She lightly tapped the wine glass with a butter knife.
“Hello, welcome to my restaurant. I’m Hope Benton Venerable. I just want to take a moment to thank you all for taking time tonight to help me do this, to help us all iron out our dinner dance here. And beyond that, I want to thank you for opening up your homes, your businesses, and your hearts, to my idea of this restaurant. I don’t know how it’s going to go, what people will think of it. But I do know, tonight, I’m doing my best to show you how much I appreciate you by preparing the best meal I know how. That will be our goal every night. So enjoy! And cheers.”
The room of familiar faces and new friends raised their glasses and responded in kind with a hearty cheer.
Then a question from her diners interrupted her return to the stove.
“Do you have a name, you know, so we can tell our friends?” The bold question came from J.J., of course.
Hope had avoided naming the place. She had some superstition that naming it would jinx it or make it go away. The menus had no logos, and the awning outside remained empty. But it came to her at that moment.
“Hope’s Table.” The words caught in her throat a little. It had come to her in that instant.
That was it. That was the name. All this time, they’d toyed with the name Venerable—it was such a good last name, so perfect for all her other endeavors—but here, Venerable didn’t fit. Hope did.
They had the rest of the main course to plate, and dessert to serve, and dishes to wash, and an assessment of their strengths and weaknesses to sort through. But at that moment, with those glasses raised, Hope very much felt her dream of thirty years become a reality.
ChapterTwenty-Four
Libby
Libby prepared an agenda. Representatives from the grant committee had spent July 3rdand 4thin Covert Pier. Two days, and a wonderful time, apparently.
They had decided to drive to Irish Hills in the morning.
The committee had seen videos, read Libby’s plan, and had questions for her throughout the process of trying to secure the grant. Visiting the two communities vying for the grant money was the final step in their selection process.
Keith had stepped up, and they were meeting at his marina. The place was hopping for a holiday.
Figuring out what to wear on a holiday where you were all business but showing off the charm of your casual small town lake resort was like solving a Rubik’s Cube. Darn near impossible.
Libby opted for a pair of boyfriend jeans, cropped at the ankle, a white sleeveless t-shirt, and a lightweight cardigan. She used to look down her nose at capris. They were a fashion garment that screamed,I can’t commit to shorts or long pants!They were the tankini of pants! But now, she loved hers. She didn’t have to worry about a tan or errant spider vein and could still look somewhat casual. The fashion land mines for women were legion.
Keith was busy helping boaters. The big rush was in the morning, but now, at noon, several boaters who didn’t have cottages to dock at were returning to the marina. It was a hub of activity. Libby watched Keith smile, help boats dock, answer questions. For a moment she forgot the whole point of the day. All she could think of was how happy she was to be here, in his life, at this point in hers.
She blinked, dabbed a little perspiration from her upper lip and refocused on the business at hand.
A hot day in July on Lake Manitou was peak Pure Michigan. The sun was going to help Libby make her case.
After a flurry of gassing some, docking others, and answering the odd question, Keith found Libby pacing on the side of the marina building.
“You’re going to do fine. What’s not to love here?”
“Right, right, it’s just this grant money was key for convincing the city council to hold off on Stone Stirling’s plan. If I don’t get it—”
“—It’s going to work out, and why the long pants? You have great stems. It’s a real shame.”
Libby laughed; Keith was good at getting Libby out of her head.
“Stop. I’m going for resort intimidating. It’s a tough look to pull off.”
Keith gave her a little swat on her backside, and she punched him in the shoulder.
Sometimes she fretted about the decades without him in her life, but he had a life he’d loved in that time. For the most part, so did she. She had to be content that they’d found each other again when they were supposed to. There was a rightness to the timing.
“The marina is crazy busy,” Libby observed.
“Yes, well, I’m down a staff member thanks to Hope poaching my son so he could learn more about poaching eggs or whatever.”
