Page 13 of Saving Her Curves

She said a selfish little prayer that it would continue to do so.

Once inside, he turned on the lights. It took a few minutes for the lights to warm up and flicker on. It wasn’t a huge space. If he worked in large pieces of wood, it would be too small, she thought.

But it had everything he needed. Large work surfaces, storage space for his wood and one wall held a neat arrangement of his knives and other carving instruments. She took off her borrowed gloves and ran one hand over a wooden counter. It had been sanded and stained and was cold beneath her fingertips. She walked around, taking in everything.

While she had a small work space in her cabin, and a slightly larger one in her shop, it was nothing compared to this. She assumed he had made every bench, counter and storage unit in there. It felt like him.

On one counter, she saw the pieces he was working on toward commission. Before touching them, she asked, “May I?”

He nodded his head. “Of course.” He walked to her side, having stayed by the door to give her time to look around.

Skye examined the pieces with the same critical eye she did when taking on new items for her store. But she hadn’t needed to. The pieces were beautiful, intricate, just as she’d thought they would be and she didn’t hesitate to tell him. “These are beautiful, Hank. Truly.”

She smiled up at him, her joy and sincerity there for him to see. Lightly, she traced the lines of the horse. He’d said the piece was for a granddaughter and she’d expected something capturing the likeness of a plastic horse.

This was entirely different, and deserved to be in an art show somewhere. The lines of the carving conveyed the movement of a horse flying across a desert plain or a mountain valley. And perched on its back was the image of a girl, smiling as the wind flew through her hair, her tiny hands gripping the horse’s mane as the two galloped, lost in the moment.

With the gnome, he had managed to capture the fantastical world in which they lived. There was a butterfly atop the wooden creature’s nose and the lines of the beard brought even more life-like movement to the sculpture. Because again, it was a sculpture, not merely a carving.

“Oh, Hank.” Once done admiring them, she turned back to him. “Do you have more?”

“A few.” Hank hesitated before showing her the rest of his work. These two didn’t have the same meaning, as he had been told what to carve. He knew they were good, and he had put all his ability into making them come to life. He was almost hesitant to share the rest of his work with her. He carved to relax, not to share with anyone else.

Looking down at the top of her head, her long curls flowing over her shoulders, he realized Skye wasn’t just someone else. Yes, he’d just met her yesterday and she was still somewhat of a stranger, but—and he still couldn’t explain it—there was something about her. Something that drew him to her. Made him…He laughed at what he thought. He was ex-military. He put his life in danger every day. But somehow this tiny woman he barely knew made him feel…safe.

He led her to a cabinet in the corner. Opening it up, he showed her the rest of his work. She didn’t say anything at first. Then, she was leaning forward as if she were at an art show, admiring the work of a truly gifted artist. Something he did not consider himself to be.

He stood there, watching the expressions on her face change. Her smile was bright and delighted at the whimsical creatures, open and awed at the carvings of the bears and wolves. He rarely did people, but knew, in that instant, he wanted to do a carving of her. Capture her essence forever.

A tantalizing vision entered his mind—one of her in profile, her hand lovingly cupping her stomach that was round with child—their child. His breath left him, and he felt his strength falter, his knees almost giving way.

He must have made some small sound, for she turned to him, a frown marring the perfection of her face. “Hank? Are you alright?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze searched hers. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He cleared his throat. “We probably shouldn’t stay here much longer. You’ll get too cold.”

“Okay.” She smiled at him. “I know it might be a lot to ask of you, but I’d love it if you would allow me to have a few pieces in my store. And, I don’t know if I told you or not, I have an on-line store as well. I know we could get some good prices for your pieces.”

He shook his head and he led her out the door and locked up. “I don’t carve for the money, Skye.”

“I understand that’s how you started, Hank. I started making jewelry with my mother because it was something we could do together. But now,” she shrugged, “it’s how I make my living.”

He took her hand and led her back to the house. “Should we have called her last night to let her know you’re okay?”

“No.” Skye smiled sadly up at him. “No, she died when I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen, that’s young.” He wanted to ask more, about her father. Her family. He wanted to know everything about her.

“Yes, and being in the foster system didn’t make it any easier.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I don’t know what I’d do without my mom and my sister.”

“Do you see them often?”

“Not as often as I’d like.”

Once back in the cabin, they removed their outerwear and boots. “Would you like some hot chocolate?”

“Yeah. It was cold out there.”

---