Page 20 of Summer Fling
Lilliana lifted her teacup to my lips, and I pretended to drink from it. "Lilliana's been working on some paintings. I thought we could hang a shelf where we could lean her canvases against the wall. That way, we could easily change them out. Maybe in the playroom?"
Dalton had turned the dining room into a playroom for her since he didn't have a table.
"What were you thinking?" he asked, genuinely interested in my suggestion.
I pulled up the picture of what I was thinking about and showed it to him. This close, he smelled like soap, and his hair was slightly damp, curling over his temples.
"I can make that."
"You can?" I asked as he continued to move around the kitchen.
"Yeah, that's easy enough. We should make it long. I have a feeling we're going to need a lot of space for paintings." He pulled out a package of ground meat and put it into a pan on the stove to cook.
"We've been painting every day." I tensed, wondering if he was going to say it was too much.
Dalton turned to look at me. "I can imagine that it's good for kids to paint."
"There're all kinds of studies about the effects of art therapy. It helps people process emotions, reduce stress, and improve self-esteem."
He glanced up at me. "You seem to enjoy art. Why did you go into psychology?"
"I wanted to help people, and I'm fascinated by human behavior. I enjoy painting, but everyone knows there's no career in the art world," I said, repeating something my parents had drilled into me.
"Who says that there's no career in art?"
I moved back over to Lilliana who was playing with a wooden spoon and a pot. "Everyone says it. You've heard of the phrase the starving artist?"
"Of course. But that doesn't mean it's true. My brother Brady makes money filming a video game online. I don't get it. But a lot of people love it."
"That's different. Streaming online is a thing right now. But selling artwork? Probably not unless you run in elite circles where they compete to possess the most expensive art for the walls of their mansions." I made my voice sound flippant even as my heart rate increased. I was sharing my love of art with him, and I was worried he wouldn't get it.
"You should spend some time checking out art galleries. Tourists love to buy beachscapes to remind them of their visit to the island."
"I wouldn't sell my work. It's more about the process than earning money from it." I was more interested in the therapy piece. I'd seen firsthand how it calmed kids under my care. It helped them feel more relaxed and like less of a perfectionist. It was the perfect avenue to teach a growth mindset. You can practice and get better, not giving up.
The problem was that families who had perfectionist tendencies wouldn't even allow the paint in their house.
Dalton shrugged. "It's up to you. But you seem to love it."
I sighed. "I do."
His eyes flashed with interest. "Then you should do something with it."
"Not everything has to be a business. Sometimes it's just a hobby. Like you making things out of wood in your spare time. It makes you feel good to create."
He nodded. "You're probably right."
"The most I'd ever do is give a painting as a gift, and I'm nowhere near good enough for that. I can't even paint a palm tree." I could draw one, but painting it was more difficult.
"I liked the colors on that canvas you're working on now."
"I'm good at blending colors for skies and water." That was my specialty, but who'd want a painting of just the sky and water? Everyone wanted the added details: the trees, sand, waves.
"I think if you created a bigger one, it would look great above the fireplace."
I glanced at the bare wall above the mantle. "You'd put it there?"
"I love the colors. It's very soothing."
