, even if I’m not old enough to be Josephine’s mother.
The man sags, the fight gone out of him like a balloon that’s been popped. The bags under his light brown eyes are stained purple with exhaustion, and he swings the toddler up, cradling the small boy in a gentler position. “He’s a runner,” he says of the toddler by way of explanation. “I couldn’t keep up with him with the cart, and I was afraid he’d run out into the parking lot.”
“Then get him a leash,” I say.
The man pinches his lips together, dashing his eyes away with shame. The toddler bows his back, beating his little fists against the man’s lean chest as his tears stream down feverishly red cheeks. “Any idea where I could find one?” he asks.
“Try the pet aisle,” I deadpan, and he looks up, searching the hanging aisle signs for the one that indicates pet supplies, as if he truly intends to find a dog leash. “It was a joke.”
“I know that,” he says defensively.
