Delilah brushed past me, raising a brow over her shoulder. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Adler? We came here to help. Lazy waste-of-space is an even worse look than uncharitable apathetic.”
“Lilah, if I could bottle that charm, the government would sell it as a lethal weapon.”
She smirked. “Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”
“You should. Bitch recognizes bitch.”
Her face reddened deciding if that was an insult or admiration.
“I’ll be here all day, ladies,” Preston said. “You guys have been doing some painting. Did you decorate the Monarch house too?”
“Yeah, Preston, come see.”
“Come to the Magpies first.”
The girls whisked him away from both of us.
“Shouldn’t you run off to the storage room?” I prompted.
“Yes, Lilah.” Mila grabbed her arm and tugged her away. “Don’t fight in a children’s home,” I overheard her say. “If there’s a line, this is it.”
I was slower to set off. The lobby had the children’s touch as well. Overlapping handprints went as high as the children could reach. Pictures of the kids covered the walls. Scanning them, I noticed they were taken at an angle that hid their faces.
“We’re not allowed to show their faces in photographs.” A young woman wearing a shirt with the home’s logo came up to me. “Means we have to get artful about it, but the pictures come out nice. We want them to have good memories to look back on.” She stuck out her hand. “Paris.”
“Belle,” I replied. “Can you tell me more about the children who live here?”
“Love to. Our kids range from six to thirteen years old. That’s as old or young as are allowed to live here.”
“Where do they go when they turn fourteen?”
“If they aren’t living with a family by then, we have a sister home for fourteen- to eighteen-year-olds.”
I ran my finger down a dusty frame. “And are there kids who aren’t adopted by then?”
“Yes, sadly, there are.”
“Did all these little ones lose their parents?”
Paris inclined her head. “Some did. Some were taken from them by child services. Others, a small few, were sent here by their guardians. Citrine Home is a therapeutic home. We address all of our kids’ needs—including mental.”
“Therapeutic home. By that you mean children who’ve experienced trauma.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
My heart constricted imagining what these kids had gone through. “Will you be here all day?”
“My shift ends at seven.”
“Okay. I have to go, but I’ll find you before we leave. I want to make a donation.”
“You do? That’s wonderful. Any amount is appreciated.”
I drifted to the scores of faceless children. “No, I’m the one who appreciates it. Thanks, Paris.”
She pointed me to the back door. The home’s play yard was something to envy. Jungle gym, trampoline, life-size fire engine, bike pavilion, and black turf where a few of the younger girls made chalk creations.
“Belle! Belle!” The cannonballs came racing toward me. “Preston says you’re going to play with us.” I spotted him pulling up the rear.
“Preston is right. Have you ever played Mother Nature?”
“No, what’s that?” asked one of the girls.
“It’s like Simon Says, but we only do what Mother Nature does.”
“That sounds weird,” she stated.
“It’s Preston’s favorite game.”
“Okay, let’s play.”
“What are we playing?” he whispered in my ear.
“Just follow my lead.”
Twenty minutes in, he was regretting not taking off when he had the chance.
“Mother Nature sends a tornado! Tornado!” I cried. “Faster, faster, faster!”
Whirls of greens, browns, and reds. My hands whipped overhead, taken along as I spun faster and faster. The children shrieked, whipping around like tops. Preston’s bit-off curses added to their enjoyment.
“Mother Nature sends an earthquake!” I jerked and shook like a backup dancer in a music video. The kids howled as they stumbled around bumping into each other.
Preston tripped. “Shit!” He fell flat back at my feet. “What happened to tag? Or hide-and-seek?”
“Can’t handle it?”
“Nope.” He held out a hand for me to help him up.
“You’re not playing anymore, Preston?” Elise asked. You would’ve thought he was taking away her puppy from that pout.
“I’m going to get us something to drink. Apple, orange, and grape juice all around.” Preston winked. “Ladies, don’t you get any more adorable while I’m gone. I’m serious about that.”
Now they were stumbling around giggling for another reason.
Buckle up, girls. Their siren powers have a stronger effect the older you get.
“I’ll help you,” Nikki offered.
Preston let her hop on his back and the two raced off.
“We’re about to answer one of the top questions on a potential fiancé’s mind. How are they with kids?”