“But he’s nice.”
“He might be. I still want to meet him.”
Ellie sighed.
“Okay.”
For the next couple of days, the truck didn’t come.
I found myself listening for that irritating little melody every evening.
Nothing.
By the third evening, I wondered whether I had overreacted.
Then the familiar music drifted through the open window as I cleared the dinner table.
Ellie looked at me.
I looked at her.
“Can I?”
“I’m coming with you.”
Her face lit up.
We walked outside together.
The truck had stopped halfway down the street, and several children were gathered around it.
I studied the driver as we approached.
He was probably in his late 50s or early 60s, with gray hair, a baseball cap, and glasses.
Just a regular older guy.
Nothing about him seemed familiar.
Ellie walked up to the window.
He smiled immediately.
“Hey, kiddo.”
Then he saw me standing behind her.
