25. Cooper
25
Cooper
A fter clearing my mother and sister from the kitchen, I set up shop at Mom’s kitchen table. Leah’s paperwork is spread out before us, as is my laptop. Time to get to work.
“Okay, we have a few more days to answer the claim?—”
Her forehead wrinkles in worry. “And if we don’t answer?”
I draw my gaze from her summons to her face. “That would be bad?—”
“Because I’d kind of like to ignore the bully,” Leah says, her tone so un-Leah-like.
My fingers twitch, wanting to cover her hand with my own, and while this isn’t a regular case for me, that wouldn’t be very professional. “If we ignore the claim, PJ wins. By default, he would assume all he’s asking for.”
She pulls in a breath, holding it in for a second. “Okay, so we respond.”
“We can counter, meaning we would sue him in return.”
“He doesn’t have anything I want. I just want to be finished with PJ.”
“He has your shop name, Leah. You both have a piece of it, like custody of a child—only in this case, only one of you can claim legal rights.”
“So, we counter.” Her green eyes water, never leaving mine.
“We answer the claims honestly, and then, yes, we counter.” Professional or not, I can’t sit here any longer, not with that look on her face. I reach my hand over and cover hers. She’s so small that her hand disappears beneath my own. She’s warm and real, and I’ve never wanted to comfort someone more in my life.
“What are we countering with?” she asks.
“With the only thing you want: sole ownership of the name of your shop.”
We spend the next hour talking. I find out everything I can when it comes to Leah, PJ, their podcast, and her shop.
“So, how long were you and PJ together?” I ask—and yeah, this isn’t one of the questions on my agenda, but I’m curious, and details never hurt.
“Two years. We met in college, and when Bites and Bubbles needed a couple of bakers, I brought PJ home with me.”
I clear my throat. “So, you were pretty serious?”
“I mean, I thought we were. Does it matter?”
My brows lift and my eyes slide back to my computer as if the question “How serious were you and your ex?” is written on the screen. “It might.”
“PJ was so gifted, and I was kind of in awe that someone like him would want to be with someone like me.”
My stomach flops. “Someone like you? Leah, you realize you’re great, right? Like, incredible. Any man should feel honored to be chosen by you.”
Her cheeks go pink with a flush.
“And he sounds like a real tool.”
She sputters out a small laugh. “He is a tool. He’s selfish and self-centered. He honestly thinks himself above everyone else. I—” Her eyes shut. “In truth, I cannot believe I wasted two years of my life thinking that man was something special.”
“And he ended things, correct?”
She mentioned that before.
“He did—which, again, makes me feel like the champion of idiots.” She breathes out a long, tired breath.
“You aren’t an idiot,” I say, my hand over hers sliding up her forearm. “Sometimes we see the good and we’re blind to the bad.”
“I should have seen the bad, Cooper. PJ turns me back into a high schooler, timid and unsure of myself. And just like Rob from high school, I felt so honored that someone as smart and skilled and handsome as PJ would like me. I’ve worked hard. I’m proud of who I am. I don’t want to change for anyone. Yet, I let PJ turn me into a timid sixteen-year-old girl again, afraid of confrontation and being in the spotlight again. I allowed him to do that to me. It’s like he makes me forget who I really am and how to communicate?—”
“You mean, how to tell someone off.”
“Yes! I have no idea how to tell him off. I succumb under his scrutiny.”
“You had no problem telling me off.”
She smirks. “Which I think might be a sign that I was wrong about you all along. You aren’t a jerk, Cooper, you were just?—”
“An idiot?”
“I was going to say a kid.”
“Really?”
“Really. I can see that now. I blamed you for how others reacted to your decisions.” She sighs and rolls her head back. “You didn’t make up memes and whisper about me. You didn’t make me walk two miles home in heels.”
I nod, thankful for her grace. “You know, just like culinary school prepared you, I can help you prepare before talking to PJ.”
She folds her lips on one another. “Like before.”
“I do owe you.”
She tips her chin, peering up at me. “I’m not sure you do. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to feed you enough rolls to pay for your services.”
I chuckle. I don’t need payment. Heck, I don’t even want payment. I just want to help. “Okay, so when he undermines you?—”
“Yes?” she says, scooting her chair a little closer to mine.
“And all that old high school doubt tries to cloud your brain, just remember this: hold your head high and simply say, ‘How am I supposed to respond to that?’”
“That’s it?” Her nose wrinkles, unimpressed with my advice.
“Believe me, he’ll get flustered. He won’t have an answer for you. And he’ll think twice next time.”
“So simple.”
I nod. “Simple but effective.”
“Thanks, Cooper.”
She’s so close, I can smell the sugary scent that seems to follow her wherever she goes. “Ready to get to work?”
Her eyes flick up to mine, bright and shining emerald. “Let’s get to it.”
An hour passes. I ask Leah everything she knows about PJ, his family, his job, his financial situation. We talk so long that my backside begins to hurt, and I suggest we resume in the living room. I stretch out on the carpet and Leah sits beside me, a bowl of popcorn in her lap—as if we’re watching a movie and not discussing her life’s work and legal case.
“So, when the two of you parted, you gave up the podcast, but in no email or text thread does it say that you’re giving him the name of that podcast.”
“Ooo.” Leah points at me, a kernel of popped corn between her thumb and finger. “Episode forty-four. We did an entire episode on the backstory of our name.”
“The story of you baking with your grandfather and him calling your creations sweet swirls.”
She nods.
“Good. That should help.”
She pops the popped kernel into her mouth. Her fingers curl in, and she holds her hand to her heart. “Thank you, Cooper.” She breathes out a sigh. “I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”
My chest sparks like lit fireworks on the Fourth of July. I’m not a stranger to people thanking me or showing gratitude, and yet my insides warm with her words. I have been taken down a notch—or seven—in the past few months. But as I look at Leah, for the first time, I’m not regretting that knockdown. It’s brought me home. To my family. And to her.
“I’m happy I can help.”