Chapter Thirteen Amanda
Chapter Thirteen
Amanda
I t had been a long time since Amanda had woken up to a naked man. And yet, when she’d opened her eyes this morning, she’d found herself staring at a cold, died-out fireplace with her head on Dominic’s naked shoulder, attached to his naked body, that was sleeping naked under her blanket next to her on the couch.
Naked. So very naked.
She’d gotten him his dry clothes as quickly as she could, they’d awkwardly said good morning, and he’d apologized for falling asleep. No part of her needed or wanted him to apologize for it—it had actually been one of the nicest nights of sleep she’d had in a while. That felt really weird to admit to herself, but as she found herself standing in her client’s hall bathroom later that afternoon, she couldn’t think of anything else.
It had been really nice to sleep cuddled up to someone, to just hear someone else breathing softly, feel his warm skin against hers. Honestly, it wasn’t something she’d realized she’d enjoy so much. It wasn’t like she hadn’t slept with guys before—she certainly had in college and a few times after. But those had always felt a little more like impositions. The guy was in her space, usually snoring or twitchy or somehow invading her personal sleep zone.
And Amanda really valued her sleep. Her bed, her space—that was personal, and she wasn’t one to share. Hell, she had a king-size bed in her house and no one—not even a dog—to share it with. She liked it that way.
But curled up awkwardly on a small couch next to Dominic hadn’t been awful… in fact, it had actually been really nice. It had just felt warm and cozy, and intimate in a way she hadn’t experienced. Kind of a continuation of the coziness and intimacy the entire evening had been with him and getting to know his mother more—who she was sure probably had lots of opinions about finding Dominic sneaking back into the house this morning.
“Amanda, I don’t know how I feel about this gray grout.” Mrs. Amal Crawford was standing in the hall bathroom with her, pointing down at the floor. “What do you think about it with the concrete tiles?”
“I actually love it with this pattern,” Amanda countered, gesturing toward the floor as well. “Do you see how it contrasts against the crown molding and the wallpaper? It’s really striking, actually. Any guest of yours who comes in here is going to be dazzled—I promise. In fact, I’d be willing to bet there will be some Instagram selfies taken right here in this mirror.”
“Instagram selfies?” Amal looked confused. “What’s that?”
“Here.” Amanda gestured for Amal to step over in front of the sink with her, and she pulled out her cell phone. “Pose in the mirror, and I’ll take a photo of us.”
Amal immediately pulled out the duck lips and popped one hip out. “Cheese!”
Amanda tried not to laugh but smiled for the camera as she held up the cell phone with one hand and threw up a peace sign with her other hand. She clicked on the camera icon until they had a few poses to choose from, then showed them to Amal. “Look at how the wallpaper pops in the back of the photo. Anyone who sees this online is going to be like, ‘Where is this place? I want to go!’”
“Really? You think so?” Amal looked over her shoulder at the screen of her phone. “Like the younger generation? What about people my age?”
“You said the entire point of this remodel was to make your house a place your kids and grandkids would want to come to,” Amanda reminded her. “How many of your grandkids are on social media?”
“All of them,” she replied. “I don’t understand stuff like that, but I know my daughter is always talking about the tweens being on the TikTok and stuff.”
“Perfect, so watch this.” Amanda clicked onto her Instagram and posted the selfie of her and Amal onto her personal Instagram with only the fire emoji as a caption. Within seconds, her notifications were going, and she clicked over to the photo to show Amal. “Look at the feedback.”
The older woman held the phone and began scrolling through the comments already quickly lining up beneath their photo. “Oh… oh, wow! Someone said I’m a grand-MILF. What’s that mean? Is it like milk? I’m lactose intolerant.”
Amanda laughed and shook her head. “No, that means they think you’re hot.”
Amal’s face turned slightly darker in her cheeks, a blush beginning to form. “Oh. And there’s three people commenting about the wallpaper already. What’s this icon mean?”
She glanced at what Amal was pointing at. “That’s the mind-blown emoji. It means they are in love with it and shocked at the same time. You’re a trendsetter.”
“I am a trendsetter,” Amal agreed, now handing back Amanda’s phone. She was suddenly standing taller, seemingly a bit more confident, and holding the air of a peacock strutting their feathers. “This is what was missing in the last redesign that Clayton did. I know you tried to make some more modern changes to it, but it was still too traditional. My grandkids were absolutely uninterested.”
“Your grandkids will be lining up to take a selfie in your bathroom now,” Amanda replied, chuckling at what she was even saying. It was true, but good Lord, what a weird time she lived in. A big part of her job these days was exactly that, though, and as much as it felt strange to design for the internet, she also understood it. It was a way of displaying art to a wider platform, and, admittedly, she felt really proud every time she saw one of her designs in the background of a selfie or any other photograph. If she could create an environment in which someone would feel good about themselves, that was all she could ask of a career.
“Now I just need to figure out how to sell the price tag to Mr. Crawford,” she joked. “But don’t worry, he’ll sign any check I put in front of him.”
Must be nice , Amanda thought.
“In fact, I’d actually like to talk to you about more work,” she continued. “I know we were focusing on the remodel after the water damage, but I think I want to completely redo the guest cottage out back to be grandkid friendly. I was thinking every room could be a fun, cool theme and really make it a vacation spot. And I have more work for you after that, if you’re interested.”
Amanda smiled, feeling honored at the compliment. “I’ll definitely tell Clayton and get a quote together for you.”
Amal shook her head. “No. I told you; I don’t want Clayton involved. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a lovely person, but he doesn’t understand my design needs the way you do. Have you thought further about what I offered? Opening your own firm and letting me back you as an investor?”
She’d known this question was going to come around at some point, but she’d been struggling with how to answer it. “Uh, I have thought about it, Amal. It is so flattering that you’d even make me an offer like that. It honestly sounds incredible.”
Amal clapped her hands. “Perfect. So you’ll do it?”
“I didn’t say that,” Amanda interrupted, even though she saw Amal visibly deflate at that response. “It’s just… it’s not that simple. I have a noncompete with Clayton, and I do care about him. He’s been a great friend and mentor, and he gave me my start. It would feel really underhanded to steal business from him.”
“Amanda, darling,” Amal began, “you’re not stealing my business from him. After the last remodel, I wasn’t going to go with him again. He did a good job—beautiful, truly. But it wasn’t the feeling I was going for. It was stark and clean and beautiful, but it wasn’t… I don’t know, it wasn’t what I wanted. You seemed to understand what I wanted without me even knowing it.”
“What you wanted was something your family would love, something that would build connection,” Amanda replied because that was her entire goal of design. There were plenty of designers, like Clayton, who focused on aesthetics and beauty, but Amanda focused on connection. There was space for both of those in the industry, but it was a very different demographic that she hadn’t been able to crack into with Clayton’s clients. Amanda wanted to accentuate spaces that created atmosphere and relationships, and that sometimes meant going beyond aesthetics and into feelings.
“Exactly,” Amal replied. “See? You get what I’m saying. It’s one thing to have a beautiful home—nothing wrong with that. I spent my whole life wanting to find that and have that.”
She went quiet for a moment, and Amanda didn’t say anything, wanting to give her space to finish her thought.
“I think now that I’m older and my priorities are different, I see this space as less of an homage to what I’ve accomplished and more as a potential gathering ground for everyone I love.” Amal sighed and walked out of the hall bathroom toward the living room.
Amanda followed her, taking a seat on the couch across from her after she sat down. “Home is a gathering ground—that makes sense to me.”
“Does it make sense to Clayton in the same way?” Amal asked pointedly, her eyes now focused on Amanda in a manner that told her she had to be honest. “Truly—does it?”
She could feel the internal struggle bubbling up in her, but she knew she had to, at some point, choose herself. “Clayton is brilliant,” she began. “But he is childless by choice. His aesthetic does reflect that. I’m childless, too, but I also think I never fully grew up.”
Amal smiled at her in an all-knowing way, like she’d finally broken through Amanda’s barriers. “Clayton is great at what he does, but you’re great at understanding me, Amanda. That’s what I need in a designer, and I’m happy to have my husband’s lawyers look at the noncompete. I can talk to him. Generally, they’re pretty unenforceable. If you want this to happen, I guarantee you that I can make this happen for you.”
Amanda tried to calm the fluttering nervousness in her chest, but it literally felt like someone was offering her everything she had ever wanted. It was so close… so tangible. Could she just turn it all away?
“Clayton is back in town after the Boat Parade,” Amanda finally managed to muster out. He’d originally planned to be in the parade with his boat, Drag ’N’ Anchor , but Adam’s surprise vacation had changed his plans. “Let me talk to him first and see where his head is at. I want to move forward—I promise you; I do. I’m not uncommitted. I just don’t want to burn bridges along the way.”
“One of the things I admire about you so much,” Amal replied, and Amanda remembered that they had a small yacht at Heart Lake Harbor. “I’ll be at the Boat Parade, too. We registered Pura Vida to be entered. So if you need me to talk to him, I will. I can smooth all this out easily, I promise.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Amanda agreed, even though there was a 0 percent chance she was going to have Amal intervene for her. “I’ll be fine, though, I promise.”
Amal and her husband were Clayton’s most wealthy clients—the richest couple in all of Heart Lake. Scooping them for her own new firm was not going to go over well. She hoped that he’d be understanding and supportive… but she’d also worked for him for enough years to know his competitiveness was strong.
Amanda said her goodbyes and finished her assessment of the remodeling work that had been done on the place before finally heading out to her car. The moment she sat in the front seat and placed the key in the ignition, her cell phone beeped with a notification.
She waited to move the car out of park and pressed the new text message notification only to see a message from Dominic popping up.
The dock will be done by Saturday.
She stared at the message, as if expecting a second text to come through, but none did. He had promised her that the work on her dock would be completed before the Boat Parade, and that was now only two days away. She typed out a reply, deleted it, then tried again.
Just in time for the parade—thanks!
Her response felt boring, but it was… something. Three dots in a bubble appeared on his side of the text screen, indicating that he was writing back. She found herself holding her breath as she waited to see what he was going to say.
Finally, the next message came through. Anything for you, Amanda.
She swallowed hard and clicked out of the messages, putting her phone in the middle console as she focused on backing her car out of the Crawfords’ long driveway. She couldn’t focus on the fact that his words held a stronger meaning—they had last night, too. She’d known when he was on her couch that he’d been talking about more than just their friendship or being neighbors. He had been blatantly telling her that he was emotionally invested, and she’d pretended to not understand.
And he had let her pretend that. He hadn’t pushed, even though she’d seen the flash of pain across his face when she’d dodged his emotional bid. She couldn’t make sense of what she was feeling—did she actually feel attraction and romance with Dominic?
That was so unfamiliar to her in general. She naturally wasn’t someone who found herself attracted to anyone. Whatever that even meant. But there was a pull to Dominic, and she didn’t know how to categorize that. She didn’t know how to make sense of it in her head and in her body—and if she was ever truly honest with him about what she felt… would he actually want her?
Not to stereotype, but there was no doubt that he was probably the typical athlete who wanted sex and romance and all the things that felt foreign and uninteresting to her. If she told him that a future with her didn’t heavily involve those things, he wasn’t going to continue to be interested. Period. That was a foregone conclusion.
So, the question now was… how did she let someone down who she also kind of liked without jeopardizing their friendship? Lately, Dominic had become an important part of her life, a true confidant. The last thing she wanted was to lose that.