Merger to Marriage (Boardrooms and Billi - By Addison Fox Page 0,39
groom is handsome, but not as much as Holt.”
“I agree he’s very handsome. But enough boy talk. I want to see your paintings.”
Annette danced over to a row of canvasses leaning against the wall. “These are my old ones. The new ones are hidden. Turn around.”
Mayson first admired the canvasses that were face up. Holt didn’t miss the wink she shot him as she turned around and he knew the jig was up. “Do I have to turn around, too?”
Annette was delighted by his arrival, gesturing him into the room and pointing toward a seat near the front. “Here. You sit next to Mayson. And you have to hide your eyes, too.”
Holt took a minute to look at the same canvasses Mayson had deliberated over. Bright, vivid slashes of color filled each and every one, and while the technique often needed work, the enthusiasm was more than evident in each and every stroke. He thought about that while Annette positioned her canvasses for the big reveal. There was a vibrancy and a joy in the young girl he couldn’t help admiring.
For individuals the world thought of as “challenged,” she had a wonderful view of herself and the world around her. She continued to hem and haw behind them, and Holt could hear the sound of the wooden frame of the canvas as it touched the floor, then the wall, then was shifted once more.
“Okay! Turn around!”
The order was layered with excitement, and Holt and Mayson turned to admire Annette’s paintings at the same time. He thought he might need Mayson’s support as he reviewed the child’s work, but the reaction that welled up was absolutely genuine. “Annette. They’re beautiful.”
Hands went to her slim hips. “You can’t just say that. You have to mean it.”
“I do mean it.” He walked forward, standing before each canvas to review the work before moving to the next. “You’ve done a beautiful job.”
The paintings centered on a common theme. Each showed a girl, her face turned toward the sun with her arms outstretched. In every painting, the color of the subject’s dress was different and the backgrounds changed, but all were well-done and showed Annette’s development of thought and ability to work around a theme.
“I meant them to be the same but different.”
“You’ve done a great job. Tell me about them.”
The girl turned her focus toward the canvasses and chattered happily about each of the paintings. It wasn’t until he felt a hand on his arm that he turned to look at Mayson, his attention finally broken from the work. “She’s amazing.”
Annette turned, her smile even broader than the one she’d worn earlier. “You like them?”
“I love them.”
“Which is your favorite?”
“The woman in the blue dress.” He got up from the desk and stood next to the painting, his gaze focused on the canvas. He lifted his hands to his hips in a gesture that matched Annette’s.
“Why do you like the blue one?”
“Because Mayson was wearing a blue dress the first time I saw her.”
Proudly, Annette reached for the painting and turned toward Holt. “Then you need to have it.”
“I can’t take your painting.”
“I want you to.”
She held it out until Holt reached for it. He grasped the wooden edges of the canvas with both hands. “I know just where I’m going to hang this.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss against Annette’s cheek. “Thank you.”
A light giggle erupted from the girl’s lips as she pressed her hand to her cheek. “Do I get another kiss if I give you another painting?”
Mayson reached forward and pulled the girl into a tight hug. “I think we need to teach you some more subtle flirting techniques.”
“I thought a girl needed to ask for what she wanted.” Annette leaned back and put her hands on her hips once again. “Isn’t that what you’re always saying?”
Holt shot her a sideways glance. “Is that what you’re always saying?”
Mayson couldn’t hold back the quick smile as she pulled Annette into another hug, this time from the side. “How is it you listened to that lesson and not the others I’ve tried to pass on?”
“Because I don’t want to eat my vegetables, and it’s boring to get all my homework done every night.”
Holt leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the other cheek. “Well, who can argue with that?”
…
Although they were only about forty miles from Manhattan, the small, upstate town that Hands, Hearts and Hugs called home didn’t boast a lot of dining establishments. They’d found a small diner