Page 23 of Puck Daddies
I go to bed and set my alarm for early. We have practice. We have work. We have a plan. I close my eyes and hold the line, no matter how much my heart wants to plow right through it.
9
MEG
John slidesmy 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 & Honeys. A Ladies’ Night,” he says, eyes steady. “Women only. Fundraiser. Positive energy. No men, no nonsense. We invite local apiaries to set up tables. Honey, salves, beeswax. You MC, we pump the music, we pour drinks, we raise money for Save the Bees. We drown him out with our good publicity.”
I look at the schedule. I look at the staff. I look at the clock. “We can turn it that fast?”
Bex is already opening Canva. “Give me an hour for graphics. I’ve got this.”
Tom nods. “I’ll call my cousin about a rental speaker.”
Anthony says, “I’ll reroute tonight’s barista schedule. We’ll close for an hour, flip the room, reopen at seven.”
John points at me. “You call vendors.”
I take a breath. “Okay. Let’s move.”
We split. John turns the sign to CLOSED for a quick regroup. I grab the old vendor list Aunt Bea kept in a manila folder and a pen. I start dialing.
“Patterson Park Apiary,” a woman answers. “Marisol.”
“Marisol, it’s Meg from Bea’s. We’re doing a last-minute women-only pop-up tonight. Vendor tables are free. We’re raising money for Save the Bees. You keep your sales, and if you want to donate a percentage, we’ll note it, but no pressure. Can you bring product?”
