Page 26 of The Hampton Beach Café
Frances looked in confusion at the chalkboard sign declaring, “Your local, coming soon!”
They must have picked that up too, and it gave her hope that when she opened the doors, it would actually be finished.
“Noted,” Frances replies. “Consider it gone.”
“But it isn't gone, is it?” Kennedy replied with a sneer.
Clarkson picked it up and did his best to tuck it under his arm. “There we go, gone. Like magic.”
Kennedy turned and beamed at him. Frances was barely able to contain her offended expression.
“Your magic touch, I see,” she said to him. Clarkson pretended to wave away her compliments, and she giggled.
Frances grasped the door handle, took a deep breath, and opened it.
Stepping inside, she stared, taking it all in. She felt like fairy godparents had visited her in the hours since she had been gone. It was almost exactly like she had imagined it. Vince and Lucinda had done a wonderful job. Three huge rugs were marking out different areas of the café. Though they didn't match, they all complemented each other in antique shades of pale green, blue, and red––the patterns were busy enough that the occasional spill wouldn't show up either. Near the window, a low whitewashed coffee table sat in front of a wicker framed couch that boasted plush velvet cushions in varying shades of light green. Against the wall was a natural wooden bookcase filled to the brim with a wide selection of books, with an armchair completing the ensemble. Three smaller matching tables of a mid-brown wood were spaced out across the floor, with mismatched vintage chairs around them. Each table had its own set of glass jars filled with sugar or packets of sweeteners. There was a blackboard with a gold gilt frame that looked like it could have been from the 1860's or the 1960's––Frances would have believed either. On it was some of Vince's handiwork, a beautifully sketched takeaway cup with steam rising from it. Next to his illustration were carefully lettered words, 'pre-orders welcome, oat milk available at no extra charge.'
Frances wasn't sure when she had agreed to that, but she was sure it could be changed.
Kennedy let out an odd little huff. Frances looked around to see a smug look on her face.
“Good,” Kennedy said, pointing. “People who charge extra for non-dairy milk should go to prison.”
Okay, maybe she wouldn't change it after all.
They walked through to the gallery side of the space. The beams that lined the archway had been sanded and re-varnished, so they now gleamed as if they were brand new. Frances had to stifle a gasp when she saw Vincent's bar, with a warm walnut finish decorated with carved leaves and small flowers. Frances stepped closer while trying to appear casual. She saw that the leaves were strawberry plants, and the occasional strawberry was scattered throughout the design. At the foot of the bar, a tiny field mouse stretched on its back legs to reach for one of the fruits. She wanted to climb down on her hands and knees to look at it closely but resisted. The brass inlays and foot rail completed the look. There were no stools because she didn't want people lingering in front of it but also because she wanted to show off the incredible craftsmanship.
There was a selection of paintings on the walls, but no labels or prices as yet.
“So, this is where you plan on serving alcohol?” Kennedy asked.
“Only during the evening and events,” Clarkson piped in.
Frances looked at him. She hadn't agreed to that. Before Kennedy could turn to look at him, Clarkson had shot Frances a wink. He was up to something.
“Too right,” Kennedy said, “and during the day, this will be family-friendly?” she gestured at the bar.
Repressing a sarcastic comment, Frances replied, “Yes. I want to offer milkshakes like the old candy store used to.”
Kennedy met her eyes, and a hint of compassion entered them. “That sounds like an excellent homage to the original purpose of the property.”
With that, she made her way into the kitchen and bathroom with her checklist ready.
“Fine…” she pronounced finally, “…your express application is granted, contingent on the satisfactory inspection. You will need an appropriate way to remove the liquor offerings from sight during the day, add accessibility rails to the bathroom, remove the red rug as it is a tripping hazard, and prepare adequate signage to indicate your legal responsibilities. Until further permissions are applied for and granted, that door to the garden will remain locked. Your inspection will take place in thirty days.”
Kennedy slapped the checklist down on the bar, a red stamp reading 'approved' across her signature. As she closed the door behind her, Lucinda, Vince, and Alex rushed down the stairs to hug Frances.
“We did it!” Lucinda exclaimed.
“We did the first part…” Clarkson reminded her, “…we still have to get everything perfect in thirty days. If we fail it, we can't reapply for operation permissions for ten working days. Time is not on our side.”
Frances punched his arm lightly. “Come on Clarkson, cheer up…we won this round!”
“I bought cake,” Alex said, breaking away from the tight hug Lucinda and Vince still had him in. “Your favorite, Frances.”
“You did not make me Dreams of Hazelberry Spread!” she said in disbelief.
“I absolutely did,” he replied, grinning. “Come on, I'll serve.”
