Page 127 of The Promise Of You

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” one of the two ladies says to me as I get to the door.

Oh? “Tomorrow?”

“At the restaurant. See you tomorrow.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. Are they coming in for an interview? Shoshana mentioned potentially needing back up hostesses. For dinner? I guess I’ll find out. “Oh—of course, yes.”

Millie waves goodbye at me and the two ladies dig back into their books.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Shoshana tells me the minute I walk in. “Our voice mail is flooded. I’ve been calling people back since I came in. We’re booked solid this week.”

What?! I set the tray of drinks down and look over her shoulder to our POS. “Something going on in town?” Shoshana asks.

“Give me a sec.”

I feel a cold rush, then a heat wave. Did we do it? Are people loving the Local’s Pass that much? That can’t be. It’s only been a few hours since I dropped the fliers at the stores and in the mailboxes, and announced it on Echoes.

I rush to the office and close my door. Open my computer and flip one of the brochures in my hand, marveling at how the understated, classy design advertising a super reasonable prix fixe menu on weekdays and a discount on weekends for pass holders might have just saved the restaurant.

I access our payment system and let out a happy cry, clapping to myself. A big fat number is sitting there. I stare at it for a second, then hit a few keystrokes to take care of the most pressing debt we have.

A huge weight off my back, I go to Shoshana’s station, holding a brochure. “The Local’s Pass. I wasn’t sure it would work, that’s why I didn’t tell you guys about it. People pay up front for a number of prix fixe dinners. That gets them a discount. There’s several tiers. The more they pay upfront, the steeper the discount.”

Shoshana looks at the tier levels. “People have that kind of money around here?”

“The first tier barely covers a dinner for two,” I point out. “As for the higher tiers? I was wondering about that too, and we have our answers.”

“So… is this just for locals?”

That’s the catch. It’s called a Local’s Pass, but anyone can buy it. And I may have played on the affluent second homeowners’ desire to feel like locals with the name of the pass. But there’s a part that I hope will tilt the balance in favor of real locals. “There’s a steeper discount on weekdays, when it’s only us locals in town.”

“That’s really cool.” Shoshana smiles.

“Thanks. I’m so glad a lot of people seem to think that way too!”

“I should get back to all these voice mails,” she says.

I walk back to my office, reaching for my phone to tell Justin.

And as I hear the phone ringing, it hits me.

He was the first I wanted to tell.

That evening, we celebrate at The Growler. Justin says we both need a break from our businesses, we should dance and party, and it’d be good, anyway, for people to see me, talk to me, spread the word even more.

He booked us a table at their steakhouse, a more intimate restaurant located on the third level, where tables are comfortably set apart. White linens, candles, and flowers make the setting special, while the music seeping from the lower level still promises a good party later on.

Justin pulls my chair out for me and softly kisses my hair before sitting across from me. While we place our orders—juicy steaks for both of us—the maître d’ brings two champagne flutes. “From the gentleman at three o’clock,” he tells Justin.

Justin whips his head around, and a big smile spreads on his face as he recognizes a man across the room sitting with three other people. He lifts his glass, a question in his eye. The man nods toward me. Justin tilts his head, furrows his brow.

The man slides out of his chair and comes over to us. “Congratulations, Ms. Sullivan, very impressive,” he says. “I’m Scott Johnson.”

I turn my gaze to Justin.

“Scott is CEO of a community bank in the Northeast Kingdom,” Justin explains.

“Oh—NekNest?” That’s where the restaurant banks. “Yes, of course. Good evening. And thank you?”

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