Page 38 of Puck Daddies

“Same,” I say. “You’re allowed to want to fix your shop with your hands. I’m allowed to want to fix it with mine. We meet in the middle.”

“Okay.”

I check the time. “We need to get you to Bea’s.”

“Yeah.”

I rinse the mugs and plate and put them in the dishwasher because it’s something done. In the truck, she watches the city wake up. I keep my mouth shut unless she wants to talk.

At a red light she says, “I’m not mad at you for offering. I need you to know that.”

“I know it.”

“I’m mad that he’s still in my life like this.”

“Me too.”

She sighs hard. “I want one day where he isn’t. And I don’t get it. Why does he bother? Why does he care enough to hurt me?”

“Some people like to pick wings off of flies. From the sound of things, you embarrassed him, and Luke Fucking Addaway is nothing if not a big ball of pride.”

“That’s his only big ball.”

I snort at that and pull to the curb. Aqua is already at the door with keys. She waves. Bex arrives right behind us with a bag from the bakery. Tom jogs up with two cases of milk on his shoulder. They see the set on Meg’s face and snap into place without questions. Good team.

I could go, but I don’t want to leave her on a morning like this without giving her one more thing she can hold. I slide my hand across the counter and tap the wood twice. “We’ve got you.”

She nods. “Go skate.”

I salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You big dork.”

I grin and jog out of the place. The arena is near enough that I don’t bother turning on the heater before I get there. Practice is tough, but the team is tougher.

At home, I shower. I almost text her,Need me?

I don’t. She knows all she has to do is reach out, and I’m there, but not being there right now feels like a dereliction of duty. I try to read for ten minutes and can’t focus. I end up standing by thewindow, checking the time, and telling myself not to drive back across town and stand at the counter like a security guard.

Guarding what, I’m not sure. Her heart? Mine? There’s no telling.

13

MEG

The courier handsme 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 isMornay & Llewellyn LLP.Callie’s name is there.

I breathe once. Then again.