Read Online Divided Hearts by Susan R. Hughes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan R. Hughes
Ads: Link
wrong?”
“Nothing,” Faye reassured him as she poured the eggs into a warm frying pan. “It’s just a tantrum. Best to ignore it. She doesn’t get break-fast until she calms down.”
Simon did as advised, turning his back on Hannah until the tantrum petered out and she was sitting quietly on the floor, snuffling, her tear-streaked face a picture of desolation. By that time, the omelets were ready and Faye had distributed them on three plates, with small pieces laid out in Hannah’s bowl.
Calmer himself, Simon lifted the toddler into her high chair, then fastened her bib around her neck. Exhaling a sharp breath of relief, he placed her bowl on her tray, before settling into his own chair.
“There you go. Breakfast. You should be happy now.”
Peering down suspiciously at the bowl, Hannah prodded the omelet several times with her finger, then abruptly seized the bowl and tossed it over the side of the tray. It landed on the floor with a clatter, the contents scattering.
“Hannah, that was very bad!” Simon admonished, his voice stern yet admirably restrained, considering the exasperation etched through his features.
Glancing over, Faye spotted a fleck of egg dangling from his eyebrow. With her hand she smothered a grin, hoping he wouldn’t notice her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
Simon returned a wry smile. “Surely this doesn’t happen to you.”
“All the time.” Though she couldn’t quite stifle her amusement, Faye felt tremendously sorry for him and wanted to offer reassurance. “She’s a normal toddler. Believe me, you can handle it.”
* * *
Faye’s eyes flickered up and down between her sketch pad and the window, as she drew her pencil across the paper in quick motions. Having roughed out the rolling form of Thormanby Island across the bay, she began filling in the stretch of deep blue water between the island and the pebbled beach below the house, its gently swelling surface glinting with bright sparks of sunlight. The dark silhouettes of Douglas firs swayed on the shore, framing the scene.
Without a table she had to balance her sketch pad on her lap, holding the top edge with her left hand. Heeding an impulse, she’d borrowed a chair from Simon’s office, rolling it over to the picture window at the edge of the loft. She’d meant to walk down to the beach as soon as Hannah went down for her nap, but the window here framed the view so perfectly, Faye couldn’t help but grab her sketch pad and capture it. Simon had been right in choosing this spot for her; it provided an ideal retreat to indulge creative whims. Since she’d taken up illustration for a living, Faye didn’t draw compulsively very often, as she had as a child, when art had provided a much-needed refuge. In her pictures she could create order, and even escape to any place and time her imagination could produce. She saw her ability to draw as a blessing, not only for those who appreciated her work but for her own peace of mind.
Glancing up, her eye caught a motion far out in the bay—a splash of water so tiny in the distance, she couldn’t make out whether it was an otter, a dolphin, or even a piece of driftwood bobbing on the waves.
“What are you working on?”
Startled, Faye spun her head to find Simon standing behind her, peering over her shoulder.
“Nothing special,” she said shyly, resisting the urge to cover the paper with her hands. She had never liked people to see her work before it was finished.
Simon smiled mildly, his eyes roaming over the drawing in admiration; she dropped her gaze to her lap, acutely aware of the bare expanse of her legs under the pad, exposed in mid-length shorts that gathered at the tops of her thighs when she sat down.
“Looks exceptional to me,” he said, his face close enough for his breath to tickle her scalp. Conscious of the measured cadence of his breathing behind her, she held onto her own breath for a moment; his warmth glowed against her back,
“Nothing,” Faye reassured him as she poured the eggs into a warm frying pan. “It’s just a tantrum. Best to ignore it. She doesn’t get break-fast until she calms down.”
Simon did as advised, turning his back on Hannah until the tantrum petered out and she was sitting quietly on the floor, snuffling, her tear-streaked face a picture of desolation. By that time, the omelets were ready and Faye had distributed them on three plates, with small pieces laid out in Hannah’s bowl.
Calmer himself, Simon lifted the toddler into her high chair, then fastened her bib around her neck. Exhaling a sharp breath of relief, he placed her bowl on her tray, before settling into his own chair.
“There you go. Breakfast. You should be happy now.”
Peering down suspiciously at the bowl, Hannah prodded the omelet several times with her finger, then abruptly seized the bowl and tossed it over the side of the tray. It landed on the floor with a clatter, the contents scattering.
“Hannah, that was very bad!” Simon admonished, his voice stern yet admirably restrained, considering the exasperation etched through his features.
Glancing over, Faye spotted a fleck of egg dangling from his eyebrow. With her hand she smothered a grin, hoping he wouldn’t notice her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
Simon returned a wry smile. “Surely this doesn’t happen to you.”
“All the time.” Though she couldn’t quite stifle her amusement, Faye felt tremendously sorry for him and wanted to offer reassurance. “She’s a normal toddler. Believe me, you can handle it.”
* * *
Faye’s eyes flickered up and down between her sketch pad and the window, as she drew her pencil across the paper in quick motions. Having roughed out the rolling form of Thormanby Island across the bay, she began filling in the stretch of deep blue water between the island and the pebbled beach below the house, its gently swelling surface glinting with bright sparks of sunlight. The dark silhouettes of Douglas firs swayed on the shore, framing the scene.
Without a table she had to balance her sketch pad on her lap, holding the top edge with her left hand. Heeding an impulse, she’d borrowed a chair from Simon’s office, rolling it over to the picture window at the edge of the loft. She’d meant to walk down to the beach as soon as Hannah went down for her nap, but the window here framed the view so perfectly, Faye couldn’t help but grab her sketch pad and capture it. Simon had been right in choosing this spot for her; it provided an ideal retreat to indulge creative whims. Since she’d taken up illustration for a living, Faye didn’t draw compulsively very often, as she had as a child, when art had provided a much-needed refuge. In her pictures she could create order, and even escape to any place and time her imagination could produce. She saw her ability to draw as a blessing, not only for those who appreciated her work but for her own peace of mind.
Glancing up, her eye caught a motion far out in the bay—a splash of water so tiny in the distance, she couldn’t make out whether it was an otter, a dolphin, or even a piece of driftwood bobbing on the waves.
“What are you working on?”
Startled, Faye spun her head to find Simon standing behind her, peering over her shoulder.
“Nothing special,” she said shyly, resisting the urge to cover the paper with her hands. She had never liked people to see her work before it was finished.
Simon smiled mildly, his eyes roaming over the drawing in admiration; she dropped her gaze to her lap, acutely aware of the bare expanse of her legs under the pad, exposed in mid-length shorts that gathered at the tops of her thighs when she sat down.
“Looks exceptional to me,” he said, his face close enough for his breath to tickle her scalp. Conscious of the measured cadence of his breathing behind her, she held onto her own breath for a moment; his warmth glowed against her back,
Similar Books
