“Using sixty-forty, that would mean we could serve about one hundred people in the main space, figuring eighteen-square feet per person, unless it’s more casual, then maybe more,” Hope said, without thinking about how it sounded.
“Aha, got her,” J.J. said. And Libby shot J.J. a satisfied look.
“No, no, just doing math.”
“You said ‘we,’” J.J. pointed out.
“Let’s go look at the space for the kitchen.” Libby clearly didn’t want to stop the vibe or interrupt the current delusions swirling around Hope’s brain.
Shehadjust said ‘we.’ Her mind had already decided the square footage per diner. What was happening?
They walked through the dining area. A bar separated the main dining area from a space that looked ready for a range and ovens.
“We could wall this off, but the bar was already here. Dean said there are options.”
“It looks perfect, don’t change a thing.” This was a command, a decision about a space that she had zero claim on. It was as if her brain was moving in already, envisioning this restaurant, her restaurant.
Hope moved forward without her two old friends. She could see the range, even though it wasn’t there. She imagined people sitting at the bar as she cooked. She looked up. There needed to be hanging lights here and a pot rack.
She moved in a circle, looked back over the dining room again, and then back to the endless soapstone counter. Her hand ran along the cool surface. They’d plate here, in full view of the diners. The diners would be a part of the experience.
Hope looked. There were two doors on either side of the massive wall that would house the range and oven.
Perfect for flow, one in and one out.
She pushed one open and walked back to the kitchen space. She noticed a cooler and dozens of shelves for dishware above more counters, but these were stainless steel. There was also a commercial mixer.
There were several huge sinks, and a commercial dishwasher was already installed.
Libby and Dean had thought of everything. Everything.
There was a door that led to a stairwell, which must be to the upstairs banquet space.
She was about to go up, but then the back door caught her eye.
The window in the door revealed how close they were to the lake.
Hope walked out the back. There were a few parking spaces, then she rounded the corner to see the spot that would be the outdoor patio.
In the distance, the lake glistened. They weren’t on the lake, exactly. It was still maybe one eighth of a mile away. But you could see it. You could see it from the patio space.
“Wow. Just wow.”
Libby and J.J. joined her outside.
“So, what do you want to call it?” J.J. asked.
Hope snapped out of it. She wasn’t moving to Irish Hills and opening a restaurant! That was ridiculous! She was a housewife from Kentucky who dabbled in food. Archie’s voice rang in her ears. This was a hobby. She didn’t have what it took to make this dream happen.
“I, uh, I need to pump the breaks.”
“It’s okay. I just wanted you to see it. I know that there’s something here that could be spectacular with the right partner,” Libby said. Her tone was gentle. Her old friend had caught Hope’s fear and doubt. She softened her sales pitch.
“It’s beautiful,” Hope said. “You all did a wonderful job…but you don’t need me. You need someone who knows what they’re doing. I think it’s beautiful enough you could get a celebrity chef on board, seriously.”
“Hmm, well, maybe that’s enough for one day. I know my plans can be a lot. I bet you need some toes in the sand time,” Libby said.
“I do, yes, thank you.” Hope had to get her head straight. Her life was in ruins. Standing here fantasizing about becoming a real chef? Well, that was juvenile. That was denial in the face of her current situation.
