“You aren’t. I don’t have any plans until later.” Her shift at the bar and grill didn’t begin until five, and while she’d rather go for a walk on the beach than wait tables—or wear that skimpy uniform—the tips were excellent. “Give me a minute to get my notebook. I left it in the living room.”

Once she had it in hand, Christi took the other seat at the small round café table.

“How many merchants came?” Beth broke off a piece of meat loaf with the edge of her fork, eyebrows peaking as Christi gave her an estimate. “That’s a large turnout for Hope Harbor.”

“Everyone was concerned about the impact of the wildfires. Most businesses are being adversely affected, and there was a lot of discussion about the importance of increasing tourism over the summer months.”

“Were any viable ideas offered?”

“Marci mentioned building on the farmers’ market.”

Beth’s brow wrinkled. “Much as I enjoy the market, I don’t think we could embellish it enough to draw the number of visitors we’d need to solve our problem.”

That had been her conclusion too—but it carried more weight coming from someone who’d lived in the area longer and knew the lay of the land.

“I’ve never experienced the Hope Harbor market, but I’ve been to others. To be honest, they all tend to be similar. Charming but not distinctive.”

“True.” Beth poked her fork in the mashed potatoes but didn’t take a bite. “I expect the waters ahead are going to get rougher. The businesses that have been around awhile should be able to weather the downturn if it doesn’t last too long, but new shops like Eye of the Beholder may not survive.” She glanced out the window beside the table, irises shimmering. “I really wanted this to work. It’s all I have l-left.”

Christi’s throat tightened at the woman’s poignant admission. “I wish I could help.”

Beth sniffed. “You already have. I’d be in worse straits if I’d had to close the shop while I recover.”

“I mean, help at a deeper level. With whatever is making you sad.” Maybe she was overstepping, but how could she ignore Beth’s obvious distress?

“It’s too late for that.”

“It’s never too late for hope. I know that firsthand.” Christi caught her lower lip between her teeth. She didn’t share her past with many people, but perhaps it would encourage the woman whose kindness had lifted her up at a particularly low moment. “Between you and me, I married a loser and lost everything. I’ve been as low as a person can get.”

Beth fished out a tissue and studied her. “Yet you survived.”