“He’ll grow into it.”
♥♥ MERRY CHRISTMAS, coral_catshark! ♥♥
LET YOUR HEART BE LIGHT
Quinn Merrill & Phillipa Irving
When she came in she found the air thick with the same sawdust that decorated the front of his shirt. He was sitting on the floor, his long legs out in front of him at angles that seemed awkward for someone of his height, and for a few moments she just stood in the doorway watching him. His hair was peppered with the dust and when he sighed she saw it shifting in the air in front of him. Phillipa couldn’t help herself, she laughed and clucked her tongue quietly in mock disapproval.
Quinn lifted his head, noticing her for the first time since her arrival.
“What am I going to do with you?” she asked fondly with a sigh in her voice as she stepped over the threshold and approached him, picking her way carefully among pieces of wood and the various surfaces that made up the pack’s workshop. Waving her hand through the air to clear some of the lazily tumbling dust she asked, “What have you been doing in here?”
With one hand -- also covered in dust, she noticed -- he gestured towards the other side of the room. Only when he did so did Phillipa realise he had dropped down on the floor to appraise his own work, study it from a distance. Often she had imagined him doing this, eyes narrowed, head tilting at different angles to give him a good idea of how the piece might look to others, trying to see it as an outsider might. She smiled and crouched easily. Her feet were protected from the random splinters and small chunks of discarded wood by a pair of sandals. Quinn hated it when she set foot in the workshop with no shoes.
“A rocking horse?” She felt her smile grow, turning to look at him. Something about the downward turn of his mouth told her he wasn’t happy. “What?” she asked. “What don’t you like about it?”
To her surprise -- and relief -- he smiled then, shaking his head. “The kid’s not even a year old,” he said with a tired laugh, raking his hand through his hair before she could stop him, her own halfway lifted to stop him, her mouth open in a protest that never had a chance to fully form. Closing her mouth she dropped her hand and looked at the horse.
“That doesn’t matter,” she told him. Her strawberry blonde hair swung around her shoulders when she turned her head to look at him again. “He’ll grow into it.”
Her smile made him smile. Phillipa loved it when that happened. “Yeah,” he said quietly, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess he will.”
Phillipa rubbed her hand over his back, turning her focus back to the little horse he had made for their Alphas’ child. “They’ll love it.” There was no doubt in her mind about that.
LET YOUR HEART BE LIGHT
Quinn Merrill & Phillipa Irving
When she came in she found the air thick with the same sawdust that decorated the front of his shirt. He was sitting on the floor, his long legs out in front of him at angles that seemed awkward for someone of his height, and for a few moments she just stood in the doorway watching him. His hair was peppered with the dust and when he sighed she saw it shifting in the air in front of him. Phillipa couldn’t help herself, she laughed and clucked her tongue quietly in mock disapproval.
Quinn lifted his head, noticing her for the first time since her arrival.
“What am I going to do with you?” she asked fondly with a sigh in her voice as she stepped over the threshold and approached him, picking her way carefully among pieces of wood and the various surfaces that made up the pack’s workshop. Waving her hand through the air to clear some of the lazily tumbling dust she asked, “What have you been doing in here?”
With one hand -- also covered in dust, she noticed -- he gestured towards the other side of the room. Only when he did so did Phillipa realise he had dropped down on the floor to appraise his own work, study it from a distance. Often she had imagined him doing this, eyes narrowed, head tilting at different angles to give him a good idea of how the piece might look to others, trying to see it as an outsider might. She smiled and crouched easily. Her feet were protected from the random splinters and small chunks of discarded wood by a pair of sandals. Quinn hated it when she set foot in the workshop with no shoes.
“A rocking horse?” She felt her smile grow, turning to look at him. Something about the downward turn of his mouth told her he wasn’t happy. “What?” she asked. “What don’t you like about it?”
To her surprise -- and relief -- he smiled then, shaking his head. “The kid’s not even a year old,” he said with a tired laugh, raking his hand through his hair before she could stop him, her own halfway lifted to stop him, her mouth open in a protest that never had a chance to fully form. Closing her mouth she dropped her hand and looked at the horse.
“That doesn’t matter,” she told him. Her strawberry blonde hair swung around her shoulders when she turned her head to look at him again. “He’ll grow into it.”
Her smile made him smile. Phillipa loved it when that happened. “Yeah,” he said quietly, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess he will.”
Phillipa rubbed her hand over his back, turning her focus back to the little horse he had made for their Alphas’ child. “They’ll love it.” There was no doubt in her mind about that.