Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“Sweet dreams, Clara. See you soon. Night, Mrs. Chapman. See you, Tina,” she called warmly as she left the room. Unable to speak yet, Tina raised her hand—grateful that she managed to move the heavy limb with so little effort—and waved.
“She’s sweet,” Tina said, forcing her thick tongue to move and grateful when the words came out sounding normal. She tugged her glasses off and pinched the bridge of her nose tiredly, hoping to ward off the migraine blossoming behind her eyes just a little longer. “God, I’m knackered.”
“Me too.” Libby sounded exhausted as she sank into the chair opposite Tina’s. “How did we do?”
“Just about broke even tonight,” Tina lied; she had no clue how they had done. She would take everything home and look through it later, after she’d knocked back a few painkillers and taken a long, relaxing bath. She was pretty certain they were in the red at the moment.
“It’ll get better,” Libby said, and Tina nodded, forcing a smile.
“It has to.”
“Tina.” Libby’s voice was soft and hesitant. “How much did you spend on this place? Renovations and rebranding included?”
She hadn’t asked before, and Tina wondered if the worry she was feeling was obvious. She smiled again, hoping to convince Libby of her sincerity. God knows, she didn’t want to transfer her anxiety onto her friend. Libby had more than enough going on right now.
“My inheritance more than covered it,” she said, trying to inject a certain amount of blasé into her voice. “It’s fine. It’s just . . .”
“Just what?” Libby prompted, and Tina struggled to find the right words.
“This is the first thing I’ve done—the first meaningful thing—and my parents are just waiting for me to fail. I know it. They think that I’m a total waste of space. Their flighty daughter, who could never hold down a job, trying to run a restaurant. Without any qualifications whatsoever. And, after the way I messed up with the banner and the ad . . . I’m starting to think they’re right.”
“Stop it,” Libby snapped, and the fierceness in her voice surprised Tina somewhat, drawing her out of her funk.
“What?” she asked blankly.
“Stop allowing what your parents think of you to influence the way you think about yourself. You can do this, Tina. We both can.”
Tina scrubbed her hands over her face and allowed herself one more deep sigh before lifting her gaze to Libby’s again.
“Yeah, maybe I can get another ad in the paper. That’s assuming they ever want to do business with me again. But if the townspeople really are as stubbornly loyal to the old MJ’s as Thandiwe thinks, then I’m not sure what it’ll take to lure them back.”
“Look, it’s only the first night. They have to drive thirty minutes to get to another halfway decent, affordable family restaurant. Or leave their kids at home and go to Ralphie’s for limp fish and chips or stale burgers. Soon, more than anything else, desperation for a good night out will have them coming back. Besides, a lot of them don’t even know we’re open, so we may be putting out fires that don’t even exist.”
“Maybe.” Tina nodded, unconvinced.
“Definitely. And Daff said she’d help us with some marketing.” Apparently Daffodil Carlisle—young Charlie’s sister-in-law—was the marketing and promotions manager for her husband’s three huge sporting-goods stores and had promised to work up a marketing strategy for MJ’s while she was on maternity leave. Tina wasn’t sure her husband was too thrilled about her offering to work while she was supposed to be resting, but the woman had complained of being bored at home while “waiting for the baby to drop.”
“It seems like a lot to expect from a total stranger,” Tina said, allowing her skepticism to creep into her voice.
“I don’t know about you, but after five minutes with those sisters, I felt like I’d known them for years.”
Of course she did. That’s how Libby was: she took everybody at face value and liked and trusted them until they gave her reason not to. For the most part, her instincts were spot on. After those grim high school years when she and Tina had been each other’s only friends, Libby had blossomed into something of a social butterfly. She was well liked by most people. People who weren’t snobs or assholes who judged her because her parents were honest and hardworking.
“Yeah, they’re pretty nice,” Tina said cautiously—she tended to reserve judgment. They had all seemed quite genuinely warm, but Tina didn’t make friends easily. She tended to keep people at a distance until she knew them well enough to decide if she could trust them. And more often than not, her decision went against trusting them. As a result, she didn’t have many friends.
“More than nice,” Libby insisted, and Tina nodded to appease the woman she considered her only true friend.