The Daily Harvest Vegan Restaurant Drama with Brenda Bullock and Mark Garison

Blurb：

When Avery opens her dream vegan restaurant, The Daily Harvest, she expects to honor her mother's memory with healthy, affordable plant-based food. But on opening day, neighbor Brenda Bullock causes chaos, demanding a fraudulent $100 refund after the loyalty card promotion. As Brenda's lies and theatrics escalate—smearing kale, screaming "murder"—Avery's business and sanity hang by a thread. Enter Mark Garison, the quiet giant from upstairs, whose unexpected intervention might just save The Daily Harvest from ruin. Dive into this gripping tale of deceit, resilience, and community in a neighborhood where vegan ideals clash with greed.

Content：

§01

The scent of fresh paint and possibility hung in the air. My restaurant, The Daily Harvest, was more than just a business; it was a promise I’d made to my late mother. An oasis of healthy, affordable vegan food in a neighborhood that needed it. For our grand opening, the special was simple: load fifty dollars onto a loyalty card, get an extra fifty in store credit. A hundred dollars of food for the price of fifty.

My next-door neighbor, Brenda Bullock, had been one of the first in line. Now, plate wiped clean, she stood before the counter, her face pinched into a mask of indignation.

"Not a single scrap of meat in this whole place," she declared, her voice loud enough for the few remaining customers to hear. "Are you trying to kill an old woman with rabbit food?"

I managed a tight, professional smile. "It's a vegan buffet, Mrs. Bullock. It's all plant-based."

"I don't care what fancy name you call it," she snapped. "You charge ten bucks for a few leaves of grass? You think us old folks are suckers? Give me my money back. Right now."

The air crackled with tension. I didn't want a scene on my first day. "Of course," I said, my voice softer than I felt. "I can refund the fifty dollars you paid."

Brenda’s eyes narrowed. "Do you think I'm senile? You said it yourself on that fancy sign of yours. I put in fifty, I get a hundred. Now I want a refund, so you owe me one hundred dollars. Cash."

The sheer audacity of it left me speechless. "Ma'am, that's not how it works," I began, my patience fraying. "The amount you actually paid was fifty dollars. The other fifty is store credit, a gift from my restaurant for you to use on future meals. It's not cash."

"I don't care," she repeated, planting her hands on her wide hips. "You said you gave it to me, so it's mine. I don't want your rotten lettuce anymore. I want the full hundred."

My expression hardened. "Mrs. Bullock, I'll say it one last time. I can refund you the fifty dollars you paid. Today's meal is on the house. But after that, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

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