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“Okay. Metal sculpture… where’s that one?” Bam asked, as he worked his way through the clip boards.

A couple of different people walked in and the clan dispersed as Daisy welcomed them and offered a tour of the place.

And it was just the beginning. A steady stream of people arrived, with some of them actually signing up for classes before they left.

The day went well, most people that came brought their kids, and it was easy to tell which of the kids were really excited about the idea of learning to create art.

Some were clearly already advanced from the drawings she found in the kids’ room, and in the multi-purpose room, and that was wonderful.

She couldn’t wait to be surrounded by others who were stirred by their creativity as she was whether they be kids or adults, but hopefully it would be both.

Around 5:30 that afternoon the crowd had dwindled, and most of the clan had returned home.

Hellen and Lucien, and Brandt and Tempest, along with Delilah and Janie, had remained behind to help her clean up and put everything back to rights.

Tempest sat beside the sign up table nibbling on what remained of the charcuterie board and hoarding the butter and bread board.

Kaid and Bane were out back poking around the kiln and looking at all the equipment Daisy had managed to amass in the sculpting buildings as well.

The sound of a car pulling in, got Daisy’s attention.

“Probably Remi coming in late,” she said.

“I’d be surprised,” Hellen mumbled.

Daisy turned to look at Hellen. “Why? What’s wrong with Remi?”

“He’s just having a hard time,” Hellen admitted.

“Hard like?” Daisy pressed.

“He threw a couple of whiskey bottles through his front window. He’s been drunk pretty much on the regular since Bailey told him it was over and she wasn’t willing to build a life with somebody that would always be tempted by his true mate.”

“Whiskey bottles?” Daisy asked, disbelievingly.

“Yep. One of them empty, the other full.”

“Has anyone checked on him?” Daisy asked.

“Oh, yeah. We check on him regularly. He’s a mean drunk. Did anybody know that?” Brandt asked.

“I wouldn’t say mean, I’d say surly,” Hellen added.

“What’s the difference?” Lucien asked.

“One’s had their heart broken and reacting to it, the other is just mean because they’re mean,” Hellen clarified.

“How do you know he’s not just mean? Maybe it’s been hidden deep inside his whole life,” Lucien said.

Hellen laughed, then scoffed at Lucien. “You’re meaner than he is. I’m meaner than Remi is. He’s just hurting.”

“Bailey know she hurt him?” Daisy asked.

“She does. And she’s suffering, too. Badly. But she’s made the only decision she could,” Tempest said.

“How’s that?” Daisy asked.

“Remi couldn’t win. If he chose Cristie, he lost Bailey, who he’d fallen in love with and broke her heart.

If he chose Bailey, he’d hurt Cristie, his true mate and also his best friend since childhood.

No matter what he did, he hurt someone he loved.

Bailey took that decision out of his hands so he wouldn’t be responsible for hurting anybody.

From what I understand he was already drinking when she arrived to talk to him.

He just got worse after she left,” Tempest explained.

“She must really love him to do that,” Brandt said. “Though he doesn’t see it now, she’s trying to make it easier for him.”

“Really sucks they have to go through this,” Hellen said.

“Does,” Lucien said, pulling Hellen in for a hug.

“So she knows about everything, then,” Daisy said.

“Yes. She deserved to know,” Tempest said.

Daisy nodded thoughtfully.

“Excuse me,” a voice said, from just outside the door as he peered in. “Are we too late for the grand-opening?”

All eyes turned to a man standing there with a hopeful smile on his face.

He was tall and had brown hair with expressive hazel eyes.

His lashes were long and curled, and his lips weren’t thin, but they weren’t full either.

They were just right. He had a tanned complexion, and was dressed in a pair of slacks and a button down shirt and dress shoes.

His smile accentuated the smile lines around his mouth and the crows feet from what Daisy decided must be years of laughter around his eyes.

The little boy at his side was a little replica of himself.

And while the man seemed tired, he seemed friendly and warm.

The child on the other hand seemed very sad, and almost withdrawn.

“No! Not at all, come on in. Hi, I’m Daisy,” Daisy said, walking toward them as they entered and the man rested a hand on the child’s head to guide him into the building.

“Daisy, this must be your place.”

“It is. What gave it away?” she asked.

He pointed over his shoulder without looking that way. “The sign. Your name is on it.”

“Oh! Yes! I guess it is. She said with a little giggle. And yes, this is my place. Thank you so much for coming by. Are you an artist?”

“Nah. Maybe once upon a time I dabbled a little, but couldn’t seem to make anything recognizable except stick people. Carson here, though, he’s very talented.”

Carson continued to look at the floor rather than at anyone in the room.

“What do you like to draw with, Carson?” Daisy asked.

“Carson, the lady asked you what you like to draw with.”

Carson, who seemed to be about six or seven years old, just half-heartedly lifted one shoulder.

Daisy smiled at the man and gestured at Carson. “May I?” she asked.

“You can try,” the man said softly. “He’s always nervous around new people and places. I was hoping that maybe this could be a good thing for him,” he said, gesturing around himself at all the art supplies.

Daisy knelt in front of Carson. “Hi. My name is Daisy. I really like your name. It’s Carson, right?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead standing in place and picking at the skin on the edge of his finger nail. He’d picked it so badly, it had begun to bleed. “Oh, my goodness. You made your finger bleed.” She held out her hand. “May I see it to make sure it doesn’t need a band-aid?”

He tucked his finger in with the rest of his fingers on that hand.

“You know, I used to get so nervous, so stressed about having to leave my house that I’d do the same thing. But look, I figured out how to not do it anymore.” She turned over her hand and let him see that the skin around her nails wasn’t picked raw or bleeding.

Carson looked at her hand. He didn’t look up at her, but he did look at her hands. “How?” he finally asked.

“I just figured out that I was only hurting myself. I was afraid of everybody. But I decided not to let them win by making me not be able to do the things I loved.”

He raised his eyes to tentatively look at Daisy. “That’s all?” he asked.

“That’s all.”

“Can I see your fingers so I know what size band-aid to get you?” she asked, her hand still outstretched.

Carson looked at her again, then at her hand. It took a few moments before he finally, very slowly, lifted his hand and put it on her palm.

Daisy very softly curled her fingers around his little hand, sending calm, healing thoughts from herself to him. Almost immediately the finger stopped bleeding. “Well, will you look at that?! It’s healed already!”

“It is?” he asked, looking at his hand where it still rested on hers.

“It is. You must have some superpowers or something,” Daisy said.

Carson actually gave her a little smile.

“So, this is my new art studio. Do you like art?”

He shrugged.

“Would you like to see all the things I have here?”

“Okay,” he said, actually taking a step with her, without pulling his hand free from her.

“Are you hungry? We have lots of food. If you see something you want to eat, just help yourself.”

“Okay.”

They walked around the front room of her studio, Carson curiously taking in everything she pointed out. But she knew she’d won him over when he saw the pastels and went straight for them. “Do you like pastels?”

“I don’t know. I never used them before.”

“They’re kind of like watercolors, but dry ones. You have to use special tools to blend them at their edges. Some people just use their fingers to do that with. They’re fun, but take practice. People that work with them are very gifted.”

“Could I try?” he asked, looking up at her.

“Of course. You want to try now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay. Let’s see if we can get you set up.

” She took him over to the sketch books of all sizes and let him choose one.

Then she took both Carson and the sketch book into the kids’ room and took a blank page out of it and showed him how to attach it to a table top easel.

“I like these easels for pastels because they hold your page on an angle, but not straight up and down. Pastels make a lot of dust so if your page is vertical, the dust will fall and mess up the bottom of your page. So, it’s better if your page is kind of lying down, but on an angle. Understand?”

Carson nodded.

“Now, these are your pastels. You have three or four shades of every color, even of the black, grays, whites and browns.”

“I like the colors. They feel good.”

Daisy grinned. She often made decisions based on how things ‘felt’, so she fully understood what he meant. Colors had a certain feeling to them. “They do. They make me feel calm, too.”

“I can breathe better when I look at them.”

“They help you relax,” Daisy said.

“Is that what they’re doing?”

“I think so.”

“So, let me show you a few things first, okay?”

Carson nodded.

Daisy chose a yellow, a green, and a blue pastel.

She made lines of each color, then picked up the blending tool, thought better of it and put it back down, then used her finger to blend in the edges of the pastels to make it look like the colors faded from one to the other without a separation between them. “See how that worked?”

Carson looked up at her wide-eyed. “That’s cool.”