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She doesn’t look like she can be more than two or three years old, and she’s already working on three-syllable words. I have enough nieces and nephews at this point to know to be thoroughly impressed.
“No, actually. Do I need one?” I ask, unable to brush aside the question she so clearly put effort into learning.
“No,” she says with an exaggerated shrug of the shoulders. “We take all kinds here.”
I can’t help but snort at the offhand comment. I don’t think she fully knows what she’s saying, but from the way Zoe gasps, I can guess the little girl must have overheard her say as much at some point.
“I’m so sorry,” Zoe cuts in, her apology profuse.
“That’s alright. From the mouths of babes, right?” With great effort, I suppress the urge to laugh, which I know will only increase her discomfort.
Zoe releases a breathy huff, relief flashing across her face since I don’t seem offended. “How can I help you today, Mr....?”
“Federov. I’m looking for Heidi. Is she around?”
“Oh, of course,” Zoe replies, but I can’t help but notice a slight flutter of anxiety in her expression when she hears my name.
Clearly, she knows about me. I wonder what Heidi might have said about me to her friends to make her respond in that way.
“Heidi went to oversee one of her projects, but she should be back soon. You’re welcome to wait for her in her office.” Her voice is polite but guarded, and I can’t help but feel a little uneasy.
It’s evident she doesn’t like me. But at least it doesn’t sound like Aleksandr dragged Heidi from the building against her will. I’m tempted to press further, but I don’t want to create more stress for Zoe when my presence is clearly upsetting her enough.
The little girl, on the other hand, peers up at me with an open warmth that I can’t help but smile at.
“Thank you for your help,” I say to her.
“Welcome!” she says back with such casual friendliness that it fills my chest with warmth.
This little girl is something else. I adore my brothers’ children and tend to like kids in general, but I’ve never met such an intelligent, gregarious little toddler before.
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“Sarah,” she says, her voice almost growing shy. “Do you like my drawing?” She holds it up for me, her hazel eyes round with innocent expectation.
It’s a culmination of crayon blobs, each less distinguishable than the last. But she has clear intent, as several colored blobs have patterns drawn on them and they come in a variety of shapes and sizes.
“I love it. What’s this?” I ask, pointing to one of the long yellow-and-brown blobs.
“A giraffe, silly!” she squeals, releasing a giggle like my question had the most obvious answer in the world.
I can’t help but chuckle with her.
“My mom told me we can go to the zoo for my next birthday!” she explains, and suddenly, I can see that she’s drawing each of the different zoo animals.
“That sounds like so much fun! I’m sure you two will have a fantastic time.”
She nods eagerly, her hazel eyes sparkling with excitement. “I want to see the lions and the zebras and maybe even an elephant!”
“That sounds like a great plan,” I say, genuinely delighted by the little girl.
My eyes flick up toward her mom, and once again, Zoe’s expression borders on anxious. Though as soon as she sees me looking at her, she quickly rearranges her face into a pleasant smile.
“Heidi’s office?” I ask, disturbed by her discomfort and wanting to give her the space she would clearly prefer.
Zoe gestures to a frosted-glass wall to her right, and I give a polite nod.
“Thank you.” Without another word, I walk toward the glass door, glancing back at little Sarah, who is engrossed in coloring her picture once more.
