He smiled as he watched her, her tongue sticking gently out of the side of her mouth. The ultimate indication of concentration, he thought. She pulled a paintbrush from her hair, the hastily drawn together bun designed to keep hair off her face and her paintbrushes together, easily accessible.
Splatters of colour decoracted her head, her hands, her nose. The tails of her shirt – his shirt, originally – hung by her knees; once white, now so covered in colour that it had become a piece of art in itself.
“Hey,” she giggled when she finally noticed him leaning against the door to her studio, before sliding from her half-perch upon the high stool and sidling over to greet him.
Thanks, Bikergurl, for the prompt and the photo!