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“This is amazing,” she breathed, closing her burning eyes.
His hand smoothed over her back, and she let out a long, cleansing breath. She was never allowed to make a mess when she was a kid, but Jett didn’t care about that. And by letting her fingerpaint, it was healing something inside her she didn’t realize was so broken.
“Let’s paint, baby girl,” he said softly, his voice rumbling through his chest. She pulled away and excitedly dropped to her bottom, crossing her legs under her. Her eyes were wide as she took everything in, looking at all the pretty colors.
Jett ungracefully plopped beside her, keeping his long, thick legs outstretched. “You don’t look very comfy, Daddy,” she commented, grabbing a canvas and unwrapping it.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, shifting around before grabbing a canvas.
“You’re painting too?” She gave him a skeptical look.
“Of course, I am,” he scoffed. “Can’t let you have all the fun.”
She beamed at him, smiling so widely all her teeth showed. Laughing, he shook his head and began popping the lids off thebottles of paint. It felt like it took him forever to set everything out in front of her, but finally, when the blue was within arms reach, she grabbed it and dipped her finger into it.
She screamed, and Jett lurched toward her, his eyes massive. “What?” he demanded. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“Cold!” she cried. “Paint’s cold!”
His head fell forward as he let out a breath. “I thought you hurt yourself,” he breathed.
“Nope. The paint’s just giving me frostbite,” she said as she dragged her finger across the canvas. “Look!”
“It’s beautiful,” he said as he sat back and balanced his canvas on his knee. Chewing on his lip, he looked at the paint like they were fragile bombs, and she giggled.
“They won’t bite,” she told him.
He grumbled under his breath as he grabbed a bottle and, giving her a long, wary look, dipped his finger into it. He grimaced, but she squealed excitedly and clapped her hands together, paint flying everywhere. She felt it land on her face, saw it land on the tarp under it and Jett’s jeans.
Surprisingly, he said nothing as he dragged the red across the canvas. “Whatcha paintin’, Daddy?” she asked, turning her attention back to her own work. Dipping her finger in the purple, she made dots around the canvas.
“I…have no idea.” She glanced at him, finding him looking at his painting, horrified.
“Oh, maybe it’s a big cherry,” she suggested. “Or an apple.”
“Or a blob.”
“Or a blob,” she agreed. His eyes snapped to her, and she threw her head back, laughing.
“What’s yours, my little artist?” he asked, and she felt warmth spread through her body at the words.
“It’s Ottie’s dream house,” she told him. “Don’t look yet. It’s not done.”
The sun beat down on them as they painted in companionable silence. He knew she liked working when it was quiet, and she appreciated that he wasn’t bothering her too much. She felt kind of bad about that, since it was supposed to be a romantic day. She didn’t really have any experience with romance, though.
But she could try. Sheshouldtry.
“So, Daddy,” she said, feeling his attention turn to her. She kept her eyes on her painting, her hands and arms covered in different color paint. “What’s your favorite color?”
“My favorite color?” He hummed, and she glanced at him, finding him looking at the house. “I think it’s blue.”
“How do youthinkit’s blue? You don’t know your favorite color?” She set her canvas between them, careful not to put it too close to their legs so it wouldn’t accidentally get ruined.
“I’ve never really thought about it.”
“But if I asked you what your favorite car was, you’d know it likethat.” She snapped her fingers, and he grinned.
“Well, I like cars.”
