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“Not yet, but I plan to,” I reply.
“You need to,” she says, taking me by surprise by how serious she is about the situation. “My husband’s a lawyer, and he’s helped clients in your situation before. You shouldn’t have to put up with this.”
I look at her as she rummages through her purse. I’m unsure of what to say. I wasn’t expecting a customer to give me any sort of legal advice on the matter.
“Here’s his card,” she says, pulling it from her wallet and placing it on the counter in front of me. “If you need to take legal action, he’s the man you want in your corner. And I’m not just saying that because he’s my husband.”
I pick up the business card and read his name. Matt Smith, Attorney. “Thank you,” I say, slipping the card into my pocket. “I’ll keep him in mind.”
As I finish her transaction, the thought of having to take legal action on this matter is at the forefront of my mind. I’ve never had to deal with anything like this before, and I can’t imagine this situation blowing up to the point that I need a lawyer… but who knows? I’ve never been a business owner before either, so I don’t know exactly how these things work.
After the customer leaves, I try to reorganize all of the items I took off the wall so the store doesn’t look so cluttered. By the time I finish, it looks a little better, but I hate the look of the bare wall. There hasn’t been any construction noise or banging for several minutes now, and I wonder if they’re done for the day. Maybe they just had a few things to do, and now they’re finished. Did I take everything down for no reason?
I’m overwhelmed with frustration. They broke one of my glasses, and could have broken more items if I didn’t move it all. And it’s not fair that I had to move it all! I understand that they’re doing construction, but why should my business have to suffer because of it? I need to do something about this… although I’m not sure taking legal action is necessary right now.
Instead of taking the lawyer’s business card out of my pocket, I grab my shop keys and head for the door. I turn the sign around, saying I’ll be back shortly, then walk outside and lock the door behind me. I march next door and peer in the window. I see a few men standing near the bar, talking. Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door, making sure to rap loud enough for them to hear me.
All three of their heads turn and look at me, and one of them walks toward the door. I straighten my posture, preparing to stand my ground and let them know what an inconvenience their construction has caused me and my business. Hopefully he’ll understand and I don’t come across as a bitch… I don’t want to cause issues with my soon-to-be neighbor.
The door swings open, and my mouth goes dry. I wasn’t prepared for this situation.
“Can I help you?” one of the most attractive men I’ve ever laid eyes on asks.
“Oh––hi,” I manage to say. All of the words I had rehearsed in my head as I walked over have vanished. I look at this brown-eyed, brown-haired, tanned, muscular man in front of me. His sexiness has caught me off guard.
“What can I do for you?” he asks, and I realize I must look stupid right now, speechless, just standing in front of him.
“I-I’m the owner of the shop next door,” I manage to say, pointing in the direction of my store. I steady myself and find my voice again. “The construction you’re doing rattled the wall we share, and it knocked some of my things down.”
He just stares at me, emotionless, as if he doesn’t understand what I just said to him.
“One of my glasses shattered on the floor,” I add, hoping he’ll realize the severity of the situation.
His expression doesn’t change, and I wonder if he doesn’t speak English. But that wouldn’t make sense since he already spoke to me in English.
“Are you sure it was our fault?” he finally says.
That was not the response I was expecting to hear.
“Um, yeah. It was definitely your fault. All of the banging against the wall caused it to fall off the shelf.”
He rubs his chin, then puts his hand out for me to shake. “I’m Jacob. I’m the owner of this soon-to-be bar and grill.”
I’m confused about the way this conversation is going, but I shake his hand to be cordial. “I’m Heidi. I’m the owner of Cheerfully Yours.”
Jacob smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “So a glass broke? How much do I owe you for that?”
Okay, maybe we’re getting somewhere.
“Twenty-five,” I reply.
“For a glass?”
Defensively, I cross my arms over my chest. “Yes, for one etched-by-hand glass. It was one of my original designs.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Wow. You must make a killing over there.”
What. The. Fuck?
