I glare at Kean. “Really? Wolf reflexes, and you couldn’t stop him?”
“He was fast,” Kean mutters.
“I’ll get you a towel. There is no way a wet wipe will clear all that up,” Clarence says, walking off and laughing.
Lyric holds his dirty hand out to me. “Five Tus.”
I shake my head. “No way, little man, not until Kean has cleaned you up. And stop eating the buttercream off your hands, that’s too much sugar,” I say, gently grabbing his wrists.
“Here,” Clarence says, coming back and holding out a towel and a new dishcloth.
“Thanks,” I say, taking them and handing them to Kean, grinning. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Kean mutters, getting up and holding Lyric away from his body on his way to the toilets to clean our son.
CHAPTER 17
Itake pity on Kean and, picking up Lyric’s bag, I follow them to the toilets as Lyric will need his top changed, as he somehow has buttercream on it. Honestly, he’s only sixteen months old. How can he create so much mess from one little cupcake?
I smile as I walk in and see Kean and Lyric laughing. Lyric is sat by the sink, and Kean is making a game out of cleaning our son up. Not sure that’s the right way to dissuade him from doing something like that again.
“Well, you two look like you’re having fun,” I say, walking closer.
“We’re not having fun, are we, little man? Cleaning you up is a very serious matter, isn’t it, Lyric?” Kean asks him, wiping his face.
Lyric nods and holds up a clean hand. “Five Clean.”
Kean laughs and high-fives him before cleaning the last of the buttercream off his face.
“Look at your top little man. Shall we change that as well?” I ask.
“No,” Lyric said quickly.
“Well, we need to change it, you’ve got buttercream all over it,” I say.
“No,” he yells, the smile falling off his face and beginning to look angry.
“Indoor voice, please,” I tell him, as I get a clean top out of the bag.
“Arms up?” Kean says.
“No,” he shouts again, crossing his arms over his messy shirt.
“Lyric, come on, little man, look, it’s your lovely green top. You picked this out the other day,” I show it to him.
“No,” he shouts again, looking like he’s about to jump down from the side.
Kean gives a low growl and, quick as a flash, pulls his top off, taking the clean one out of my hands and putting it on Lyric. “See, all done.”
Lyric starts to cry and holds his arms out to me. I pick him up and settle him in my arms, making sure he can see Kean and me.
“Lyric, you don’t shout at us, you don’t shout no, that’s rude, and you’re not a rude boy, are you?” I ask gently.
“Ant mama, dada,” he shouts, crying loudly. “No oou.”
I feel my eyes fill, but look down and quickly blink the tears away.
He doesn’t mean it, honey.Kean says gently.