Lips pursed, Sydney studied the room. The furniture had been pushed together in the center—to make it easier to work, she imagined. Tables were stacked on top of chairs, the rug had been rolled up. Under the sheet he’d tossed over his worktable were a variety of interesting shapes that were his sculptures, his tools, and blocks of wood yet to be carved.

It smelled like sawdust, she thought, and turpentine.

“Where?”

He stopped on his way to the kitchen and looked back. After a quick study, he leaned into the jumble and lifted out an old oak rocker. One-handed, Sydney noted, and felt foolish and impressed.

“Here.” After setting it on a clear spot, he headed back into the kitchen.

The surface of the rocker was smooth as satin. When Sydney sat, she found the chair slipped around her like comforting arms. Ten seconds after she’d settled, she was moving it gently to and fro.

“This is beautiful.”

He could hear the faint creak as the rocker moved and didn’t bother to turn. “I made it for my sister years ago when she had a baby.” His voice changed subtly as he turned on the kitchen tap. “She lost the baby, Lily, after only a few months, and it was painful for Natasha to keep the chair.”

“I’m sorry.” The creaking stopped. “I can’t think of anything worse for a parent to face.”

“Because there is nothing.” He came back in, carrying a glass of water and a bottle. “Lily will always leave a little scar on the heart. But Tash has three children now. So pain is balanced with joy. Here.” He put the glass in her hand, then shook two aspirin out of the bottle. “You have a headache.”

She frowned down at the pills he dropped into her palm. True, her head was splitting, but she hadn’t mentioned it. “I might have a little one,” she muttered. “How do you know?”

“I can see it in your eyes.” He waited until she’d sipped and swallowed, then walked behind the chair to circle her temples with his fingers. “It’s not such a little one, either.”

There was no doubt she should tell him to stop. And she would. Any minute. Unable to resist, she leaned back, letting her eyes close as his fingers stroked away the worst of the pain.

“Is this what you had for me? Headache remedies?”

Her voice was so quiet, so tired that his heart twisted a little. “No, I have something else for you. But it can wait until you’re feeling better. Talk to me, Sydney. Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”

“It’s something I have to take care of myself.”

“Okay. Will that change if you talk to me?”