Leather, Lust and Legacy

Chapter Two: Old Flames, New Wounds

The heat from the workshop didn’t stop Amara’s fingers from trembling as she set down her coat. She tried to act composed, professional, but every inch of her body screamed memories she had fought to bury for a decade.

Dominic stood across the room, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes flicking from her face to the leather-stained floorboards. The silence between them was sharp enough to cut through the warmth of the shop.

Finally, he broke it.

“Ten years. Ten years, and you just… walked away.” His voice was steady, but there was a cold edge to it that made her flinch.

Amara swallowed hard. “I… I didn’t know what else to do. Everything fell apart after my father died.”

His eyes softened for a brief second, and she almost believed he might forgive her. But then they hardened again. “You left me, Amara. You left the workshop. You left everything. You never even said goodbye.”

The words landed like snow melting on fire. She wanted to scream, to cry, to throw herself at him and beg for forgiveness. But she didn’t. Instead, she squared her shoulders. She had a reason for being here, and she wasn’t going to let the past destroy the present.

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to,” she said quietly. “I left because I had to survive. The debts, the town, the gossip… it was suffocating. I—” Her voice faltered. “I didn’t know how to fix it, and I didn’t know how to face you.”

Dominic’s jaw clenched. “You should have come back sooner. For the workshop, for the town, for… us.”

She winced. Us. That word made her chest tighten. She had tried to forget him, tried to bury the love that had consumed her teenage years, but hearing it now—spoken like a memory that refused to die—made her heart betray her.

“And now I’m here,” she said, her voice steadier. “To settle the workshop. That’s all.”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “All?” He gestured around the shop, where every corner whispered of a shared past—of laughter, of ambition, of dreams. “Do you even know what’s at stake? My hands kept this place alive while you were building your life in the city. Your father’s legacy… it wasn’t meant to die.”

Amara’s stomach twisted. She had seen the numbers in the lawyer’s email. The debts were staggering, the machinery old, the client contracts half-finished. The workshop would crumble without someone who cared—and that someone was standing right in front of her.

“I know,” she said softly. “And that’s why I’m here. But I’m not staying long. I can’t. My life… my career… I—”

“You think you can just come back and leave again?” Dominic interrupted, taking a step closer. His presence was overwhelming—strong, commanding, and maddeningly familiar. “You don’t get to walk away twice.”

Amara’s pulse quickened. She could feel the heat radiating off him. The memories of teenage kisses, of late nights in the workshop, of whispered promises, surged through her like wildfire. She wanted to deny it, to protect herself—but the truth was undeniable: she still felt it. Still felt him.

Dominic ran a hand through his hair, his gaze darkening. “The workshop is struggling. The town is expecting results. And the will—” He hesitated, then said it flatly. “Your father’s will says you must decide by Christmas whether to reclaim your shares or sell them. You have three weeks. Fail, and everything your family built is gone.”

Amara’s breath hitched. Three weeks. That wasn’t much time to rebuild a dying business, mend broken relationships, or confront unresolved feelings.

“And if I decide to sell?” she asked carefully.

“Then the workshop becomes mine.” Dominic’s tone was sharp, final, but underneath it lingered something she couldn’t name—something tender, dangerous. “You walked away once. Don’t make the mistake of walking away again.”

Her fingers brushed the counter, the worn leather beneath her palms grounding her. She had avoided this confrontation for ten years, but now she had no choice. The legacy was calling her back, and so was Dominic Steele.