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“I can’t believe my son, my son, had the gall to talk to a woman that way,” She retorts.
“Mom, you’ve seen the building. We almost had to close for the day. Not to mention this job might have to get hired out, it’s going to take time and money, and Calzone day is right around the corner,” I explain to her just as I’ve been arguing with myself all day. My actions were justifiable.
“I don’t care if that woman did that on purpose, dressed as a clown, and told you to stuff it, you should not talk to women that way. Mohagens should not talk that way,” Mom raises her voice and glares at me.
“I’m worried about how much this can set us back,” I admit and my voice drops. I cross my arms and lean against the counter waiting for her to speak more of her mind.
Her brow rises, “I already talked to Birely, and he can bring the new window in as soon as possible. You’ve always been good at building and repairs, can you fix the booth and some of the window frame?”
“I can,” I tell her shrugging, “But it also needs to be sanded, primed, and painted. When should I be doing all of this?”
Mom smirks and pulls the fresh vegetables out of her bag before washing them in the sink. “She did say she was willing to help, didn’t she?”
I snort and glance at my mom again when she frowns at me, “Oh, you were serious.”
She huffs and sets her washed vegetables on the counter, “What happened was an accident. It's not great timing, I completely agree, but the police themselves said she hadn’t been drinking. This was an accident. She isn’t out to sabotage us, or the restaurant. I’m thankful no one was hurt. This could have been worse.”
“It was a stupid accident. She was probably listening to music, or on her cell phone,” I argue back, “I almost didn’t walk Remi out. What if she had been two more steps to the left?”
“We could argue the same about anyone. And again, we have no one saying she was distracted, or that this was purposeful. People make mistakes, Roman. You need to cut her some slack. We need only to focus on getting this as cleaned up as possible,” Mom responds and I wince when she slams her knife through the onion with a little too much force.
I drag my fingers across my lips and add up everything in my head that I will need to fix the window and the booth. “The booth is also going to need a leather repair.”
“I’ll call and ask Lynda. She has always been able to help with repairs in a pinch,” Mom shrugs her shoulders and continues chopping. I can already tell I’m not winning this argument.
Bracing my hands on the counter, I lean my weight forward. “I’m sorry I didn’t handle it well. I was scared for Remi, and her. She could have gone flying through the windshield and been hurt. Thankfully she had her seatbelt on. This could have been very bad, Ma.”
She stops chopping, and sets the knife down, before running her hands through the towel on her shoulder. I feel the tension in my shoulders lift when she pats my cheek with her hand, “It wasn’t though. It could have been, but it wasn’t. We need to be thankful for that. People deserve forgiveness. And you owe this woman an apology for the way you raised your voice to her. I know I didn’t raise my son to act that way.”
“No,” I grunt in response, “No you didn’t. I’ll apologize. I’ll take her up on her offer to help fix things here. Maybe she's new to the area so knowing some of the history here might be nice for her too.”
Mom smiles and resumes her chopping, “That's my boy.”
With a small smile on my lips and the phone in my hand I leave the kitchen and head to the back area where my office is. Sitting down into the large chair and leaning back finally takes some of the strain off my lower back. I know it's all stress related, the way I’m feeling.
Becca Reynolds.
Her name almost glares at me off the paper, the same way her sapphire eyes did last night. She went from being sweet and apologetic to spitting fire in a second. Her temper might be as bad as mine, and if that is the case, then having us in the same vicinity could be detrimental to everyone around us.
Running my hands through my hair I take a few deep breaths before picking up the phone. “Ah, fuck it,” I say to myself in the silence before dialing her number. The phone rings four times before her soft, feminine voice answers.
“Hello?”
“Ah, hi Becca, this Roman Mohagen from Mohagen’s last night.”
“Yes?” Her voice bites a little and I internally wince. She could tell me to fuck myself right now, and I’d be down the help.
“Look, I’m sorry for how I acted last night. I was shocked and worried, and I didn’t handle myself correctly. If you are willing to help, we would greatly appreciate it.”
There's a pause before I hear a small sigh, “I will make time to help. I am really sorry about what happened. What can I do?”
“How good are you at painting furniture?”
ChapterFour
Isolde
Ican’t believe I actually agreed to help. After the way Roman was such a jerk last night, the last thing I should be agreeing to is to meet at his family’s restaurant and help paint tomorrow. Fortunately for him, I’m actually a huge sap for history and historical buildings. Which is what I blamed it on when I agreed to be there early in the morning. As if I don’t have enough going on already.
