Chapter 8 - Mara
When Dominic leaves the bar, I suddenly don’t feel like being there anymore. Tanya Wilson is telling me about her new boyfriend, and I try to fight the feeling that I couldn’t care less.
I almost feel the door closing as Dominic walks out, and I glance over at the seat where he sat only a couple seconds ago. My heart is still thumping and my mouth has gone dry. There’s an undercurrent of electricity coursing through me from head to toe. As I take a deep breath, I can hardly focus on anything but the delicious thrills buzzing through my body.
When we ran into each other outside, I could hardly think straight. His body is so muscular, it took all my self-control to keep my eyes on his face. When I went to the bar to get another drink, my hands were itching to touch him.
His eyes are a deep brown color, and he was looking at me almost suspiciously. I glance around the bar, wondering how long I’ll last in here tonight. The band is playing and people are dancing, but suddenly I just feel like leaving.
I force myself to stay for another drink, and finally say my goodbyes.
“Just tired, long day today,” I say when Tanya asks me why I’m going. She nods in understanding and gives me a hug. I extract myself from the group and finally make it out the door, turning down the road towards my parents’ hotel.
I walk slowly, taking deep breaths as I stroll down the street. The old-style street lamps light the way, and I walk by all the familiar shops and houses that I grew up with.
This place has hardly changed, but it feels different. Maybe I’m the one that’s changed. Maybe I’m the one that’s seeing it through different eyes. I feel like the new hotel burning down and my breakup with Vincent has made me a different person.
The McCoy Hotel is standing proud on the corner in front of me, and I look at the old timber building. I tilt my head to the side as I think about what my parents agreed to.
If they follow through with it, I’ll be in charge of renovating this place and getting it approved as National Park sponsored accommodation. I stop on the corner and inspect the building, welcoming the ideas that start flooding my head. I walk up the flagstone path to the front door and smile as I look at the wide porch. When I swing the front door open, I can picture a fresh, updated design for the lobby.
I walk back to my room without seeing anyone, and look around at the standard hotel furnishings that I grew up with. These will all have to be updated as well. I’ll have to put together samples and proposals for the application. I put my hands on my hips and smile as my eyes dart around the room.
Get rid of that wallpaper. Replace the blinds. Fresh, cream-colored walls and hardwood furnishings.
I grab a pad of paper and start sketching my ideas, staying up until my eyelids are heavy. Finally, I put the pad of paper on the nightstand and collapse into bed, kicking off my clothes and snuggling under the thick duvet. As I fall asleep, I imagine Dominic Clarke’s wide, muscular body. The same current of electricity passes through me until I drift off into a dreamless sleep.
I sleep better than I have in weeks. My whole body feels lighter than it did before. I wake up with a smile on my lips as the sun streams through the window. I roll over onto my side and look at the mountain peaks through my window.
I’m up and out of bed in minutes. I get ready and grab a quick breakfast before heading out on foot. It’s a short walk to the edge of town, where I turn down a worn gravel road. My feet crunch on the gravel with every step as I make my way towards Dominic Clarke’s workshop.
The doubt starts creeping into my mind as I get nearer to him.
Will he be awake? Should I have called?
I clutch the pad of paper with my sketches to my chest until the little cabin and the huge workshop come into view. My heart starts beating a bit faster when I see the door to the workshop open. I can’t hear any tools, and the big garage door is closed, but I can see some lights on inside.
All of a sudden, my heart is bouncing against my ribcage and doubt starts creeping into my heart. What am I doing here? He didn’t seem to want to talk to me last night… What makes me think he’d want to see me now? Even though I have no hard feelings against his family, what guarantee do I have that he feels the same way?
I’ve changed, sure. But everyone else? Everyone else seems to have stayed the same.
I take a deep breath and keep my eyes glued on the open door. It’s too late to turn back now. I’ve already promised my parents a design by the end of the week. I know from experience that the best way to get these projects approved by the Parks is to use local craftsmen.
It’s the only way this will work – both for the project, and for me. How else will I make it up to the Clarkes and show my parents that I’m not like them?
By the time I’m a couple steps away from the door, my heart is thumping. My mouth is dry, and a bead of sweat rolls down my spine. My cheeks are flushed and I’m clutching the pad of papers with a vice-like grip. I get to the doorway and take a deep breath before stepping through.
Dominic has his back to me. He’s wiping down a gorgeous hardwood chair. It’s part of a set of six, as far as I can tell. The back of the chair is an intricate lattice, and the chair legs are perfectly tapered to match the large table beside them.
I breathe out as I look at his work. He glances towards me and stands up, wiping his hands on his rag as he turns towards me. He frowns slightly, taking a step in my direction before pausing.
“Mara?”
“Hi, Dominic,” I say. It comes out as a croak, and I can’t stop my eyes from wandering from his face down to his chest. His thin t-shirt is clinging to his body in the most delicious way, and that flame in the pit of my stomach grows instantly hotter. He takes a few more steps towards me and I lift my eyes up to his. I can see the question in his look, so I hold out the papers in my hand. He glances down and then back up at me.
He takes a few more steps towards me and takes the papers from my hands. Suddenly, I’m embarrassed. They’re not so much sketches as they are scribbles. As I glance around the workshop and I see samples of his work, I feel like a complete amateur.
He’s precise, and detailed, and all the bits of furniture that I can see are expertly crafted. He’s frowning as he looks at my drawings, flicking through them one by one. My heart is still thumping and all I can think of is how silly he must think I am.
I take a deep breath.
“You think you could make those?”
He finally looks up at me and nods his chin down ever so slightly. “I could,” he answers slowly. His voice is deep, and it seems to reverberate through my chest.
I swallow, letting my eyes drift from his eyes down to his lips and back up again.
“Would you?”
Where has my voice gone? All my words come out as whispers or croaks, and I can hardly stand on my own two feet without feeling like I’m about to topple over. Dominic hands the stack of papers back to me and stares into my eyes. My palms start to sweat, and I resist the urge to squirm. I want him to look away – to stop this torture. At the same time, though, I want him to keep looking at me like that forever.
He finally clears his throat. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want me to make them?”
“We’re remodeling the hotel,” I say. “I’ll pay you, obviously! How much would you charge?”
I cringe at my awkwardness. This isn’t going how I planned. But how did I plan it? I had no idea what I was walking into. My eyes drift down to his shoulders, where the fabric of his shirt stretches across them. His chest is so close to mine I could reach out and touch it. I ball up my fist and take a deep breath to try to control myself. Dominic stares at me for a few moments, and then I see a spark in his eye. The corners of his lips lift up and he starts to chuckle. It’s quiet at first, until he’s laughing with his mouth wide open. I smile, confused.
He shakes his head and glances at me once more before turning away from me.
“Good one,” he says. “I needed a laugh.”
He’s walking back towards the table and chairs and I rush after him, putting my hand on his arm. A current of warmth shoots up through my hand as I touch him. “Dominic, I’m serious! We’re trying to get approved as accommodation for the Park. You’re the best woodworker in the state, everyone knows that. I need a new bed and two side tables for every room in the hotel. If we partner together, we could both get recognized as heritage facilities. It’s a win-win!”
Dominic frowns and shakes his head, pulling his arm away. The movement makes my heart sting and I take a step back.
“Why do you think I’d help your family? Last time you tried to expand your business, we burned it to the ground, remember?”
The words catch in my throat and we stare at each other. I plead with my eyes, opening my mouth and closing it again. I can still feel the heat of his arm on my palm. I look down at my amateurish sketches and then back up at him.
“I’m not my parents, Dominic,” I say quietly. I lift my eyes up to him and see his face soften ever so slightly. He glances back down at the papers and slides them out of my hands. The tips of his fingers brush against mine, and I try to ignore the pulsing in the pit of my stomach.
He’s so close to me I can hardly think. I don’t know why I’m here. Is it to hire him? Or is it just to be near him? I watch his face as he looks through the drawings again.
Finally, he sighs.
“I’ll think about it.”
With that, he turns back to the chairs and pops open a can of dark wood stain. I watch him for a few seconds before turning around to walk back outside. The sun is shining brightly now, and I shield my eyes with my hand until I can see properly. The walk back to the main road feels longer than it did on the way in, but maybe that’s because all I can think about is the beating of my heart and the heat in the pit of my stomach.