“This is going to be amazing, and in a way, it is simpler,” Braylon said.
“How so?” Camila said.
“The service will be immaculate because the servers don’t have to remember fifteen special orders per table.”
Braylon got it. Hope had been floating test balloons of the concept in his direction.
“But they will have to memorize your menu each week.”
“I’m not a short-order cook. Braylon and I want to create unique dishes. That’s why we’re both in it. And every single woman we’ve hired is going to shine with this mission. I know it.”
“I think it’s brilliant. I’ll do whatever I can to make it work.” Braylon said.
She wanted to hug him.
“This is a learning curve, a marketing challenge, you understand?” Camila said cautiously. “We’re going to have to get the word out, the Adrian Telegram, the local Facebook pages for all the lakes, like everyone needs to know what they’re about to experience is unique. Still though…what if you have a dish everyone loves and wants again?”
“They can come back next time it’s in season.”
“You’re an odd duck, Hope Venerable,” Camila said slowly, then added, “Hmmm, Venerable’s Bistro, Venerable Dining? It’s clear we’re not a diner; THAT’s out now. So, have you decided on a name for this grand experiment?”
“How long do I have?” Hope asked.
“Well, you need a logo. Obviously, now I have to decide on how to publish weekly menus, so that’s not the issue. But Dean Tucker said the painter for the window is here next week. Next week! Also, I want to embroider the aprons. I can do two a night. So back it out, sister.”
“Okay, okay.”
Hope’s daughters hadn’t come through with a good name. She’d have to figure it out soon.
“I’m going to call about that order of ramekins and see about getting the right printer in here. We’re going to need it. A new menu every week, ugh.”
Camila left their little meeting to deal with the tech end of things. Hope and Braylon made their way back to the kitchen. It was time to experiment with strawberry shortcake. Braylon was the superior baker of the two of them, Hope had discovered.
They had been working for about thirty minutes when a change in air pressure alerted Hope to someone entering the restaurant.
She turned around, prepared to sign for a delivery or let an inquiring potential customer know they weren’t open yet.
Instead, she came face to face with someone who was not invited.
“What areyoudoing here?”
“Hey, this looks amazing,” said Archie Venerable, her future ex-husband, as he strode into the center of the dining room. He walked further into the restaurant. He ran his fingers along a table.
Hope stood still, paralyzed for a moment, seeing Archie in this space. Her space.
“I said, what are you doing here? How did you even find me?”
Archie waved his phone at her. She saw pictures of the lake, the inside of the restaurant, all pictures she’d sent to the girls. Ugh, they’d ratted her out.
Archie put down the phone, and his face softened. “I know we have issues. I’m sorry about that. I made a mistake. I’m here to apologize. To make it right.”
“Can you please keep your voice down? This my place of work.”
“Aren’t you the boss?”
“Yes, but that’s the point. I don’t want our messy, whatever this is, polluting this space.”
“Polluting, that’s a bit dramatic.”
