Page 95 of The Comeback Summer

“As I mentioned the other night,” I say, shaking myself, “you can take one of two strategies—focus on getting new people in the door, or getting current customers to come more often.”

Adam’s phone buzzes on the table, but he ignores it, his warm brown eyes staying focused on me and the presentation—which starts with the current state of the diner. I’m hoping he won’t be offended by my assessment.

“Now, based on the photos you sent me,” I say, treading carefully, “it wouldn’t be bad to freshen the space up a bit. There’s definitely a vintage feel to the place.”

“Should we go more modern?” Adam asks.

“Not necessarily,” I tell him. “But you could be more vintage-chic than vintage-old.”

“Got it,” Adam says, jotting the word “chic” down in his Moleskine notebook like a dutiful student.

“You don’t want to change too much too fast, but a lot can be said for a fresh coat of paint and maybe having the booths re-covered.”

Over the next twenty minutes, I take Adam through the ideas in my proposal. According to the financials he shared, the diner does the most business on Saturday and Sunday brunch.While they’re open for breakfast and lunch the rest of the week, business isn’t great.

I suggest opening for dinner one or two nights a week and making each one a unique experience, possibly trying out theme nights.

“Theme nights like people dressing up?” Adam asks, his eyebrows rising.

“No,” I say, laughing at the image of people eating bagels and lox while wearing period costumes. “I’m thinking events—like you can host a puzzle night, where there’s a different jigsaw puzzle at every table. And maybe if people complete the puzzle before they leave, they get a free dessert.”

“Like one of these magic bars,” Adam says, taking the last bite of his.

“You could have monthly events—like speed dating, where people switch tables after each course. Or a book club with custom cocktails to go along with the book.”

“Ooh.” Adam’s eyes shine as he scribbles something in his notebook. “I love that.”

His excitement is contagious, and I continue to spitball. “For your older clientele, people who are retired, you could have game days—like a mahjong brunch or a gin rummy game once a week where you have gin cocktails on special.”

Adam is nodding, writing furiously in his notebook, his curls falling across his forehead. I busy my hands with my pen so I don’t accidentally reach over to see if his hair is as soft as it looks.

“Another idea that really embraces the old-fashioned vibe is starting a supper club—like a Sunday night family dinner for people who don’t have family around.”

“I like it,” Adam says, tapping his index finger against hischin. My eyes narrow in on his face, my heart beating in time with his finger as I study his lips, his light brown beard surrounding them. Hannah was right; I have it bad. And she doesn’t even know the half of it. “Maybe we start with the gin rummy night. Easy to do and I know some of my regular customers—like Harold—would be up for it.”

“I can’t wait to meet the famous Harold,” I tell him. “I wonder who he’ll choose to be his date.”

“Do you think we could do one this weekend?” Adam asks, his excitement palpable.

I pause, considering how much work goes into planning an event. “If we keep it simple, we could make it something of a soft launch. We could put out a press release, maybe invite some influencers to attend and post about it. And if you have a budget, you could run an ad—but it’s not necessary.”

Adam shakes his head, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s impressed, not disappointed. “You’re really good at this,” he says, and my stomach flutters with the compliment.

“I hope so,” I say. “Otherwise I might be in need of a new job.”

He chuckles, but I gulp with the realization that even if I am good at this, my sister and I still might be in search of new jobs soon. And I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. Devastated about losing GiGi’s business, yes, but also maybe a little... excited? What could I do if I didn’t have the Freedman Group?

Stop, I tell myself, instantly shutting the thought down. This isn’t just my career and livelihood—it’s Hannah’s, too. She’s counting on me.

Refocusing, I smile at Adam. “How about an event on Friday night?”

“Let’s do it,” Adam says, and we jump into planning mode.

Thirty-Two

HANNAH

Josh has planned an epic date for us this evening: kayaking the Chicago River, then dinner, then a hotel reservation tonight, since he’s still staying with his parents and I’m not ready to have sex at my apartment with my sister in the next room.

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