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“Yeah. Maybe you should have. Although, I usually don’t lose my temper quite that quickly.”
For some reason, Vicki’s eyes seemed to be more intense and thoughtful.
She had no idea what would have inspired that kind of reaction.
“Yes, I’m surprised at you,” Charlene said, and Peyton wondered if she truly meant it. After all, Charlene didn’t really know her that well. Still, back home, her friends always said that her personality was very calm, that they could feel it from just being around her.
Maybe Charlene was intuitive as well.
She wasn’t going to be guilted into changing her mind. She put her hands on the table and looked the ladies over. “Probably because I lost my temper so easily, and I never do, that’s just one more sign that this wasn’t meant to be. I thank you all for being so willing to take over things and help me out, but he’s going to have to find someone else to work on his library. As much as I would love to do it, it’s not worth it for me to have to try to work with someone who makes me become someone I don’t like.”
The ladies were quiet for a moment, and still, before Vicki said, “That’s funny. I always thought we had the choice of who we are going to become. That we can choose whether or not we give people power over us. Are you really going to let him control you?”
She had a great point, but Peyton was not going to be swayed.
“You know. You’re right. We can’t blame what we do on other people. My temper, or lack of it, is not his fault. But I still believe that’s a sign. A sign that he didn’t really want me there, and I don’t want to be there. I was not looking for a job this morning when I woke up, and it’s not really a sadness to lose this one.”
She shrugged.
Maybe they realized her mind was made up, because they nodded sadly, and everyone was quiet until Vicki started talking about Easter and how there was going to be a sunrise service and how they were working on the cantata and hoped it would be ready in five weeks for Easter morning.
The ladies left, and Peyton had a quiet afternoon at the bookstore.
She only made baked goods for mornings, and once she was out of whatever she made, she was done cooking for the day. It wasn’t like a normal café, which suited her just fine, because she had nothing to do but sit in a chair and read, and ring up the occasional sale for the two or three customers that moseyed in over the course of the afternoon.
Normally, when Owen got off the bus, she allowed him to play until dark, since night came so early in the winter in North Dakota. There was plenty of time once the sun went down to get the schoolwork done and do any chores.
Often, he ran in the store, barely kissing her before he ran right back out. So she was a little surprised when she was sitting in her chair reading a romantic comedy set in Idaho and revolving around ladies who lived in an assisted care facility who played matchmaker for their town. She had not finished the series, because the author had written herself into a romance convention, and obviously, she most definitely wasn’t talented enough to show up at one of those.
But the narrator seemed to be an okay guy with his entourage and his helicopter. He seemed very cool and collected even though he had ladies’ underwear flying at him from all different directions.
The book turned out to be not terrible, and she thought once the author had a couple hundred more books under her belt, she might not be too awful.
That’s when the door opened and Owen stepped in.
She looked up, smiling. “Hello, son. How was school?”
Normally, she got a non-answer or an “okay.” But today he walked over, his brows drawn, looking at her like he hadn’t expected her to be there.
“I thought you were going to be at a mansion somewhere tonight.”
“That didn’t work out.”
“It didn’t?” Owen sounded far more disappointed than she had expected. He dropped his book bag and plopped into the recliner opposite her.
“Nope. Sometimes these things just don’t work out, and this one didn’t. Although the idea of cataloguing six thousand books in someone’s personal library was really pretty awesome.”
“Yeah. Sounds like something you’d like to do.” His tone was dejected, and he looked down at the floor.
“Did something happen at school today?”
“No.”
But he didn’t move, and that wasn’t her son. He was a good kid, quiet. A little bit more quiet than most kids, maybe, and responsible as only children tended to be. But this was not normal. Something was obviously bothering him.
“Do you have a lot of homework?”
“No.”
