Iris had no frame of reference for painting. She knew that she liked art, looking at it, but she didn't know anything about it. She couldn't tell you about artists or art movements (though she at least knew Van Gogh's name, could probably identify Starry Night), but she knew that some art made her feel good and some just confused her. But Sam was talking about painting the flowers, and she thought that she might like those. So she nodded along, like everything made sense. Like she had any clue what zinc white was.
The petals against her nose made her wrinkle it and pull back with a smile. "Shut up..." It was said with a smile. And a blush. Not just a little one, but a flush that was dark along her cheekbones. "I wasn't going to tell you." Though at the moment she couldn't remember why that had seemed important. "He's nice. He's so good with his daughter. I've never seen him be cruel to other people. Or the animals he takes care of." He'd never been cruel to her either, but even in the flower-drunk moment that didn't seem as important of a thing to list. She paused, and then her blush went even darker as she looked away. "He's handsome." She practically curled in on herself, embarrassed for even saying that. Hands over her face to try to hide, the words are a little more muffled. "He walks around the house without a shirt on sometimes, and I know I shouldn't stare, but..."