Best Friend's Ex Box Set

"Amen," Mrs. Yoder said, nodding at me to let me know it was okay to eat.

"Amen," I echoed as I picked up my fork and began shoveling food into my mouth.

"So, you meet with Bishop Miller this morning," Mrs. Yoder said as she spread a thin layer of blueberry preserves onto her toast. "You should wear plain clothing, not the fancy outfit you have on."

"I'd hardly call this suit fancy," I replied as I looked down and considered the gray pinstripe pants and the white dress shirt I was wearing.

You're not married, are you, Mr. Wallace?"

"No, why?" I asked.

"Unmarried Amish men shave," she said as she bit into her toast and chewed, saying nothing more. The look on her face told me that she was holding something back, or maybe it was just that she thought she knew better. I didn't know, but the fact that this small, old woman was judging things she obviously didn't understand irked me.

"Well, I'm not Amish, am I?" I replied brusquely.

"He knows you are coming to see him?" she asked and I shook my head. She set her toast down and made a tsk tsk noise as she shook her head. "This is not very polite, Mr. Wallace."

"It's business, Mrs. Yoder," I replied before stuffing half of a slice of bacon into my mouth.

"That may be the way you do business in the city, but this is not how we do it here," she scolded. "If you want to get things done in Corner Grove, you had better learn how to do business our way, Mr. Wallace."

"Well, I haven't had trouble doing business with anyone before, Mrs. Yoder," I said, flashing her a fake smile that was intended to shut her up. "I find that the straightforward approach tends to work best with most businessmen."

"Ah, well, you big city folk know best, don't you?" she said with a smile that I recognized as one that would normally be given to small children who didn't know any better. She picked up her toast and took a bite.

We ate the rest of our meal in silence, and when we were done, I half-heartedly grabbed my plate and cup to take them out to the kitchen, but Mrs. Yoder waved me off and said, "Get over to the factory and see if Bishop Miller will see you this morning. It's still early. God bless you, Mr. Wallace."

I nodded and headed out to the car reassuring myself that this was going to be a quick meeting and an easy sale, and that God was going have nothing to do with it.

#

Ten minutes later, I pulled up to Miller's Authentic Amish Furniture factory feeling more annoyed than when I'd left the breakfast table. Mrs. Yoder had gotten under my skin. She'd tried to be helpful, but her interference in my business had done nothing but irritate me.

The front parking spaces were still empty so I eased the Mustang into the one closest to the door and sat surveying the building. It covered the equivalent of two city blocks and resembled an enormous, gray barn with a wide, sloping roof and a bay on the far end that could open wide enough to accommodate an eighteen-wheeler.

On the opposite end, I could see the show room through the floor to ceiling plate glass windows and movement inside. I got out of the car, took a deep breath, and headed inside.

"Are you here to pick up an order?" the man behind the front desk asked as he looked up from something positioned just below the chest-high counter. He had a solemn, clean-shaven face and bushy eyebrows that he raised questioningly as he waited for my response.

"No, I'm here to see Mr. Miller," I said as I scanned the counter looking for any indication of the man's first name. "The owner?"

"Ah, I see," the man nodded. "Did you have an appointment with him this morning?"

"No, I heard he operates on a first come first serve basis, so I took my chances," I said smiling nervously as I tried to create a commonality between the man and I. "My father operates the same way, so I thought I'd try my luck with Mr. Miller."

"I see," he nodded without smiling back. "I'll go back and check his office to see if he's in yet."

"You don't know if he's come through the front door?" I asked looking back at the empty parking lot.

"We park our buggies out back," the man said as he stood up to his full height and dwarfed me in the process. "I'll be right back, Mr..."

"Wallace," I said quickly reaching for my business card, but the man turned and walked away before I could add, “I'm Adam Wallace."

When it became obvious that the man wasn't quickly coming back, I walked around the showroom and read the descriptions of the various types of furniture. There were rough-hewn pieces that looked like they belonged in log cabins in the wilderness mixed in with items that were so smoothly finished that it was nearly impossible to tell how all the pieces had been connected. At the bottom of each card attached to the furniture was the phrase, "Ask about our custom made pieces," and it made me wonder who the hell would come all the way to Corner Grove and order custom-made Amish furniture.

"Mr. Wallace?" the young man said as he returned from the back of the store. "Mr. Miller will meet with you in the conference room now."

"Oh, so he's in, is he?" I said wondering what had taken them so long to discuss.