Page 16 of Sandbar Summer (Summer Cottage #3)

Chapter Eleven

Libby Present Day

Not pressing Goldie was the right thing to do.

It was easy to see her old friend was wrung out. If she walked down the street, she’d be mobbed by fans and selfie seekers. But it appeared as if there wasn’t a soul in the world who she could really count on.

She had climbed to the top in an absurdly competitive business. She’d made her dreams come true. The same dreams she’d declared to them as they floated on the lake all those years ago.

But the cost was high. Libby had her three kids and a budding romance with Keith.

Hope had her girls. She, too, was finding great fun, dating at fifty!

And J.J. was the center of Dean’s world.

They weren’t mushy about it, but it proved a long-term marriage could be just as sweet as new love when she saw J.J. and Dean together.

Goldie didn’t have any of those things. With her power and name, she somehow seemed the most vulnerable among them.

She was almost adrift. Goldie Hayes didn’t need a break on rent, a rich benefactor, or a free place to say.

She had all that. But she needed real friends.

Libby could be that for her. They all could.

Libby parked in a spot along Manitou Lake Road, the main drag of Irish Hills.

There were always available parking spots.

Which was a sign of her current failure to lure tourists.

Libby looked around. It was lunch. It was late July.

This was just after the busy season on the lake.

It was summer, for crying out loud, but there were only half a dozen diners at Hope’s Table. The place should be packed.

The sun was high in the sky. Boaters were enjoying all fifty-plus lakes that surrounded Irish Hills. Libby was so proud of the progress they’d made. But the buildings were empty.

The tourist dollar, which she’d sold Hope on and had convinced the town council she could produce, had not materialized.

There needed to be a reason to get all those summer tourists to Irish Hills.

Goldie Hayes would have been a great counterpoint to Covert Pier’s celebrity scene.

Chef Rami Ellston was famous but no Oscar winner.

His girlfriend, supermodel Mira Low, had major Instagram game, but still, Goldie blew them out of the water.

Alas, it was best for Goldie to be out of the public eye. Libby would figure something else out. She put Goldie out of her mind. This was solace, not social media, for her old friend.

She walked to the middle of the block.

These buildings were so darn cute now. Some businesses would be lucky to rent here. Dean had turned this dilapidated structure into the centerpiece of the stretch of buildings.

She unlocked the door and stepped into the largest rental space. The other two properties flanked it. This should be the star of the block.

Inside wood floors, high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and gorgeous lighting had turned the former General Store, and then Woolworths, into the perfect home for a new retail business to step in.

Libby flipped on the light switch and did a last look around.

Her finances were precarious. The grant they’d won had finished this part of the plan to fix up Irish Hills, but empty buildings were still empty buildings, even if the décor was pretty.

She would eventually get rent from Hope, that would help, but the restaurant was still upside down. Libby refused any suggestion that Hope pay her right now. That was not the bargain they’d struck. Libby had made promises, and she was dangerously close to breaking all of them.

Libby needed to start collecting rent on the other four spaces, or it would be back to the pawn shop with another piece of Aunt Emma’s heirloom jewelry.

Her entire plan to prop up Irish Hills was unsustainable. Infusing cash into the town only made sense if it could stand up on its own and fast.

For today’s meeting, she was prepared to do her best sales pitch. If she could secure this tenant, the major tenant for the block, they’d be in a better position.

Libby looked at her phone. It was ten minutes past noon, and the meeting was at noon.

She decided to call.

Darren Schneider picked up on the second ring.

“Did we get our wires crossed?” Libby asked.

“Actually, no, I’m so sorry, my assistant was supposed to reach out. I’m not going to be able to make it.”

This was not good. This was terrible, in fact.

“That’s okay. We can pick another time for a walk-through. I think you’ll find that it’s really the perfect spot to open. It’s an emerging location and—”

“I have to stop you. We’ve decided on a space in Covert Pier.”

“Oh, are you sure? Without even a visit, I fear you’re missing out on a great opportunity to be in on the ground floor of what we’re doing here in Irish Hills.”

“I appreciate it, I do, but the bottom line is foot traffic. You have none. Our business model requires foot traffic.”

“You’re part of our incentive to get that foot traffic. Everyone loves Archeologie Stores. Your plan to open outlets in small towns; it’s just brilliant and tailor-made for this location.”

“We need numbers before we commit. To be honest, having a big name is what lured us to Covert Pier. Chef Ellston’s home decor store, next to our outfitter outlet, was a no-brainer for us. His celebrity brand is powerful and growing. The town is bursting with tourists before we even get there.”

“Let me guess, you heard about Covert Pier from Stirling Stone?”

“Yes, coincidentally, our CEO and Mr. Stone were golfing, and he mentioned Covert Pier. It sort of snowballed from there. It was really meant to be.”

Meant to be? Right, meant to be. Libby tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice as they finished the phone call. She didn’t want to burn any bridges. No had turned into yes more than once in her career.

“Oh, gotcha, sure. Well, congratulations, and welcome to Michigan. If something changes, you know we’d be thrilled to reopen the discussions.”

Libby had done all the work to identify the perfect tenant for the space, she’d called in favors to get in front of the decision-makers, and she’d ensured that the spot they were offering met the specs for the company’s plan for outlet versions of their retail locations.

She’d put together a pitch in record time.

Today she was going to seal the deal. She was going to get an Archeologie Outlet in downtown Irish Hills.

A great restaurant and fantastic discount shopping would be a perfect lure for tourists here, even in the off-season.

But Stirling Stone had done it again, swooped in, hobnobbed with his rich guy network, and squished her like a bug.

She walked to the window and looked out onto the sidewalks.

No one was there, not one person.

And why would they be there? There was nothing to do in downtown Irish Hills but look at empty buildings.

She banged her head on the windowpane.

July was slipping away. They were in the height of the summer.

And yet, her little resort town was as empty as the day she’d driven down the street in April. It was just prettier now.

If she didn’t get people to Irish Hills, all the work they’d done would be for nothing.

And if she didn’t start getting rent money for all the places her aunt had rescued, she’d be down to nothing as well.