Page 19 of Until Next Time
I’ve been working on the Southbound mural for a week now, and I’m finally in a good flow and feeling confident in the direction I’m going with it. Dawsen has been zero help in way of the design. He insisted that I come up with something on my own, and said he’ll be happy with whatever I come up with—which is an artist’s dream client, but also a bit unnerving. There were some off handed penis painting comments made initially, and I’m still working through that. The thought of Dawsen and any penis in the same sentence had my head hot and fuzzy.
For two days straight I basically stood in front of this wall, just staring at it, and willing any ounce of inspiration to come to me. It wasn’t until Greg, the shop manager and lead bartender, walked out with a bottle in hand and a couple glasses. He insisted I take a break and have a glass of wine with him. The shop and winery had just closed for the day and he said it lookedlike I could use a drink. He was right. We sat and chatted about all sorts of things. It was really nice, up until the moment I saw Stephanie knock on the front door. It felt like my insides turned to molten lava, and I watched Dawsen come out of nowhere to let her in. He locked up behind her, and without any words, he glanced a look at me, and continued back to the shop, Stephanie following close behind, where I presume they went up to his apartment.
My attention span was shot after that, and I’m not sure I did a great job of hiding it, because Greg looked at me like he could read my thoughts. He scooted the bottle towards me, and said, “Have another glass. I’m going to finish up some paperwork, and I’ll walk you to your car.” I nodded at him and smiled softly. He turned to go, and spun on his heels to add, “Birdie, that girl has nothing on you.” I had to have turned bright red. I couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence, so I just grunted and dropped my face into my hands.
What was the point in trying to convince Greg that I wasn’t so beyond bothered by what just happened. It was kind of nice, feeling like someone else besides Casey might know how I feel—even though I was slightly worried about how obvious I must have been the last few weeks if Greg was able to pick up on something out of absolutely nothing. I hardly even saw Dawsen the last two weeks. He’d breeze by here and there, but he was mostly not around. Which bothered me, more than I’d like to admit. I put it out of my mind mostly and distracted myself with figuring out my design.
When I was chatting with Greg, I noticed how beautiful the label was on the bottle of wine we drank from. It was a very minimal, sleek looking label with only a compass in gold foil. That gave me the idea to take inspiration from the labels of the cult wines that Southbound was known for, as well as the winery’s logo, which was simple and the only imagery there wasa feather. I really wanted this mural to have connection with the winery and not something completely random.
I did a rough sketch in my notebook—an ornate compass as the focal point, with sprigs of greenery, cherry blossoms, and feathers surrounding it. I added the cherry blossoms because they line the streets of downtown Saddlebrooke where the winery is.
I’ve been doing mostly prep work since coming up with the design. I thought about showing it to Dawsen, but I’m also feeling pretty salty since he waltzed in here with Stephanie, so I’ve decided to hurt my own feelings about the whole thing and give him the silent treatment.
I’m a very mature woman, obviously.
* * *
I woke up before my alarm today, but I decided I wanted to be late for work today, because I’m petty and I wanted to see if Dawsen would wonder where I am. Although we never really discussed any formal schedule, I have been showing up at the winery at the same time as Greg and Savannah, and I pack up and leave around the same time as well. They’re long days, but this painting is huge and I severely underestimated how much work it is just to prep and get outlines done. So, I roll out of bed, and spend extra time on hair and makeup. I throw on my favorite painting crew neck, and a pair of old blue jeans that I won’t mind getting paint on. I lace up my pink high top converse, and head for Mel’s, because purposely being late calls for an extra large maple latte.
I’m standing in line at Mel’s, which is always pretty busy in the mornings, and I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket.I pull open the screen and see a text from a number I don’t recognize.
Mystery Person:Hey, are you ok?
Me:Who is this?
Mystery Person:Your Boss.
Me:Ahh, You. Yeah, I’m good. How did you get my number?
Dawsen:It’s part of my job, being able to contact my employees.
Dawsen:Where are you? You’re an hour late.
Me:I wanted a coffee. Is this a fireable offense, sir boss man?
Dawsen:Smart ass. We have coffee here, but I know you know that because you drank the whole pot yesterday.
Me:Are you keeping tabs on my coffee intake now? Weirdo. Do I need to take this up with HR?
Dawsen:No, Whatever. See you when you get here.
I can’t help but send off one more text because I am a child.
Me:Will I? Or do you have a meeting with Stephanie upstairs again?
* * *
I step up to the counter and order my giant maple latte, and a chocolate chip scone. Today I’ve decided to fuel my body on sugar and sass, and I’m not giving a single shit. It’s Friday. Why the hell not.
I walk into the winery about 10 minutes later, carrying my latte and scone. I notice Dawsen standing behind the tasting counter talking to Greg. I feel his eyes on me, as I make my way to the mural in progress. I do my best to act like he’s absolutely invisible to me. I’m feeling unhinged today, and slightly delusional. Because why do I feel like Dawsen cares about me a little bit? If I were in my right mind today, I’d be very sensible and talk myself out of any notion that Dawsen was thinking about me in any way other than a boss wondering where his muralist is.
But like I said—delusional.
The winery usually gets a crowd pretty early on Fridays because Southbound has an all day happy hour. Pretty genius if you ask me. Saddlebrooke has a huge tourist population year round. It’s cozy here, and the weather is always beautiful. Our cold is not too cold, and our warm is just right.
I’ve been working on this mural during business hours, and it’s been fun to see so many customers be so interested in it. Some of the regulars have even started reserving the tables closest to the mural wall so they can watch me work. I normally would hate this type of working environment—I usually don’t like being watched, but these people just hype me up, and the more wine they drink, they hype me up even more which is probably working against me ultimately and giving me a big head. But, it’s all fun and games for now.
I’m in the zone and working on some outlines of one of the large feathers in my design, when I feel someone come up beside me. They’re standing so close, our shoulders are almost touching. I expect to turn to see Dawsen, but instead, I turn tosee a guy who has to be the same age as Dawsen, same build, maybe a bit less muscular, and instead of dark hair, sandy blonde hair mussed to the side. He’s dressed in tan chino pants, and a freshly pressed button down. Pretty easy on the eyes too.
