Page 87 of Knot a Good Idea

I frown.

Donovan wouldn’t give them the wrong day on purpose, right?

It’s not like he would want me to himself.

Donovan’s icy eyes are soft as his gaze falls to my lips. “You ready to ruin those clothes?” he asks.

I raise an eyebrow at him, and he laughs. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the kids.”

When we reach the entrance to the warehouse, all the kids stop what they’re doing to look at me with curious faces.

“This is Miss April,” Donovan says to them as they look at me with wide eyes and smiles. “She’s helping us make the sets today.”

And that’s when I put it together.

They’re painting landscapes on the wood. One group paints a bright green field with mountains in the background and a rich blue sky, while the one on the wall is grey and black bricks.

It’s the beginning of a castle along with a dragon to the side.

“Hi Miss April,” they all say in response.

My face flushes.

Donovan leads me to the place where he was sitting, and I join him on the concrete floor, smiling at the little boy. His wide brown eyes look up at me with curiosity.

“Kyle, this is Miss April,” Donovan says in a soft, low voice. “She’s going to help us.”

Kyle gives me a shy, toothy smile, and nods his head, his dark hair falling haphazardly in his face.

“So, what now?” I ask Donovan, staring at the buckets and trays of paint next to the canvas.

He raises an eyebrow, managing to still look arrogant in paint-stained clothes. “Do I need to tell you how to paint grass?”

I blink at him in disbelief.

“You use the green paint, Miss April,” Kyle supplies. “Like this.”

Kyle reaches for the roller that’s in the green paint tray, rolling it on to the side of the tray to wipe the excess off. Then he hands it to me.

“Thank you, Kyle,” I say politely, taking it from his paint-stained hands. “That’s very kind of you.”

I shoot Donovan a nasty look when Kyle turns to talk to a girl around his age painting pink flowers.

He ignores it and picks up a medium-sized brush with yellow paint. Then, he absently flicks bits of paint off the bristles, letting it land on the part of the field that’s been painted.

“These are sets for a play?” I ask him, still holding the roller awkwardly and frowning at the canvas.

I feel like I’m going to mess up all the kids’ hard work.

“There’s a theatre down the street from here,” Donovan answers, working the brush gently over the flecks of yellow. “We try to have the kids help out with painting the backgrounds.”

Kyle is fully engrossed in the conversation with the little girl and has moved away from us.

“So…are these kids…do they have…” I don’t even know how to ask the question. The green paint drips onto my jeans, and I place the roller back into the tray.

“They’re part of one of our art programs,” Donovan supplies, delicately adding highlight to the field. “We work with the theater to pay for what they need. Then we make sure the kids have transportation to and from activities. Sometimes they’ll be building sets, other times they’re attending drawing, sculpting, or painting classes.”

“Oh, wow,” I say. “That’s incredible.”

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