Reviewing the painting, Sarrah smiled.

“No,” Timmy said, looking me square in the eyes. “I would rather you didn’t.”

“You seem to be my perfect subject though.”

“Yes, and your first painting came out perfect, did it not?”

“I suppose it did.”

Timmy reached up and poked at his cheeks and twisted his fingers exaggerating his non-existent dimples.

“Alright, alright… don’t expect me to stop asking, though.”

“I completely expect you to ask.” Timmy grinned and indicated his whole body as if he were trying to convince me how perfect it was.

“You should probably get some sleep, and I probably need a bit of alone time.”

“Fine,” I said as I picked up the canvas cloth and shook it out.

I threw the cloth over the painting and turned to go.

“Good night, Sarrah,” Timmy said from under the muffling of the cloth.

“Good night my perfect painting.”