Nearly a week later, Damien found her sketchbook left open on the garden bench where she'd forgotten it after being called inside for dinner. When she remembered and hurried back out to retrieve it, she found him standing over it instead, carefully flipping through page after page.
"These are yours?" he asked, not looking up.
Her face went instantly hot. "Yes. Please, put it down."
He didn't. He kept turning pages slowly, studying each sketch with an expression she genuinely couldn't read, something serious and focused that made her feel oddly exposed, like he was seeing considerably more of her than a simple notebook full of drawings should have properly revealed.
"These are good," he said finally, looking up at her.
"They're just doodles," she said, reaching to take the sketchbook back.
He held onto it a moment longer. "They're not just doodles, Silveria. Have you ever actually designed anything real? Fabric, construction, not simply paper sketches like these?"
