I try to hold back my laugh but fail. “She did, did she?”
“Yup. And I was told that I’m supposed to convince you to join since you never have.”
“I’ve already shared my feelings about yoga with you.”
“Yes, you did, but then I began to think that maybe part of the reason you don’t want to join in on the fun is because you don’t want to get shown up by a girl.” She arches a single brow in my direction.
“I like yoga!” Ellis chimes in, but my gaze remains locked on Vienna.
“Nice try. Did my sister suggest you say that?”
Vienna laughs. “No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Vienna’s smirk builds, and fuck—all it makes me want to do is kiss it right off her face—the desire so natural that I wonder what would happen if I did. How would she react? Would once be enough?
No, it wouldn’t.
But if we were dating, I could do it any time I wanted.
Where the fuck did that thought come from?
“I’m not lying. She didn’t tell me what to say, just that I should try to persuade you to participate.”
“Daddy?” Ellis interrupts us once again.
“Yes, Ellis?”
With her hand held up in front of her, covered in every color of the rainbow, she says, “I think I need to wash my hands.”
Vienna laughs. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. The rocks are done anyway, so now we need to let them dry.”
My gaze flickers all over the table to the array of colors. These rocks were just brown, gray, and black before tonight. Now they’re full of life and color—sort of like the woman sitting across from me.
I stand from my chair and round the table, picking up my daughter and carrying her in outstretched arms to the kitchen sink where I help her scrub her hands clean of the paint. Whatever we don’t get off here she can clean off in the bath.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Vienna beginning to move the rocks onto a slat of cardboard I laid out for them to dry, clicking caps back on bottles of paint, and swirling the brushes in the water to clean them.
Once Ellis’s hands are clean, she leaps down from her stool at the sink and runs to the bathroom. “I have to go potty!”
Vienna laughs.
“I bet you didn’t need to know that,” I say, watching her as she walks the cups of water over to the kitchen sink, pouring them inside. She’s so close to me now that I can see the tiny flecks of paint that are covering her hands and face.
“Um, I teach a class full of five-year-olds, so I hear those words about eighteen times a day. I just didn’t know that would become apart of my day-to-day life when I took this job, but I’m not complaining.” She smiles up at me, resting a hand on her hip.
My eyes dance all over her face, fixating on her lips for the thousandth time, but I keep my restraint intact. Until I decide what I want to do about this growing desire for this woman, I need to keep my hands and lips to myself.
The corner of my mouth lifts in response to my internal thoughts, but Vienna catches it. “What?”
Raising my hand, I brush my finger against her cheek in an attempt to rub the paint away, but it’s dry. “You have paint on your face.”
Her breath hitches from my touch, and without a second of hesitation, she reaches up and wraps her hand around my wrist while my finger is still pressed against her skin. “Hazards of the fun, kind of like getting water spilled all over you.”
I drop my voice lower when I speak next. “Thank you for the way you handled that, by the way.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Rhonan.”
