Page 89 of Knot a Good Idea

“What?”

“It’s nice you have an outlet,” I say. “You act like you have a giant stick up your butt all the time.”

“Miss April said butt!” Kyle yells, and it catches me so off guard that I look at Donovan and burst out laughing, dropping the paint roller and splashing green all over my sweatshirt.

Donovan stares at me, stunned.

“What?” I ask him, suddenly insecure. “Is there paint on my face?”

But he continues to look at me in awe. “Your smile,” he says finally, his voice soft.

I make a face. “What about it?”

“You’ve smiled for Liam and Hunter like that. Not me,” he clarifies.

“Oh. Well, now you’ve seen it,” I say, suddenly uncomfortable. “I have a field to paint, if you don’t mind.”

My face burns, but Donovan’s small smile helps soften the embarrassment.

“I owe you an apology,” he says, once I’ve completed three layers of green paint. “For how I behaved the other night.”

I nod. “I appreciate it.”

“I’m not…” he sighs and swallows, flexing his jaw. “I’m not the best with…feelings.”

I cross my arms over my knees and lean over, stretching my back. “I can tell. But neither am I.”

“You seem to have a better handle on it than I do.”

A little girl runs over to show Donovan her paint splattered hands, and he smiles at her.

It’s a genuine smile, one that I want to commit to memory for the rest of my life.

Is that how he feels whenIsmile?

When she runs off, I sigh. “I don’t have an outlet for all my frustrations just yet. Well, besides the café. But at work, customers always want to talk about…you know. My past.”

He nods. “Which is partly why you agreed to a date with me, right? Because I didn’t know who you were and I didn’t treat you like you were a victim.”

“Yes. That’s exactly why, actually. You made me feel normal,” I say quietly, picking at a splotch of green paint under my nail. “All three of you do.”

He picks up a fine tipped brush out of a can of muted pink paint. “You do the same for me,” he murmurs, gently swirling lines along his yellow flecks.

“I wouldn’t call you normal,” I tease, and he shakes his head and chuckles to himself.

“I guess not.”

I scoot closer to him, leaning over and watching how he paints. It’s soothing to watch the brush go back and forth as Donovan creates blossoms in the painted field.

I’m not sure if I’ve accepted his apology yet. Our last interaction made me sick to my stomach from the rejection.

But as I watch him paint with the children, something inside me settles.

His scent is mouthwatering like always, but there’s a new note.

Something familiar and cozy that calms me.

He’s good with kids, a tiny voice in me whispers.

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