When Sigrid Finds Out He's Been Macking On Her Daughter It's Over For Him Xoxo <3 - Blog Posts

             the   young   man   looked   like   he   had   lost   a   fight   with   a   paint   bucket.   and   truth   be   told   ,   sigrid   wasn't   totally   sure   he   hadn't.   still   ,   she   smiled   back   at   him   ,   too   deep   in   the   process   to   think   much   of   it.   "that's   very   kind   of   you   ,"   she   allowed   ,   trying   not   to   turn   away   from   the   compliment   but   instead   taking   it   for   what   it   was.   "i   truly   am   rusty   though.   i   spend   more   time   teaching   about   art   than   actually   making   it   myself."   the   question   gave   her   pause   and   she   smiled   softly   at   the   shapes   that   made   up   her   childhood   on   the   canvas.   "it's   what   i   remember   from   my   childhood   home   ,"   she   replied   softly.   "my   family   home   was   close   to   the   ocean   and   my   parents   would   take   me   sometimes."   she   motioned   to   the   grassy   fields,   the   ocea   seen   in   the   distance.   "this   was   one   of   my   favourite   places   growing   up." sigrid   couldn't   help   but   let   out   a   laugh   as   the   young   man   sheepishly   asked   for   advice   on   the   mess   created   on   his   shirt.   "i'm   sorry   ,   the   only   thing   i've   ever   found   works   is   gently   dabbing   on   the   stain   with   soapy   water   and   before   throwing   it   in   the   wash.   you   might   have   to   make   a   mad   dash   home."

Charlie had been wandering past the painting station with a bottle of water in one hand and paint smudged on the edge of his shirt; not from actual artistry, but from trying to help a kid open a stuck tube of acrylics, leading to what could only be described as a disaster. He'd just given up on scrubbing the shirt against itself with the water, scrunching his nose as he'd definitely made it worse, when he'd caught sight of the woman speaking and paused, something about the calm focus in her expression catching his attention.

He stepped a bit closer, eyes scanning the half-finished landscape. “That’s beautiful,” he said, flashing her a warm, easy smile. “Rusty’s just code for still got it.” He crouched slightly beside her canvas, hands resting on his knees. His hand had been placed much gentler over the left one, positioning his fingers precicely to avoid the long scar, years of practice making it second nature. A beat passed, then his eyes flicked from the brush in her hand to the painting itself. “What inspired this one? Or is that a secret artist thing I’m not allowed to ask?” There was a teasing sound to his voice, light and curious with the genuine interest of someone who had a newfound appreciation for both art and the artist’s quiet passion. "Also, can you please tell me how I can get this out of my shirt? It's my favorite and I'm not tryin' to toss this one just yet."