Placing the leather upon the table he carefully brought the blade down on the end. Precisely trimming first one side and then the other until he had formed a point. Lifting the piece up and straightening it out he ran the leather through his fingers before placing it gently back upon the bench. Taking the awl and a ruler he marked off the point for holes by applying just enough pressure to leave a mark.
He didn't work quickly but he worked smoothly. He knew what he was doing, he knew what he wanted to do and was more than just confident in his skills. This was not to say he was complacent. Far from it. What he was creating was unlike anything he'd made before and it was that fact that ensured he remained entirely focused. It had to be perfect, for so many reasons.
Taking the edging tool he ran it round the edge of one side and then the other. There could be no hard edges on this, nothing to detract from its function. With that said its form had to be something to admire as well. He carefully trimmed the off-cuts to create some small wedges that would be used to reinforce the leather at critical point.
Taking all those pieces he moved to a large wooden board and meticulously started to stain the leather to create a uniform colour. With that done he stepped back and allowed it time to rest before he started to polish it. Brightening up the colour and adding a touch of beauty to the piece, though there would be yet more to come. He had to wrestle with his mind as it kept drifting to what would happen when the product was done. More than once he had to put the leather down and take a deep breath to steady himself. He prided himself on his focus yet today simply reinforced how certain thoughts could creep up and surprise him.
Those certain thoughts of course revolved around one person, around her. From the light flutter of her laughter, to the way when she was working she'd flick her hair over her should. Tilting her head just a touch and providing such an enticing view of her exquisite neck and a glimpse of her collarbone. She was entrancing in even the most menial of things and while she belonged to him, he wholeheartedly belonged to her. Indeed that was part of the reason he was creating what he was. He had thought so much about the dynamic between the two of them. The way she would bend to his will yet the way he needed her permission to do that. So much of it was unspoken and there were those who certainly wouldn't understand the level of respect there had to be to make something like that work. Care was such a vital component of it yet if you saw it in action you wouldn't understand that without prior knowledge.
Now he picked up the creasing tool and ran it along the leather, creating an area for the stitching to sit flush with the leather itself. Next was to punch a narrow slender oblong hole for one end of the buckle to sit, then trimming down the edge to have it sit flush against the back. He then took a small mallet and a chisel punch and worked his way around the crease. This would make stitching and tacking much easier and provide even guide holes for him. With that done he slid the wedges carefully into place as he added the buckle and then the loop. These were tacked into place and he held up his work, examining it carefully to ensure there were no areas that could be improved upon. Satisfied he set it down and picked up an open D-ring, slipping another ring through the small gap before taking his mallet and gently closing it.
With that task complete he set about stitching the piece. He had contemplated what colour to use and had settled on a deeply luxuriant shade of red. After all, that was his favourite colour. It was this part he found most tedious but when he was done he was more than happy with the result. It added a little dash of colour to the leather but didn't truly stand out or distract you. Now he dropped the D-ring over it and set it in place. Taking the wide strip he had prepared earlier, essentially just a larger version of what he had done here. He once again examined it carefully before laying one down atop the other. He had precisely measured where the next set of tacks would go, to connect both pieces, either side of the bronze gold ring that now centrally presented itself. The fittings had been specifically chosen, as each and every piece of this project had been. The leather had to be hard wearing yet supple. He couldn't run the risk of it not being comfortable to wear on many occasions and in a multitude of situations. Yet what he couldn't risk was it quickly wearing out or breaking during a crucial moment. He believed he had found a happy medium with that.
His work was complete and now he took the time to once again examine it carefully and completely. Taking a cloth he used specifically for this purpose to rub down the leather and another to shine the metal. Content he reached under the bench from a sealed plastic bag he removed a slender velvet case. Flipping it open he placed the piece inside and gently closed the box.
She would be home soon, he knew that without checking the clock. He moved quickly and with purpose, first to wash his hands, then to prepare dinner. The chorizo was chopped into manageable chunks, the onions finely diced, the blade coming down in rapid succession as he used his knuckles as a guide. The peppers were then cut into strips and the olives simply cut in half. He browned the chicken and removed them to a waiting plate. Adding a dash more oil to the pan he tossed in the onions, letting them turn a faint gold before adding some garlic and the peppers. Already the aromas that wafted pleasantly through the air made his mouth water. Dropping the chorizo in he watched everything meld together as the red from the sausage seeped out into its surroundings.
He felt almost giddy with excitement. He adored working with his hands and now not only had he created something he so hoped she'd like, -in fact, he knew she would- he was also cooking which always put him in a good mood. He kept one eye on the clock though, knowing he was working to a schedule. After a few minutes he added the rice, folding it over and over in the pan as he sprinkled a touch of paprika across the top. He reached out for the chicken stock he had waiting, letting the jug hover over the pan for a moment as he made sure the rice was properly coated in the now flavourful and aromatic oil. Carefully he started to pour until it was done. His final ingredient was a dry white wine. For the occasion he'd chosen an Alvarinho form the Vinho Verde region of Portugal. He savoured the notes from the wine as he inhaled deeply before pouring a few good measures in.
Once it was simmering away nicely he placed the chicken on top and then foil across the top of that. Dashing out the kitchen he took the stairs three at a time and darted down the hallway. Flinging open the shower room door he started the taps and undressed quickly. When the water was hot he wet his brush and lathered up his shaving soap before applying it to his face and neck. It was a fine art to keep a well maintained beard and shaving was still a part of it. The razor ran smoothly down and he checked his beard from several angles. Taking a trimmer he did away with any stray hairs and ensured it was perfect.
A quick shower and he was out, towelling himself dry before applying some moisturiser and a lightly scented beard oil. Cedar was a notable component, along with a slight citrus element and a subtle touch of spice. He dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a fitted black shirt. As he rolled up the sleeves and then reached for his watch the buttons strained against his broad chest. Sliding the leather strap into place he was ready. Gone was the worker who'd carefully crafted leather into the form he wanted, replaced by the polished individual who now strode confidently down the stairs.
It was an act though. He would never admit to anyone how anxious he felt. Not only was he presenting something he'd made- which always made him anxious- but he had put so much effort into this evening. Part of him already knew she would love it. But what if she didn't? What if she didn't like the gift? What if the food burned or she didn't feel like eating or what if what if what if? So many scenarios ran through his head as he checked on the meal. It was a side of him he hid well, though of course she knew about it. She was his strength, and he was her power.
That fist in his stomach remained though as he laid the table, the perfectionist in him making sure the cutlery lined up neatly. Back in the kitchen he cut slices of a crusty bread and placed them into a small wicker basket and took them to the table. Next up was a simple salad and that was easy enough to prepare. Even as he worked the knife his eyes kept going to the large clock on the wall. A piece he hated but she adored, her reasoning being it could be easily read from anywhere in the kitchen. He couldn't deny that, though he still didn't like it.
