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Addie straightened and pushed the door open, drawn in.
Bram’s head shot up, his hand stilling. “Addie.”
“Good morning.” Her gaze dropped to those scarred hands on that smooth brown wood. “What are you doing?”
“Um.” He looked uncomfortable. “Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.” There were lots of tools resting on the table. They looked to be good quality, and well used. Then she turned and sucked in a breath.
There were several shelves on the wall and they were all filled with wooden carvings. The sculptures were beautiful. She walked closer, Bram’s silence deafening.
Some were just abstract shapes—interesting twists and whirls of smooth wood. One was a lion sitting, looking majestic. Another a hawk perched on a branch, each feather intricately carved.
Then she saw the dancer. It was a woman in a tutu in mid-pirouette à la seconde. Her elegant hand was raised in front of her.
Addie’s heart thumped hard. The face had been carved in glorious detail.
It washer.
The next carving was her, as well. She was standing, a thin dress clinging to her body. She looked beautiful, ethereal.
The next one she was sitting, her long hair over her shoulder as she brushed it. She had a serene look on her face. Another was her standing in the wind, her hair and long dress blowing up behind her, making her look like a goddess.
And there was another one of her dancing. It was a moment from her show.
In every one she looked beautiful, special.
Is this how he saw her?
“You made these?” Her voice was thick.
“It’s just a hobby.”
She whirled. “It’s more than a hobby, Bram. They’re amazing. You’re so talented.”
Dull color filled his cheeks. “It’s just a hobby,” he insisted. “I’m self-taught.”
She moved closer. “When did you start?”
“In high school. When I had the time. In the military.” He shrugged a shoulder. “It was just something to do.”
No, it was a passion. She spotted a statue of a young, smiling girl. It was a little rougher than the others.
He’d made it earlier than the others. Something clicked. “Is this Fiona?”
A pause. “Yes.”
“You started carving your sister.”
He was silent a moment. “Yes. After she was killed.”
“Killed?” Addie’s stomach clenched. “It wasn’t an accident?”
“No.” His tone said that he didn’t want to talk about it, but she could almost feel the throb of his pain. Her heart hurt for him.
Addie turned back to the shelves. “And these are all me.” She touched one. The dress was so thin that it showed her nipples. She looked sensual. She glanced at him. “Is this how you see me?”
“You’re so beautiful, Addie. It’s easy to carve you.”
