Chapter 9 - Dominic
The sketches Mara gave me are still sitting on the workbench. I can see them out of the corner of my eye as I run my brush back and forth along the top of the table. I try to focus on my work. I watch the stain as it soaks into the oakwood furniture. I wipe the wood and brush it again to get an even coat, watching the rich, brown color absorb into the grain. The acrid, chemical smell of the stain drowns out any remnants of Mara’s perfume.
It’ll take me a few days to stain and seal the new furniture, but by the end of the week I’ll be done. When the first coat of stain is painted on the table, I stand up straight and stretch my back. I’ve opened the big garage door, and a light breeze makes the papers on the bench flutter. I stare at them for a few moments before sighing. I walk over and grab the stack of papers, spinning them towards me on the table.
She’s got a good eye. The drawings are a bit rough, but I can already see her intent. I flick from one page to another, looking at the precise detailing that Mara has drawn out, and the more general sketches of the finished rooms.
I lean against my work table and look at all the sketches one by one, shaking my head.
I can’t.
I know I can’t. I can’t work for the McCoys! It almost killed Aiden to work for them until he got his own garage.
And yet, I keep staring at these sketches. I need the work, and a job this big would keep me busy for weeks. If they’re getting recognition by the Park, that would put me on the map and it could turn my business around.
If I took the job, I’d almost certainly have to spend time with Mara. My heart thumps at the thought, and I stare at her sketches a bit longer. The breeze washes over me and I can almost smell her perfume again. Long hours, pouring over drawings together, late nights together in the workshop…
Shaking my head, I pull myself out of my daydream. I can’t lie to myself – I want to do it. I want to make these pieces, and I want to work with Mara, but…
But…
I can’t.
Mara is the reason my father died. Aiden would never look at me the same if I took this job. I burned down the luxury hotel that her family wanted to build. Do her parents know that she wants to hire me? Are they okay with it?!
The questions are flying around my head, and I just keep staring at the sketches. I flick to the headboard she’s drawn up, tracing the gentle curve of it with my finger. I’ve got a pencil behind my ear, and I grab it and make a few adjustments. I stare at the modified sketch for a few seconds and feel myself start to smile.
The next hour goes by in a flash. I’m grabbing an old piece of wood from the back of the workshop and laying it flat. I’m measuring and sketching and sawing and sanding furiously – glancing at the sketch every few minutes. In record time, I stand up a brand new headboard. It’s got the curve that Mara sketched, and some clean grooves and detailing that I added.
I stand it up against the wall and take a step back, feeling the pride swell in my chest. It looks good. I haven’t felt that inspired to create something in weeks – maybe longer. I run my hands along the top of the headboard and love how smooth the freshly sanded wood feels under my touch.
“I like it!”
I jump at the noise and turn to see my brother Ethan in the doorway. I was so focused I didn’t even hear his car pull up.
“Thanks,” I respond, turning away from the headboard and back to the table and chairs.
“You got another job? It looks good,” Ethan says, walking towards the headboard and running his hand over it just like I did. I resist the urge to tell him to stop touching it, instead turning back towards the work I’m actually getting paid to do.
“Nah, just playing around with some ideas,” I respond without looking up. “What’s up? Two days in a row to visit me? Must be important.”
I glance up to see Ethan grinning. “Not happy to see me?”
I snort, shaking my head and turning back to my work.
“I just wanted to see how you were doing. You left in a hurry yesterday. Harold’s was starting to go off.”
“Had enough of the place,” I respond.
Ethan grins. “Enough of eyeing Mara McCoy, you mean?”
I throw him a glance and put my head down to work again. I try not to bristle as Ethan peers over my workbench at the sketches that Mara left behind. He turns a page over and frowns.
“What’s this? Did you do these?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, maybe a bit too gruffly. I grab the stack of papers and stuff them in my back pocket. “I’m fine, Ethan. Just need to get these things done.”
Ethan stares at me for a few minutes and nods his head. “Alright. I brought you some new firewood, help me unload it?”
I nod, following him out the door. We work silently, unloading his truck and stacking firewood until he claps me on the shoulder and finally leaves. I watch him drive away and let out a sigh. My shoulders slump down and I rub my temples with my fingers.
I definitely, absolutely, cannot take this job. Even Ethan looking at some rough sketches had me panicking. What if I was actually working with Mara McCoy! I’d never hear the end of it.
I make my way back to the workshop and start closing it up for the evening. Once the big rolling door is closed and everything is put away, I reach back and pull out the crumpled sketches from my back pocket.
I can’t take this job.
As much as I want to, as much as it would be good for my business, as much as I want to see Mara again, I just can’t.
I can’t deal with the questions from Ethan, and the disapproval from Aiden. I can’t deal with the gossip and chatter that would surely follow. I can’t deal with the McCoys. I grab the sketches and toss them into the garbage can, turning my back on them and walking out the door.
After a long shower and a cold beer, I have a mediocre dinner of leftovers and fall asleep on the couch. When I wake up to the grey light of dawn, my whole body is stiff. It aches to get up, and I groan as I put my head in my hands.
I can’t get her out of my head.
I dreamt of her last night, and I woke up thinking she was beside me.
I don’t know how, or why, but Mara McCoy has gotten under my skin.