Jeremiah hadn't noticed, but with the apology he glanced to the side. There were footprints, but he would either deal with them later or, "the house cleaner is in tomorrow," he told Wren. "Don't worry about it. She'll mop them all up." There was a beat, and then he shrugged. "If you're really worried about it though, just kick your shoes off by the door. I doubt you've anything on your socks."
He'd started hot water and then he reached for the bread he'd made the day before, although now that he thought about it, he half wondered if the young man needed more food than just hot cocoa and fresh bread. It didn't seem as if he'd eaten a lot, and if he lived in the woods ... did he have a house in the woods?
Jeremiah had lived in Seattle for much of his recent life. He'd come into contact with homeless people nearly every day - it happened when you were in Seattle. Largely, although he wasn't always proud of that, he'd ignored them. About once a week he'd buy a roll and give it to someone who had a sign wanting food. He hadn't really thought about homelessness being a problem in Repose. The capital, sure, but Repose? Maybe he wasn't homeless and Jeremiah was just throwing too much into this. Asking the question was probably the surest way to find out.
He handed over a darker towel so Wren could wipe off his hands if he wanted.
"Do you like jam?" he asked. "I've got strawberry. And I can warm it up if you'd like the butter melted. Actually, do you like eggs?" Why not go all out. Give the kid a proper breakfast hash.