Page 40 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"How did you?—"

"Mac heard from Lucia who heard from Nonna Flora that Mrs. Rodriguez's nephew is trying to convince her to sell." Alex crosses his arms over his chest. "Apparently, some developer wants to turn it into a chain store or something."

"Over Roz's dead body," Connor mutters. "You should have seen her at La Famiglia on Sunday. She practically threw breadsticks at anyone suggesting Meet Cute might close."

My phone buzzes. Speaking of Rosalind...

"Save the Shop meeting in twenty minutes," her text reads. "Bringing reinforcements."

Before I can respond, another message pops up: "P.S. Your AI just asked me about my 'emotional investment in beverage-based entrepreneurship.' Is that normal?"

"CORA," I growl, "what did we say about contacting Ms. Carpenter directly?"

"That it promotes efficient communication patterns?" my AI suggests innocently.

Connor snickers. "Your robot's got a point. Though personally, I'm more interested in your 'emotional investment' in?—"

He's interrupted by Alex's phone ringing. Mac's ringtone—the one I’m sure she didn’t approve.

"Hey babe," Alex answers. "Wait, what? How many bees?"

Connor and I exchange looks.

"Define 'emotional support hive,'" Alex continues. "Uh-huh.So, you stopped by Heart & Soul's lobby because... I see. No, I don't think that Sir Whats-His-Name’s foam sword will help with bee removal. Yes, I'll call Grayson."

He ends the call, turning to me with the kind of expression that lets me I'm not going to enjoy what comes next.

"So," he starts, "apparently Dani's newest suitor?—"

"The medieval knight's been replaced?"

"By an artisanal honey farmer. Who brings his bees to work."

I check my watch. Eighteen minutes until Rosalind's meeting.

"Let me guess," I sigh. "The emotional support hive got loose?"

"In technical terms? Yes." Alex checks his phone again. "In practical terms? Heart & Soul's lobby currently resembles a very aggressive apiary."

Another text from Rosalind:"Slight change of plans. Meeting relocated due to unexpected... guests. Small, striped, unfortunately armed guests."

I'm already grabbing my coat. "CORA, pull up everything we have on urban beekeeping regulations. And contact my lawyer about liability issues regarding 'emotional support' insects."

"Already done, sir," my AI chirps. "Though I feel compelled to note that your increasing involvement in Ms. Carpenter's business affairs suggests?—"

"Not now, CORA."

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing in Meet Cute Coffee Co.'s back room, watching Seattle's most determined matchmaker pace holes in the vintage hardwood while explaining her "Save the Shop" campaign to a crowd of regulars.

"We can't let some soulless corporation turn this place into another chain store," she declares, gesturing with what has tobe her fourth lavender latte. "This is where connections happen. Real connections, not algorithm-approved matches—no offense," she adds in my direction.

"Statistically speaking—" I start, but she silences me with a look.

"The point is," she continues, "Meet Cute needs us. Mrs. Rodriguez needs us. Who's with me?"

The crowd—mostly longtime customers, plus what appears to be a surprisingly organized contingent of elderly ladies from the corner table—cheers.

"That's very inspiring," I say when she finally pauses for breath, "but have you considered the actual financials?"

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