In a few short minutes, Hope felt like she’d taken a high-speed tour of her life, from summers at the lake to the horror in Vegas. And she’d wound up asking a near stranger to send a picture of her making obscene gestures in response to obscene pictures.
Libby handed her a glass of water. Hope noticed Libby’s tasteful manicure. She wore a delicate gold bracelet on her wrist. Her strawberry blonde highlighted hair of their youth had deepened to a rich auburn color. Her clothes were casual—jeans, a navy blue blazer, and a simple white blouse—but they were expensive and well made.
Libby was the rich girl in their group. She’d come from money. Who was Libby Quinn now?
Well, right now, she was there, offering an ear and a glass of water. That was how it was going to have to go, one minute at a time, until Hope found some equilibrium.
“Okay, well, great, we didn’t kill a guy. One less thing to feel crappy about. Good deal.” Hope realized she was sounding flippant over a serious issue. “I’m sorry, I have just so much to process right now. And I have to be at this reception, and I smell like fried zucchini and heartache.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, truly. But, well, I am about to throw another thing your way. I promise it’s a good thing.”
“Why not? It’s been that kind of day.” Hope was really only half-listening. Numb. She’d moved from dizzy to numb. Was numb better?
“So, my offer. I have the perfect space for you to open a restaurant in the new and improved Irish Hills, also a charming lakeside cottage to stay in while you do it.”
“Excuse me?” It felt like Libby was speaking a different language. Open a restaurant? Lakeside cottage?
Libby pressed on. “You are the best cook on the entire planet. I just witnessed that. You’d be the jewel of downtown Irish Hills. I think people would come for miles to eat at your place.”
“So, you know I cook. I cater and manage a restaurant—but open myownrestaurant? I haven’t ever done that. I’m not experienced. I don’t want this win to give you the wrong idea.”
“Yes, haven’t you ever dreamed of opening your own restaurant? Based on what I just saw you do out there, you have to have.”
Hope had dreamed that. More than once. More times than she could count.
“I do. I used to. It’s a lot harder than people make it seem. Financially, physically, and managing it, and marketing. It’s just a lot.” Hope knew the realities of running a restaurant. She’d played them out in her head. Over and over.
“I know, but you’re up to it. I can see you are. You know how great it is in Irish Hills. don’t you miss the lake? How we all grew up together there?”
Libby was selling her now. Hope could feel that and was wary about buying into it. She was vulnerable. Her life was in total chaos in this moment.
“I haven’t had the luxury of that, of looking back.” In truth, Hope didn’t want to look back because there was regret. There were dreams she’d deferred until they died. Or almost died.
“It’s been a revelation for me too, being back there, where we all had the best times.”
“Look, Libby, you’ve always been well off. And by the looks of things, you still are. I don’t have that kind of bank account.” Hope didn’t want to be mean, but the woman in front of her was to the manor born. That was what Hope’s mother called it. Hope didn’t hold it against Libby but dabbling in opening a restaurant was no big deal if money wasn’t a concern.
“I’m saying, you don’t have to have the bank account. I’ve got the space. A gorgeous space, really. And it’s rent-free, as long as you need it to be. Zero for the lease, and it’s nearly ready to have a chef like yourself come in and make the final tweaks. Plus, I have this cottage sitting empty, right on the water on Orchard Beach. You can stay there, no rent. It’s empty.”
“You have an empty restaurant and an empty cottage?”
“Well, Aunt Emma owns the buildings downtown. She dumped—I mean, gifted me, a lot of property, but honestly, you don’t know the half of it. I have an empty dance pavilion too.”
It was now Libby who looked a little unsettled, recounting whatever was going on in Irish Hills.
Hope remembered the dance pavilion, roller skating dates at night, and days filled with cocoa butter and lemonade.
“Libby, you’re sort of talking crazy. And I’m in no spot to make major life changes.”
“Honey, you’re in the perfect spot. Listen, we let the Sandbar Sisters float away. That’s the real shame of our past. Or maybe thinking we’d make friends like that everywhere we went. You don’t. Well, I didn’t.”
Hope realized she hadn’t either, not really. Libby continued to make her case.
“I know we’re better together. And if you’ve ever dreamed of opening a restaurant, it can happen. I can help you make it happen. I’m good at getting things like that going. It’s my specialty, community development. This community in Irish Hills needs you. I need you!”
It all sounded so sweet, perfect. But it was a dream. Hope’s reality was bare ass naked on the iPad. And it was the farthest thing from sweet.
“Thank you, Libby, but I have to say no. I have a mess to clean up with Archie. It’s not the right time.”
