13. Meg
MEG
The courier hands me a stiff envelope and asks for a signature. I sign. He leaves. The return address is a downtown firm. My name is spelled right. The shop name is spelled right.
What the hell is going on?
I carry it to the counter and open it with the butter knife because Tom took the letter opener home again. Four pages. Heavy paper. I skim.
Cease and desist.
They claim Aunt Bea’s bee artwork is Callie’s intellectual property.
They claim our bee-and-comb motif is hers.
The recipe names were her creative work product.
We are to stop using the art and the names within seven days, destroy all printed materials with bees on them, and provide an accounting of profits on drinks that use those names so she can get her cut.
They threaten an injunction if we don’t comply.
The signature block is Mornay keep comb; no bear.
I scan and upload. The link from Dana dings. I start dragging files into the folder.
The bell over the door rings. Luke walks in with the face he wears at ribbon cuttings. Sunglasses on his head. He sees me and smiles like he’s met a fan. He gets in line. He starts talking to the woman behind him about financing rates, like anyone cares.
He reaches the front and leans on the counter. “Meg. I hear you’re having a little legal trouble. I can fix that for you, you know.”
The people in line go quiet. Aqua moves closer to the register area without being obvious.
I keep my face blank. “We’re fine.”
He lowers his voice a notch. “Come on. It’s me. I have a legal team. I can make this go away.”
“You can go away. We’re not doing this, Luke.”
He laughs like I told a joke. “Let’s be civil. I’m trying to help.”
“You’re trying to take credit for offering help when you created the problem. That’s not the same thing.”
He glances at my staff. He leans in further. “Be smart, Meg. You don’t want a lawsuit. You don’t want to lose your little shop.”
“Back of the line,” a woman calls from behind him. “Some of us have to get to work.”
Luke turns and flashes the customer smile. “Sorry,” he says. Then he turns back and slides a black card onto the counter. “Use this, Meg. It’s for emergencies. Hire a good lawyer. You’ll need it.”
I look at the card. “Great,” I say, cheerful. I raise my voice. “Everyone in line—drinks are on Luke Addaway of Addaway Motors this morning. Enjoy.”
There’s a beat of silence, then the room breaks into happy noise. “Thank you!” “Nice!” “I’ll get a pastry too.”
Tom grins and starts moving drinks. Anthony says, “Next!” like he’s on a game show. Bex holds up the tip jar and people stuff bills in. Aqua backs up to manage the crowd flow.
Luke’s fake smile freezes. He keeps it on his face because he has to. If he contradicts me, the crowd will eat him alive. His reputation will suffer. He’s trapped, and he knows it.
He lifts a hand and waves to the room. “My pleasure,” he says, teeth tight.
I ring in the first ten orders and slide the card through. It runs. I sign THANKS, LUKE on the merchant copy. He watches my pen and pretends not to.
As the rush evens out, he leans in and lowers his voice again. “Play your games. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I smile right back. “Thanks for the coffee, Mr. Addaway. Next!”
He leaves, jaw set, still waving at people who thank him. The door shuts behind him. The sound level drops back to normal. Aqua exhales. “That was satisfying.”
“Charge every purchase for the next two hours on that card.” We keep moving until the line is gone.
Bex hands me the scans. “Dana’s link is loaded. There’s a courier walking in ten with a hard copy box. Also, Baltimore Eats DMed and asked if you want to comment on the reviews.”
“No comment. Reply with the charity numbers and Thursday’s event.”
Aqua wipes the counter and looks at the card still on the register. “You going to give that back?”
“Eventually. One more thing first.”
I step into the office and pick up the phone. I call our equipment supplier. “It’s Meg at Bea’s. Do you still have that demo home machine on clearance? The compact one.”
“Yeah,” the rep says. “Boxed and ready.”
“Can you process a card over the phone and deliver it to a customer address today? It’s a gift.”
“Sure,” he says. “Name and address.”
I give him Ms. Delaney’s info. Maybe she’ll be less grumpy if she’s properly caffeinated.
“Thanks,” I say. “Please include a gift note: Hudson is never late. Enjoy your coffee. ”
I hang up and breathe. My hands are steady. I walk back out and put the card in the drawer under the till. I tell Aqua, “Lock this up or I might get too generous.”
By three, the fake review surge slows. Flagging and reporting helped. Regulars posted real reviews. The average starts to climb back. Bex shows me the graph on the dashboard.
I nod. “We keep going.”
At four, Dana calls. “Received your package. The early menus are gold. The schedules help. The sketchbook is decisive.”
“It’s Aunt Bea’s notes. She wrote her initials in the margins.”
“We’ll send a demand for withdrawal by end of day. If they don’t, we file a counterclaim for bad-faith interference and seek fees. You did the right thing by not responding.”
“Thank you.”
“Expect them to push. Don’t take their calls. Everything through me.”
“Understood.”
I text Oliver: Thank you for your help.
He sends back: Proud of you for accepting it. See you later.
My staff did their jobs and didn’t burn down the internet. Luke is probably staring at his charge alerts and grinding his teeth. That’s not my problem. The moron left a black card like it was a threat, telling me who to hire to fix the problem he’s causing.
Fuck that guy.
I’m tired and still wired. I want to say I don’t care, but I do. I want to say this doesn’t get to me. It does.
I also know what I’m made of. Today proves it. I asked for help when I needed it. I said no when I had to. I made the room feel like ours again. I spent his emergency money on my own terms.
Tomorrow we do it again. Tonight I’m going home.