Dean took over the sales pitch.
“Well, when you give the tour, we’ve laid it out so you can set up the kitchen your way. The storeroom is fixed, the cooler there also installed and set. But the shelving can be configured any way you’d like. We’ve got an awning coming in here for covered seating, and it will extend around that corner. A patio is about to be poured. You’ll have space for outdoor tables, even pods if you need, for the next global crisis.”
“Wow, you’ve got the jump on a lot of what a restauranteur would ask for,” Hope said. She had friends who were chefs. It was her world or her world adjacent. And they were all keeping an eye out for outdoor spaces and safe dining options after what the last few years had been like.
“That’s our fearless leader here. She’s very specific,” Dean said.
Libby shook her head. “Thank you, it comes down to being smart enough to find great people, that’s it. Now, let’s go on in,” Libby said.
Hope watched Libby graciously take a compliment. Hope was used to fighting compliments. Why didn’t she just say thank you like Libby did? Libby likely got a lot of compliments based on what Hope could see she had accomplished in her life. This was just one project. Wow. That was all Hope could think: Wow.
“This is all Lincoln Brick Factory stuff, and they went out of business in 1947, so we did have to do a little matching and patching. Got super lucky at a salvage yard, picked up everything they had.”
Hope looked at the weathered brick exterior that Dean described. “You did a great job. I can’t see any difference,” she said.
The door to the restaurant space was painted black. There were two large windows, with black panes on the street side and the corner side.
“I’ve ordered a black-and-white stripe for the awning, but that can change, say the word.”
Libby went in first. Hope decided not to point out that she hadn’t agreed to opening a restaurant here. She hadn’t agreed to anything but a few days of rest at the lake. Yet somehow, as the doors opened and they walked into the space, her dreams became real.
The place was beautiful. Dean had left the brick on the interior walls exposed. There was an old painted mural on one wall. There were exposed ducts and beams. It was too good to be true, as if Hope’s dreams had somehow traveled through the air to this place and became solid.
On one wall, in black and white, was a message painted into the brick:Premium Quality Fine Dining, Fresh and Tasty, Best in Town.
“Aunt Emma said this was on the wall of the old restaurant,” Dean said. “It predates you ladies, from the eighties, by a good bit. We found it when we removed drywall. Maybe it’s 1930s or so. I thought it was cool, but again, if it’s not your vision…”
“This can’t be real.” Hope stepped forward and ran her finger along the edge of the sign.
Hope looked at Libby. She wanted to say, “Yes, I want this. I want to build my dream right here. That sign, this place, this vibe.”
But she stopped. This was madness. Hope needed to think, to plan, but she was honest. There was no denying they’d done an amazing job with this place.
“Your instincts were spot on,” she said instead. “It’s authentic, cool, I love it.”
Hope looked up. The ceiling was two stories high, with metal beams, also exposed but painted a deep red.
“There’s a suite of rooms up, sort of off the back of the second story. You can use some for offices, but for the main dining room we wanted to go with this open feel.”
Hope didn’t say a word. She just looked up and felt what Libby had intended, that this space was just right, somehow.
And then she looked down and dropped down to her knees. She ran her fingers over the floor. It looked like distressed cobblestone, but it was smooth.
“Painted concrete?”
“This is a great option to give us that old-time charm, but you can literally hose it down if needed,” Dean explained.
“It’s stunning.” There wasn’t a wrong step in the space. Hope could imagine the layout, with round tables in the center and larger ones on the four corners. Wait, what? She wasn’t moving in. It was just a tour.
“We envisioned the hostess station here.” Libby pointed out a good spot to the right of the front door.
“We need someone good. I have a person in mind, she might be perfect, anyway, just my two cents,” J.J. chimed in as they walked further into the space.
“We’ve got about three-thousand square feet to play with on the main floor. Upstairs there’s space that could be a banquet area.”
Libby could have been a real estate agent, Hope thought, as her friend outlined the specs.
Hope calculated the numbers.
