Aunt Emma and her lawyer, Patrick Tate, politely sat on the porch sipping lemonade while Libby paced back and forth. She’d described the current reason she was between a rock and a hard place.
“Well, you better light a fire under your sister-friend then.”
Aunt Emma had a way of solving problems by creating new ones. That said, it was Aunt Emma who’d found Hope in the first place.
If one person on the planet understood lying for a good reason to arrive at a good outcome, for a good cause, it was Aunt Emma.
Her lawyer and special friend, Patrick Tate, was accustomed to making sure Aunt Emma stayed on the right side of the law, if not always on the right side of transparency.
“Light a fire under her?” Libby asked.
“Yes, let her know you’re under a deadline. Maybe she’s not exactly clear about what’s at stake. She gets a free building, a cottage, and rent-free, but she better start moving faster. I mean, the restaurant doesn’t have a name, there’s no menu listed, and I’m not sure she’s hired a single waitress.”
Libby had a pit in her stomach as Aunt Emma listed the things that still needed done at Hope’s restaurant.
“I didn’t ask her to stay at the cottage with strings attached. I’m not kicking her out.”
“Of course not, heavens no. I’m just saying a little focused pressure on your part could move things along.”
“Like the kind you applied to me?”
“Darling, I merely pointed you in the direction of your destiny, isn’t that right, Patrick?”
The lawyer nodded in agreement, but there was a smile on his lips. He was constantly amused by Aunt Emma.
Maybe Libby would find it adorable if it wasn’t Libby and her friends in the cross hairs of Aunt Emma’s grand plans.
Well, it was her grand plan, too, now. Libby had bought into it lock, stock, and barrel.
Her pre-inheritance of Nora House, the master plan for the buildings Emma owned downtown, the cottages Aunt Emma had gobbled up like potato chips to stop Stirling Stone—all of it was tied in knots.
Libby was counting on the grant money to renovate the buildings to lure businesses to bring tourists to stop Stirling Stone from swallowing a fly.
It sounded like the worst campfire song of all time right now.
Libby stopped focusing on the big knot. Aunt Emma was right: One thread at a time. She needed a viable restaurant to compete with Covert Pier.
Stirling Stone had stacked the deck, again, against her and lured Chef Ellston to the competition. Hope needed to come through, this restaurant had to be ready to go, and it had to be wonderful. Libby wasn’t worried that Hope could do it, but she was worried about the timing.
That was another lie. She hadn’t really told Hope the stakes or the deadline.
She needed the yes first, needed Hope to be all in. But her aunt wasn’t wrong. Hope should know.
“The health inspector is all set. He’s an old friend of your aunt’s. His family had a cottage on Vineyard Lake. He’ll put Hope on the schedule as soon as she’s ready.” Patrick Tate piped up with that bit of news.
“That’s something then. We just need her to be ready.”
“That we do, that we do. Do we need to sell more jewelry?”
Aunt Emma and Libby had hocked some family jewelry to get the ball rolling on the renovations. It was how she paid for the restaurant. But that money was drying up too.
“Right now, no, but if you’re sitting on a diamond broach, dust it off. You never know,” Libby replied.
“Oh, that would not be comfortable.”
Aunt Emma and Patrick laughed at Aunt Emma’s joke; meanwhile, Libby continued her pacing.
She did not want to pressure Hope, but if the restaurant didn’t move a little faster, she might have no choice.
