Chapter 31
Ari’s little sister is getting married, with the wedding on Thursday. Dom goes over to the stables to help get the lighting ready on Wednesday, and now that my pumpkin patch hours are reduced, I come along.
I accompany him under the guise of being helpful, but really I just like to watch manly men do manly things. Initially I worried our interactions might be awkward after our dinner and conversation last night, but to my relief, Dom has acted like nothing unusual happened, so I do the same.
I spend some time at the hardware shop too—the man there is manly enough but unfortunately related to me, and therefore much less enjoyable to watch—before returning to my shed Wednesday evening and putting in more work for my online job.
By the time the sun sets, I’m officially tired out. I’ve been distracted all day, and now that I’ve finished what I need to do, I can let my mind wander. My eyes fall on the dress hanging from the cracked door of the wardrobe, and I bite my lip.
I stopped by Nathan’s earlier and grabbed it from my closet there, along with a pair of heels. Wearing it to Thursday’s wedding would be a bold move, but…
I guess I’m feeling bold.
Bold because it’s Dom’s favorite dress. He’s never said so in words, but the few times he saw me in it, he couldn’t quite pull his eyes away. They lingered in a way that made me feel warm, on the soft fabric hugging my curves and the low dip of the v-neck in front.
I haven’t worn it in years, since Alvina informed me that emerald green is not my color. I bet it still fits, though.
I get up off the couch and shimmy out of my clothes; then I slip the dress on. It wraps around the front and ties at my left hip in what ends up being an uneven bow. Looking down at my body, it seems okay, but I hurry to the bathroom in the back to check the mirror.
The light flips on to reveal my reflection in all her shed-living glory, hair on top my head in a floppy, messy bun.
The dress looks fine, though, and dare I even say…
good? It’s a little tighter than I remember, but everything is covered, and I like the neckline a lot.
It’s lower than my usual attire without being too much.
I give myself a determined nod in the mirror before exiting the room. Alvina can say what she wants—and she will—but I like the green.
I’m wearing it.
My pajamas feel too loose compared to the dress when I lie down on my couch bed later that evening.
It’s once again hanging from the wardrobe door, and although I’m nervous for tomorrow, I’m excited, too—a glittering, magical feeling.
It’s been a long time since I actually dressed to impress.
I fall asleep with butterflies in my stomach.
The butterflies are still there when I wake up, which is uncalled for, in my opinion. I try to shoot them down, but they dodge my attempts until finally I’m forced to let them be and get on with my day.
By which I mean work. I get on with my work.
No pumpkin patch this morning, so I log into my work portal and check the creative briefs still up for grabs—I can take as many or few as I want, although as a project manager it looks different, since I’m the one proofing instead of compiling.
I claim as many batches as I can realistically get done before the wedding this evening, and then I hunker down.
I’ll probably go over to Main and grab lunch later for a break, but right now it’s just me, my laptop, and my bottle of water. I power through until eleven-thirty, at which point I set my computer aside, do some stretches, and then head out.
My phone rings on the way, and I answer without looking at the screen. “Hello?”
“Question.” It’s Ari. “You’re going to be at the wedding tonight, right?”
“Of course I am,” I say, turning onto Main.
“And Dominic will be there too?”
“Yeah. We’re driving over together.”
“Great.”
My eyes narrow in suspicion when I hear the satisfaction in her voice. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” she says, a perfectly cheerful lie. “See you later.”
And then she hangs up, not even waiting for me to say goodbye. I lower my phone slowly, my brows furrowing. I trust Ari, but disconcertion still twinges in my chest at the odd question.
Lunch is sufficient enough distraction for me.
I grab a maple-glazed burger from the Maple Bar and Grill, and then I walk up and down Main a bit.
I pop into Berk’s and pester Nathan, who’s looking a little glum; all he’ll say is that long-distance relationships suck.
He’s not much of a chatter person, and he tends to keep his private affairs…
well, private, but usually I can get more out of him than this.
I hang out there for a while and stock some inventory; then I head back to Dom’s shed and settle again on the couch, right in the trusty butt imprint I left behind.
My work grows less and less efficient as the hours roll on, and I’m flooded with tired relief when it finally comes time to get ready for the wedding.
When I moved out of Nathan’s house, I did not deem a curling iron important enough to bring along.
I pin my hair back at the sides, though, adjusting everything until it looks nice.
Then I put on some mascara and eyeliner—waterproof, of course, because I have learned my lesson.
I make faces at myself in the mirror for a second, for which I have no explanation, and after looking at the time, I call Dom.
“About ready to go?” I say, craning my neck to see out the window of the shed.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll be down in a minute. Meet me at the truck in five.”
I wait a few moments and then hurry barefoot across the lawn, heels dangling from one hand until I reach the driveway. Then I slip them on, straightening back up just as Dom steps out of the back door.
He isn’t looking at me; he’s frowning down at his shirt, adjusting who knows what as he tugs at the sleeves. Then he begins his confident stride toward the truck, his gaze trained on the ground.
We don’t make eye contact until he reaches the driveway. His steps slow as he glances up, footsteps silent on the concrete until he’s right in front of me.
He blinks, his lips parting as his gaze skates up and down my body. “Oh,” he finally says.
This single syllable—said by this man, in this tone, with this expression—is a full sentence.
“Thank you,” I say, and even though I smile, I can feel my cheeks heating too.
It’s lovely to know my bold choice paid off.
Dom pulls his eyes away from me rubs the back of his neck, drawing my attention to the hidden necklace. “Are you ready to go?”
“Almost,” I say as an even bolder idea than the dress pops into my mind. I take a few steps closer until I’m standing right in front of him.
He watches me suspiciously, but suspicion turns into surprise when I reach up and slip gentle hands around the back of his neck.
“Berkeley—” he says as my fingers brush against his skin. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “What are you doing?”
Despite his question, he doesn’t move. He stays perfectly still. I’m not even sure he’s breathing, and when I trail my thumb up behind his ear, his eyes flutter closed like he’s in pain.
“Berkeley,” he says again, a note of warning in his voice now.
I make quick work of the necklace clasp and hold it up to dangle in front of his face. “There,” I say with satisfaction.
His eyes open, and the second he sees the necklace in my hand, he reaches for it.
But I loop it around my neck, and his fingers find the feather charm as it’s settling against my skin. He lets his arm drop to his side, his eyes darkening as he looks at me. Then he leans closer and tilts his head to speak into my ear.
“Consider carefully before you start playing games,” he breathes, and I shiver as his lips brush over my skin.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lie.
He hums skeptically, tucking his hands in his pockets and giving my dress a pointed look. Then his lips twitch.
“Get in the truck,” he says, jerking his chin at the Ford. “Unless you want to walk in those heels.” After a pause, he adds, “Or unless you want me to carry you again.”
I get in the truck—while chastising myself for wondering how it would feel to be cradled in Dom’s arms once more.
It would feel the same way it always does: uncomfortable and full of worries about being dropped.
What about wonderful? my stupid brain adds. You forgot wonderful.
“Calm down,” I mutter as I buckle my seatbelt.
Dom looks over at me, raising his eyebrows. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. Then, to change the subject, I add, “You look nice.”
It’s true. He’s wearing a blue button-up shirt with tan pants—are they khaki? Is there a difference between tan pants and khaki pants?—and there’s not a smudge of dirt or grease or oil to be found. He smells like himself today, not like nutmeg, and I find myself torn about that.
His fresh, wood-shavings scent is always warm and appealing and comforting. But there’s something undeniably sexy about smelling myself on him, like we’ve been—
“Berkeley? Your face is really red.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I agree in a strained voice, rolling down the window of the truck and kicking myself. My mind is clearly addled today. “I’m fine. Just need some air.”
Dom rolls his window down too, and for a moment, it feels like old times—driving with our windows down, music blasting, young and carefree and grasping life everywhere we could find it. I look over at him, his elbow propped carelessly out the window, his hand lazy on the steering wheel.
So many things have changed. But so many haven’t. And the more I see of Dom, the more my feelings try to sneak in his direction, subtle steps and occasional leaps.
Perfect mindset for a wedding, I’m sure. Watching other people be lovey-dovey and soaking up an atmosphere tailored for romance, all while my mind and my heart tangle themselves into knots.