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“I’m bringing them home.”
“Nobody’s coming,” Tina lamented, agitatedly chewing on her thumbnail. Libby tugged her shorter friend’s hand away from her mouth.
“They’ll come,” she said confidently, even though nerves were gnawing at her stomach. It was MJ’s grand relaunch, and they’d opened the doors half an hour ago. Opened the door to crickets.
Not the queues they’d been hoping for. Libby had expected the place to be packed, especially on a Friday night. She’d hoped curiosity, if nothing else, would have them come in to check out the place. The staff, which they had kept largely intact, stood around uncertainly.
“People here are really old fashioned,” Thandiwe, a college student home for the holidays, offered. The young woman had worked for MJ’s throughout her teens, always part time. She was one of their best servers and had helped train the new staff members. “MJ’s has been something of an institution in this town, and maybe they think you’ve messed with tradition or something?”
“But when I first arrived in town and ate here, people were complaining about how the menu never changed and it would be nice to have some variety,” Tina pointed out.
“Yes, but they’ve been saying that for years.” Thandiwe shrugged. “I think they enjoyed complaining about it. But it was familiar, and they loved it. I’m sure people will come. Give it time. It’s this or Ralphie’s”—the local pub—“and everyone knows the food is mostly terrible at Ralphie’s. Once they’ve sampled the new menu, they won’t know what to do with themselves.”
Thandiwe excused herself and went to chat with some of the other waitstaff. After what looked like a terse exchange, they all scattered in different directions, immediately looking a lot busier than they had just moments before.
“You sent notice of the reopening to the district paper, right?” Libby asked Tina. The paper, Riversend Weekly, circulated on Thursdays and usually contained job opportunities, advertisements for local businesses, and news about town events.
“Yes, of course,” Tina said, and she lifted her phone and swiped at her screen. She seemed to be looking for something. “I . . . it has to be here. I sent it on Monday.”
“Did you check the paper?” Libby asked, not liking how this was going. Tina shook her head, a frown marring the smooth lines of her forehead.
“I forgot to pick up a copy. I meant to get one, but it completely slipped my mind. But I sent it—” She paused, her eyes glued to her phone screen, and the sick dread in her expression did not bode well. “Crap.”
“Tina?” Libby prompted her, not really sure she wanted to know. She could guess anyway.
“It didn’t send. I don’t know why it didn’t send,” Tina said, sounding horrified.
“Oh, Tina.” Libby tried to keep the censure from her voice, knowing that her friend probably felt terrible already, but this was bad.
“I should have double-checked,” Tina said. “I’m sorry, Libby. First the banner and now this.”
Tina was referring to the huge, festive banner they had both designed to announce the relaunch, which hadn’t arrived on time. That, along with a few hundred flyers to circulate around town and the ad in the paper, represented their entire promotional plan for the relaunch. But Tina had given the graphic design company the wrong dates. The banners and flyers, which promoted their opening-week specials, would only be arriving next week. At which point they would be about as useful as nipples on a man.
There was usually some amount of organized chaos around the launch of a new restaurant, but this was worse than usual. Everything had gone wrong at the eleventh hour. Nothing was going according to plan.
“It’s okay.” Libby tried to appease her friend, even though she was horribly disappointed. “People are coming in; it could have been worse.”
Tina shook her head. Her hand lifted to her mouth, and she started gnawing on her thumbnail again.
The door tinkled, and a couple ambled in. The two were holding hands and chuckling, but they stopped abruptly and cast surprised looks around the near-empty restaurant.
“Hey. You’re open! That’s fantastic. Where is everybody?” the woman—Libby recognized her as one of the childcare workers at the kindergarten—asked.
“Apparently resistant to change,” Libby said with a bright smile, focusing on business. An answering smile lit up the woman’s pretty face.
“Hello, we haven’t officially met. I’m Lia McGregor. You’re Clara’s mum.” She walked toward Libby, dragging the handsome blond man behind her.
“Olivia Lawson. Please call me Libby,” she said, taking an immediate liking to her. She held out her hand to the slightly older woman, who took it and shook enthusiastically.
“Really lovely to officially meet you. This is my fiancé, Sam Brand.”
“Nice to meet you,” the man said, also taking Libby’s hand. He had a wicked smile and an English accent, if she wasn’t mistaken.
“This is the restaurant’s new owner, Martine Jenson. But everybody calls her Tina,” Libby said, gesturing toward her friend, who acknowledged the couple with a slightly austere smile, as was her habit with strangers. Tina didn’t befriend people easily.
