She had planned to be so reserved, professional, accepting his help as a volunteer, but nothing more. Instead, she giggled at the picture this big self-assured man made with his face poking through a hole in a cardboard sunshine. The wall came tumbling down as she joined him at the art table at the back of the room.
How could he wear that silly thing with such aplomb? That’s what confidence did, she supposed. “Boys are sunshine,” she said.
“And girls?”
She picked up a pink flower and put her head through the center of it and attached the elastic. “Girls are flowers.”
He smiled at her, but she still thought she detected faint uneasiness in him. Well, was that so unusual? Many men seemed uneasy in classrooms. The furniture was all in miniature, after all. The spaces were too tiny for most men, and Connor was even larger than most men.
“These are done,” Isabella said, resting her hand on one stack, “but we have seven sunshines remaining to cut out and thirteen flowers. The children drew their own, but the cutting part can be quite difficult for little hands. The cardboard is a bit thick.” She gave him a pair of scissors.
He sank into one of the little chairs. She actually wondered if it would break under his weight.
“That doesn’t look very comfortable.”
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