With Crayons and Love (Romantic Suspense) [COMPLETED]

Chapter 18 - Lock

Shrieks of chiming laughter poured out of Stella's body as it was raised into the air in Grant's hold. With arms outstretched in flight, Stella laid above him, a thin strip of air keeping her above the six-foot-two of his height, and she swore she could fly with each of Grant's sweeping movements.

"I'm flying, Tessa! Grant, spin!"

He laughed, spinning carefully around to please the five year old girl whom he held.

"Please be careful," I pleaded with them both. My hand was clutching my neck as I tried to combat the dismantling of my nerves, and it took everything inside of me not to peel my eyes away from their idea of fun.

I watched, with a startled gasp, as Grant twisted her in his arms and let her fall into the cradle that they formed. "We have to stop, Stell. Mother Hen is about to have a stroke where you see her."

A deep baritone and light soprano filled the room with laughter.

My hand fluttered to my chest. "Oh my god. I can't breathe."

Grant kissed the top of Stella's head and set her down on the ground before coming to me and taking my hand from its clutch against my own flesh.

"You. Are. Both. Cruel!" I cried.

Stella ran to me and crushed her body against my legs, hugging me to her. "I'm sorry. It was such fun, though!"

"We are. Deeply sorry." Grant grinned, pressing his lips to the hand he held.

I rolled my eyes at him, refusing to be charmed. "You wouldn't be sorry until I were in the throes of a faint spell."

He laughed then, deep and languorous. "You exaggerate."

And shakily, I managed a smile. "Perhaps." I bent down to the floor and wrapped my arms around Stella, running my hand against the excitement-flushed skin of her cheeks.

"You were having fun, weren't you?" I asked, looking into clear blue eyes that seemed to dance. She nodded, looking behind her at Grant.

"He was holding me tight. I wouldn't have fallen. It was like flying! Like Wendy, you know, from Peter Pan. My-" she cut herself off and looked at me, smiling expertly.

It was then that I realized how incredibly genial Stella was, hiding what she had been about to blurt with the expertise of nonchalance.

"Is something bothering you?" I asked quietly, gaining her trust with a little tug on a loose red curl.

She looked at me and shook her head, then behind us where Grant stood in what I knew would be his studious watch, before she looked down at her hands and slipped one into my hair to play with.

"Well, no," she murmured, "I was just going to say that my da used to do the same thing with me when we were playing. It was fun. But- But I'm not sad." She smiled reassuringly.

A sharp pain lodged itself in my chest, and desperately, I tried to read her expression and determine if she was being honest.

"Do you want to talk about him?" I asked, sounding too small even to myself. I felt Grant rest his hand on my shoulder, silently reassuring me, and I was so thankful that for that moment I truly believed I would be able to be there for her if she were to open up to me about her parents. About her pain.

She shook her head decisively and locked our gazes. "No, because that will make me sad."

I smiled softly, understanding too well the way she was feeling. Gingerly I took her small hand into my own, firm and warm. "I know what you mean, sweetie. Sometimes I feel sad myself, and it makes it harder to talk sometimes. But if you ever want to talk to me, Stell, please don't be shy." And quieter, so that it was not too real, "We've all got things we keep locked inside ourselves."