9. Meg
MEG
John slides my phone across the counter. “You seen this yet?”
I look down. Luke’s face fills the screen.
Caption: Wishing Bea’s the best as they figure things out.
Change is hard. Some places are stuck in the past. Proud to support forward-thinking businesses that know how to treat customers right.
The comments are a mess. Callie has replied with a heart and a bee.
Then a second comment: Some people don’t know what fun looks like. We do.
My stomach tightens. “Okay. What the fuck.”
Tom is already typing on his own phone. “He still owes us for the donut sponsorship from last month.”
“Don’t,” I say.
Anthony mutters, “I’ll reply from my personal. No one will know.”
“They’ll know. Please put your phones down.”
Tom stops typing. Anthony exhales and pockets his phone. John—no wig today, hoodie and jeans—leans on the counter and watches me.
“The reviews,” Bex says from the pastry case. “We’re getting hit.” She turns her iPad so I can see. One-star, one-star, two-star with a long paragraph about me being rude last week to a customer who doesn’t exist. Three in ten minutes. Five more marked as new.
“Flag them,” I say. “Every one that’s fake. Use the template. Log the usernames. Standard procedure, everyone.” Bea’s has been here forever. It’s not the first time we’ve been review bombed, and it won’t be the last.
But it always kills morale. Tom starts flagging. Anthony writes the usernames for the email. Bex refreshes, frowning.
“Do we clap back?” Tom asks without looking up.
“No. We don’t feed it.”
“So we just let him run his mouth?” Anthony asks.
“We show who we are. In public. On our turf. We don’t play games where they make the rules.”
John taps the counter twice. “Let’s do a pop-up tonight.”
I blink. “Tonight?”
“Heat it was great. Ignore the noise. We’ll be back next week.
Hudson lifts his chin toward the back. “Trash run?”
“Yeah, sure.” He grabs bags and goes. Rocco wipes down tables. Oliver checks the back door lock, looks at the hinge Rocco fixed, and nods to himself.
When there’s nothing left for the guys to do without stepping on staff tasks, they drift to the front. Oliver stays by the door. Hudson hovers near the counter. Rocco leans on the wall. They aren’t crowding me. They’re here. I feel it. But we’re being discreet.
“Thanks for coming after,” I say.
Hudson shrugs. “Didn’t want to mess up your ‘No boys allowed’ rule.”
“Appreciated.”
Rocco nods toward the speaker. “Good playlist.”
“Bex’s.”
Oliver looks down at my hands. “You need ice?”
“No. I’m good.”
He nods. He’s the only one who sees the small tremor that hasn’t faded yet. He looks away so I don’t have to comment. We finish the close. Tom hands me the deposit bag. Aqua flips off the front lights. We all stand for a second in the dark until the emergency strip glows. It’s quiet.
We walk out together. Back at the apartment, I shower and put on a soft tee. The guys are quiet in the living room. The TV is on low. I stand in the doorway for a second and watch them not look at me. It’s a relief.
They know today was a lot, and they’re giving me space.
I could kiss them for that. Instead, I announce I’m going to bed.
They tell me goodnight, and the last of my strength nearly goes out of my spine.
It’s time for rest, and I have more than earned it.
In the guest room, I turn off the light and climb under the covers to stare at the ceiling.
I’m not going to rebound on my best friends. Hooking up again tonight would make the feeling bigger. It would be easy. It would not be smart.
I close my eyes. I breathe. I let the day end.
But in my dreams, it’s all mouths and heart flutters and hard things.