Page 32 of His Wild Storm
And I won’t be taking this feeling for granted.
As much as I want to sit next to Haven after I grab my own pancakes while Wendy smiles, and not in a flirty way, I force myself to sit on the other side of Wilde. If I were to sit next to her, I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my hands to myself. The small, four-year-old buffer is a good idea.
For now.
The look Wilde gives me is full-on assessing and I don’t think he leaves an inch of me unobserved. Suspicion and curiosity fill his words, “Where’s the treasure box? You didn’t forget, did you?”
I bark out a laugh as I get my pancakes ready to eat. I make a funny face at him which makes him smile even though he tries to stop it.
“What do you take me for? I’ll have you know that I had some very special people decorate the treasure box for me and I’ve already put it in our classroom.” Wilde’s eyes go wide and it’s obvious he’s about a second away from bolting to check out the box. “Nope,” the word is firm, but I don’t snap at him, and he stills while his face goes wary, “you can’t run off and get a sneak peek. It wouldn’t be fair to everyone else in the class. Besides,” Ipoint down to his plate, “we’re eating pancakes and they’re our favorite.”
His little shoulders relax and he nods wistfully. “You’re right. I just want to see the treasure box. I’ve been thinking about it all week.”
“I hope it doesn’t disappoint,” I throw out there, now more than a little worried that it will.
The box itself is simple, but I got Monroe to decorate it since putting jewels on a wooden box isn’t in my normal wheelhouse. She’s not only an artist, but a crafter. I figured she’d be the best bet to prevent it from looking like a glue gun hot mess.
“You haven’t just been thinking about it,” Haven points out. “You’ve been practicing drawing boxes all week.”
I swear Wilde blushes a little, but he brazens right through any embarrassment. “Getting the suspective right is hard with a box,” he justifies the practice he’s been putting in.
It’s completely unnecessary because I’m impressed as hell that he even thought to practice. After finishing chewing my bite of pancakes, I point my fork in his direction. “You’re not wrong. And I think you mean perspective. That is how you make a two-dimensional object appear to be three dimensions within a certain space.”
The serious look on his face makes me want to laugh, but I hold it back. I never want him to feel like I’m making fun of him. I’m not. How could I when I’m blown away by the kid?
“Perspective,” he repeats the word slowly while nodding. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”
“Perspective is difficult to master. There are times when I’m working on a piece for a tattoo where I have to redo partsbecause the angle isn’t right or there’s something off with the sizing. It’s something you’ll always work on, no matter how long you’ve been drawing.”
Wilde’s eyes widen and his fork freezes midair. “You still have to redo things when you’re drawing something?”
I chuckle under my breath and nod as he stuffs the bite of pancake into his mouth, his attention riveted on me. I glance at Haven and find her paying close attention, even though she’s trying to make it look like she’s not.
“Of course,” I confirm. “Just because art is part of my career and people like my work doesn’t mean I’m perfect all the time. It also doesn’t mean I stop learning. I’m always looking at other people’s work and challenging myself. I’m always looking to get better and to make every piece I work on the best it can be. Sometimes that means redoing parts of it or even starting over.”
“Woah,” Wilde breathes out. “I just figured you’d get it right all the time now.”
“I wish,” I groan and shoot him a pouty look. “Certain things are still harder for me than other things. Like hands. Especially the fingers. It requires such detail and is small work. I have to really focus and slow down when I’m drawing fingers and when I’m tattooing them.”
“A tattoo is just drawing with ink on skin, right?” Wilde’s question is filled with gentle, innocent curiosity.
“Exactly,” I answer honestly. “But working on skin, especially the way I do it isn’t easy. Paper is consistent. It feels the same all over, right?” He nods as he spears another pancake bite. “Skin is different. It moves and some areas might feel different than another.”
“Oh,” he exclaims, “like how I can do this?” Wilde pinches a little bit of skin on his arm and pulls it up before releasing it. “Ouch,” he says under his breath, more to himself than us.
“Hey,” Haven’s voice holds a soft warning, “be gentle with your skin.”
He shoots her a sheepish look and nods. When I clear my throat, he looks at me expectantly.
“Exactly like how you can do that,” I tell him and wink which earns me a grin. “It makes skin difficult to work on. And depending on where a tattoo is, the process can be painful.”
He gasps, “Is it always painful?”
I glance at Haven who is looking at me with wide eyes and a look that screams ‘what the fuck, you’re on your own, but good luck’ and I cringe. Not wanting to lie to the boy, ever, I go with tempered honesty.
“It can be. Some places on the body hurt more than others. It depends and every person is different. The ink goes under the skin and requires needles to be used in a tattoo machine.”
He blinks at me a few times before looking at my arms, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration. “Needles?” There’s a mix of awe and disbelief in his voice. “Did yours hurt?”
