“This is the main concentration for the grant funds. As you can see, we have a stretch of buildings here, with renovations well underway and completed, in the case of the restaurant.” Libby pointed out, with pride, the five connected structures they’d worked to renovate since she started.
“What about across the street?” Martin asked.
There was a similar stretch of buildings that ran parallel along Irish Hill’s downtown area. They, too, needed development, ideas, tender loving care, and/or a sledgehammer.
“We’re investing everything we have into the lakeside. And we’re confident that, with the help of your community development grant, and the new businesses clamoring for these premium spots, the second piece to revitalizing Irish Hills will be less about grants and more about the obvious demand to open right here. Once we show what’s possible, we will be able to grow privately. The grant will put Irish Hills in a position to thrive and prompt planned growth.”
Libby took a breath, then tried to turn their attention back lakeside. “Renowned chef Hope Venerable is the restaurant's proprietor that anchors the lakeside space. She just opened it. I think you’ll find it is a singular dining experience.”
She knew they were competing with Chef Rami Ellston’s flagship restaurant. The Food Channel was reportedly in talks to do a series with him about his restaurants. It was a lot to compete with.
As if on cue, Nancy gushed, “Oh, you should have seen what Chef Ellston had on the menu! Delicious, and then, of course, Mira Low was there. They apparently are getting married somewhere in Covert Pier! Can you believe it?”
“Oh, terrific. Quite glamorous.” Libby was obliged to feign happiness upon hearing how well her competition was doing. But a pit in her stomach started to form. With Ellston’s restaurant, the star power of a TV show, and a supermodel deciding to get married there, Irish Hills wasn’t going to be able to compete.
“Oh, and her brother was there too,” Nancy added. “He is so handsome. You can see why he’s starring in that new Elvis movie.”
Libby listened as her two passengers exchanged notes on the celebrity encounters from their trip to Covert Pier. There was zero chance of them running into a supermodel or movie star in Irish Hills. Zero.
But she knew Hope had created something unique and lovely with her restaurant. She knew Dean Tucker had renovated each building with care. They had a diamond in the rough. She just hoped the committee could see that.
The typical traffic of Irish Hills was two cars and a kid on a ten-speed bike, even on July Fourth weekend.
Libby ushered them to the restaurant.
Hope did not disappoint.
Every meal here was unique, fresher than anything Libby had ever tasted, and you just felt good, cared for, indulged in the best possible way. Time slowed down at Hope’s Table.
“Oh, my goodness, I’ve never had these before. What are they?” Martin Hoskins, the other part of the dynamic committee duo, was talking with his mouth full.
“Morel mushrooms, they grow wild here, but they’re elusive; in fact, it’s the last week for them,” Hope explained, then took care of the rest of their foodie questions before heading back to the kitchen with a confident, “Enjoy.”
Libby answered every other question about Irish Hills. She hoped her plans won them over.
Certainly, Hope’s food had to have. No celebrity chef or celebrity chef’s girlfriend and her celebrity brother could match what Hope had pulled off in this space in such a short period of time. The restaurant was fairly empty, so that meant they got all the attention, and the food and drinks came immediately to the guests that were there.
Libby was proud of Hope, amazed by her, and so glad Aunt Emma had found her.
Now, if the darn grant committee would just give them the funds, there’d be no stopping her from holding off Stirling Stone. It would be impossible for him to argue for the bulldozing of Irish Hills if they had a viable little commercial district here.
They finished their meals with a delightful raspberry tarte, prepared, they’d learned, by Braylon.
Every dish was carefully arranged and then melted in your mouth. Hope also let Nancy and Martin know that even the plates they used were one of a kind from a local Michigan ceramic artist.
It was a much smaller crowd than the test run. In fact, there weren’t even four tables full of diners—but that’s okay, that’s okay, Libby reassured herself, that meant great attention to each customer.
Libby had to work on that next: Getting people to Irish Hills. Ugh, one crisis at a time.
Her guests took a walking tour, and finally, her sales pitch was complete. Nancy Benner and Martin Hoskins were on their way back to Lansing, Michigan, to decide the fates of two small towns.
There was nothing left but to wait.
* * *
Two days later, trying to enjoy her lunch at Hope’s Table, Libby was seated at the bar, watching her friend cook her heart out. Libby’s phone vibrated. There was a new email in her inbox.
She unlocked the screen and held her breath.
