**Rough Draft**

"It's okay, Will, I'll play with Blake," I hear myself say. Will's jaws tensed, holding back a reply as Blake lets out a small "yay" and grabs my hand. I feel a stab of guilt—and something else. Regret? Way to go Brea.

Blake tugs on my hand and takes me to another room, its walls covered in drawings –all were his own– and littered with books and toys. It mirrored the daycare, except it was silent.

"Let's draw!" he exclaimed, pointing at the paints and paper shelved. I walked over to the shelf and pulled out some paint cans and canvas paper.

Laying them on the floor, we both situate ourselves on the dark blue carpet. Blake starts off by plunging his left hand into an open paint can. He then presses that wet hand onto the canvas.

He looks up at me and smiles.

"Your turn!"

Hesitantly, I dip my left into the same cool, smooth paint Blake had chosen –green– and did as he had before. Next to his, you can see my hand was nearly four times the size of Blake's.

With his right, he immersed them into the red paint, and began spelling out his name above his own handprint.

I grinned when he looked up at me for help when it came to the letter 'k'. I guided Blake's paint-stained fingers to draw the last two letters.

"Now write your name," he insisted, tugging my hand. So I wrote, 'Brea' above my handprint.

After that Blake draws shapes and doodles all over the canvas in mixed colors while I make sure that in his enthusiasm he doesn't spill the paint. When the paper looks all about covered in rainbow-kid-amazing-ness, I set it up to dry and get our hands cleaned from the paint.

I go back to Blake's room – I actually remembered how to get back! – so we can wash our hands there.

There's no sign of Will, and I can't help but feel a bit guilty and disappointed. Maybe I should have gone with him? No way. You're here for Blake, I remind myself as I rub his chubby little hands in soap and water.

When we had thoroughly cleaned ourselves, Blake once more took me back to his playroom and we spent an hour playing with his stuffed toys until Pierre came by.

But by then, I was literally dead. All the energy from this morning was gone and I could barely keep my eyes open.

"It's about time you two get to the daycare," he said, walking over to help me put the stuffed animals away. "Go on, I'll put all of this away," Pierre urged, "since it looks like you need a nap."

I mumble a 'thanks' and take Blake's hand. We walk out of the room together, but he lets go of my hand the moment the large double doors that linked the lobby and the rest of the house came into view.

"Slow down, Blake!" I shout, forcing myself into a jog to keep up with him. With a grunt, I lift Blake off his feet and into the air. He lets out a happy shriek and claps as I set him back down.

"Again! Again!" he says, holding up his arms.

"Sorry Blake, but we have to go," I say. Naturally, I couldn't have been able to say no to him—if I weren't so tired.

"Please? Just one more?" he begs, leaning against me with wide eyes.

And it was that look that I'd have to blame my sore arms for. Because I didn't just do it once. I did it all the way until we got to the limo parked outside, where Blake jumped into the seat.

"You're a lot stronger than you look," a voice says behind me, making my neck prickle. I turn and see Will standing behind me with a small smile on his face. I exhale from exertion, feeling hot from having to exercise so much. But at least I didn't feel the cold.

"Uh, yeah, thanks." Did that mean he was watching the entire time?

"Here," he said, handing me a white box. "I was planning on us going shopping for it together, but you chose Blake over me," he adds, winking.

I'm momentarily paralyzed by the fact that William Right just winked at me to remember he was still holding the box for me to take. I snap out of my daze and take it from him but before I can open it, Pierre arrives saying we'd be late if we don't hurry up.

"Thanks, Will," I tell him with a tired smile, and then duck into the limo before I do or say anything else to make me look more foolish than I already did.

Blake is still going strong, chatting and pointing at various things as we drove along. Pierre doesn't talk much, keeping his eyes on the road.

When we finally get there, Blake had to walk over to me to get out of the limo because I had dozed off.

"C'mon, let's go," he complained, tugging on my hand. But I didn't even have the strength to get out.

"I'll see you at eleven, Blake, like I usually do." Because right now I need to sleep.

Blake pouts, but Pierre comes to my rescue.

"Blake, buddy, Ms. Brea needs some rest. She'll be back soon, okay?"

"Do you promise?"

"Promise," Pierre agreed, giving the boy a firm nod.

Blake buys it and smiles, giving me a wave before running into the daycare where Audrey is standing in a nice red coat. I wave at him back through the pulled-down window.

"I'm going home, Audrey!" I shout, "but I'll be back for work by eleven!"

"It's alright, Brea. Just get some rest, honey."

Sliding the window back down, I nestle myself into a nice position in the limo and shut my eyes, feeling sleep beckon me. As much as I adored Blake, my first priority right now was to lie down on a soft mattress and simply drift away.

There was a gentle lull in the limo as Pierre pulled us onto the road.

The last thing I could remember was Pierre smiling from the rear-view mirror, saying, "Sweet dreams."