She didn’t at first, keeping her focus on the paint splotches in front of her, a frown marring her beautiful face.
“Hope.” The one word was stern yet filled with nothing but the quiet determination I felt to make her feel better.
That did it.
Her eyes lifted, bright and a little stormy. “It’s ruined,” she repeated, and there it was. The edge of a tantrum.
I didn’t correct her. Didn’t minimize it. “It’s different,” I said. “Not ruined.”
She shook her head, shoulders hunching. “I was beingsocareful, too.”
“I know,” I said. “And it still looks really pretty. Accidents happen sometimes; that doesn’t mean the end result won’t be as amazing.”
I reached for a clean brush and dipped it lightly into water.
“May I?” I asked.
She hesitated, her lower lip wobbled a bit, but then she nodded.
I softened the edges of the colors, blending them instead of fighting them.
“See?” I said quietly. “You can make something new and pretty with it.”
Her breathing slowed. Just a little.
She watched my hands like they were doing something important.
When I offered her the brush, her fingers brushed mine. This time, she didn’t pull away immediately. And my hand tingled where she touched me.
“Try again,” I said. “Don’t try to fix it. Just keep creating.”
She did.
Her next strokes were looser. Messier. The tension in her shoulders eased the longer she worked on her picture. Hope still watched the page like it might bite her from time to time, but, most importantly, she kept going.
By the end of the hour, there was paint on her fingers and a faint smudge on her cheek, but she didn’t seem to notice. And she looked absolutely mesmerizing. Her picture was undeniably imperfect, yet to me,absolutelyperfect.
She glanced at it, then at me. The expression on her face was hard to read, but there seemed to be some joy in there at least.
“I didn’t hate that,” she admitted with a sheepish grin, her cheeks a very becoming pink.
I smiled as my heart warmed at the sight. This was the kind of girl I’d been waiting for. Other than a fleeting moment a while ago when I met another Daddy and his Little boy, I’d never had this instant connection with someone before.
“And how do you feel about your painting?” I finally found my voice and asked.
She paused to look at it with a discerning eye. “I like it,” she responded, shrugging.
“So... wanna try this thing again, or will you be joining the submissives after lunch?”
That’s when she did something that completely stole my heart.
She stuck her tongue out at me.
Chapter Four
Hope
I don’t know why I kept changing my mind.
