Page 122 of The Promise Of You

So she doesn’t know about the plan to sell. Interesting. “No, but I—”

“Look. Can I be honest with you?”

“Please.”

She shifts on her seat. “I’m not comfortable taking you on as a client.”

What?! “Why?” I’m trying to fix what’s broken. I need her.

“How do I say this. This is a small town. Your… the restaurant’s situation is affecting some of my clients significantly.”

Yes, like Justin. ‘I trust you, Chloe.’ “I hear you. That’s one of the reasons I need you.”

She leaves my financial statements on my desk and sets her briefcase on her lap. “Uhhh… the thing is, I don’t think you can even afford me at this juncture. I wouldn’t advise you to add to your expenses.”

“But I’m working on that. We’re revamping the menu, we’re open all week—"

“Adding to your staffing costs,” she interrupts.

Well, that’s an oversimplification. With the added staff comes added revenue from being open seven days. But I can tell she’s not here to discuss things. And, yup, she stands and extends her hand. “Keep using whoever Kevin Murphy had, and don’t delay making the tough decisions. That’s my advice.”

I want Emma on my team. She knows everyone in town and in the county. She’s a hard-as-nails woman, raises her daughter on her own, built her business on her own. This is the type of person I want to build a working relationship with. And not to mention, I’ve run into her more than once, at Game Nights, Justin’s pub, or The Growler. I also want to be friends with her. Her opinion of me means something. “What would it take for you to change your mind?” I say as I shake her hand.

She gives me a tight-lipped smile. “A miracle.”

I walk her out. “By when?”

She turns around, the sun shining on her golden hair. “Sorry?”

“By when do you need a miracle?”

Her smile dips. “Yesterday.”

“Gotcha.” Once she’s gone, I close the door and lean on it for a brief moment, ideas coming to life.

Then I start working on a miracle.

Step One is a post in Echoes. It’s cute, it’s to the point, salesy but not too much. I hit Splash. Whoever built this app went heavy on the water references. Splash means everyone on Emerald Creek’s social media gets a notification.

Step Two is in my hands, neat little flyers I’ve been working on, tweaking, revising, now printed and ready to be distributed.

Step Three involves Alex and a crazy, last-ditch, throw-everything-at-it effort.

I text her, get her overenthusiastic response followed by a ‘be right there,’ and while I wait for her, I text Justin that something came up and I won’t be able to make it to dinner at his parents’ tonight. He’s out of town today, checking out a venue he’ll be catering, and that means we won’t see each other until tomorrow morning. He’ll be disappointed, maybe upset.

I’ll miss him for sure.

But this needed to happen yesterday. And I’m the one doing it.

Tonight.

Alone.

thirty-seven

Justin

Idon’t see Chloe’s text until I stop for gas on my way back from the place where I’ll be catering. Sometimes I get in my head, I space out, focus on the task at hand, and just forget to check in.

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