“I know. And while Hope Harbor is blessed in many ways, most of the residents aren’t wealthy in a material sense. Raising funds is a challenge.”
Ben took a swig of coffee, faint furrows creasing his brow. “I understand about money being tight. Army doctor isn’t the highest-paying job in the world—and buying into a prestigious practice is expensive. Even though I’ll work for them for two years before I have to fork over the cash to become an official partner, I won’t have saved anywhere near the full price.”
“So the anonymous lighthouse offer is a godsend.”
“Yes. I’ll still have to go into debt, but at least I won’t have to start out as much in the hole.” He exhaled. “If I could donate the light to the town, I would.”
“No one expects you to do that.”
“Maybe not—but I wish I could.”
“You have to be practical about this. We all get that.” She swiped a finger over her roll and sampled a little more icing. Why be couth now? “We’re hoping we can come up with a grant or two, but that’s not likely to happen in time to give us the funds to purchase the lighthouse. So I’m working on two ideas that would have a quicker impact. I’m planning to discuss them with the committee tonight, but it would be helpful to hear your thoughts first. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Yes. I’m meeting with a realtor at noon to discuss listing Skip’s house, but I’m free until then.”
“I won’t keep you anywhere near that long.” Taking a steadying breath, she crossed her fingers under the table and sent a silent prayer heavenward. “You’ve heard of crowdfunding, I assume.”
“I’ve read about it, but I don’t know any details about how it works.”
“It’s a simple premise—and for certain types of enterprises, it can be very effective. I have a couple of PR clients who’ve used it successfully. One was a nonprofit organization, the other a start-up business. In the case of the nonprofit, we used a donation approach. With the start-up business, we did rewards—coupons for free and discounted products once the company was up and running.”
Ben’s eyebrows rose. “It’s hard to believe people would contribute based on an online solicitation.”
“You’d be surprised. We live in a wired world—and despite what the media might have us believe, generosity and charity are alive and well . . . especially when it comes to good causes. An endangered lighthouse falls into that category.”
“So how do you tap into all this goodwill?”
“I design a social media campaign, and once Eric files all the paperwork for the 501(c)(3) foundation, I launch it on a crowdfunding platform. Some of those have tremendous reach. All donations would be sent directly to the foundation, so they’d be tax deductible from the date the organization is created—assuming the IRS application is approved. I don’t see any reason why it wouldn’t be.”
“You’ve done your homework on this—and the concept is intriguing.” He polished off the first half of his cinnamon roll. “What about the second idea you mentioned?”
She shifted in her chair. This was where it could get awkward.
“Actually, Greg gets the credit for this one. But I hate to bring it up, after what you told me about the expense of buying into the practice in Ohio. This could have a direct impact on your wallet.”
“You have a receptive audience here. If I can work with you, I will.”
“Well . . .” She stirred her coffee again, even though the generous spoonful of sugar she’d added had already dissolved. “It’s possible we’ll have an overwhelming response to the crowdfunding campaign. It wouldn’t be unheard of, and a lighthouse should be an easy sell. A lot of people have a soft spot in their hearts for them. But we may still be short by your deadline.”
“Then what?”
“We have two options. If you gave us an extension, we could continue the campaign and hope more funds would come in—or you could take the difference between what we raise and the offer you have on the table as a charitable deduction on your taxes. Any additional donations that came in after you sell the lighthouse to the foundation could be used for restoration or to buy adjacent property to accommodate parking or other needs. The lighthouse footprint isn’t that big.”
He sipped his coffee as he considered her proposal. “That’s an interesting idea.”
She squinted at him. “Interesting as in worth some serious deliberation or interesting as in nice try?”
The corners of his lips rose, and a dimple appeared in his right cheek. “Interesting as in it deserves further investigation. Let me talk to my accountant, get his take. It might be a reasonable compromise—assuming the difference between the two amounts isn’t huge.”
She yanked her gaze away from that distracting dimple. “Define huge.”
“I’ll have to discuss that with my accountant before I can give you a definitive answer . . . but I could offer a guess.”
“That would be helpful.” She held her breath.
When he gave her a number, she exhaled.
The amount he’d suggested would leave them with a challenging fund-raising goal—but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
“Considering how hard everyone in town is working to save the light and how much it meant to Skip—not to mention the happy memories I have of it—I’d like to contribute to the effort too. This would be one way to do that.” Ben took another bite of his almost-gone roll and motioned toward hers. “You’re not making much progress.”
She inspected it.
No, she wasn’t.
“I tend to get distracted when I’m in the middle of a project. Food falls off my radar screen.” She tore off a large piece of the roll.
“No wonder you’re slender.”
“Oh, trust me. I make up for it between projects.” She took a big bite.
“Are you ever between projects?”
At the teasing light in his eyes, she grinned. “Once in a while—but not lately.”
He popped the last section of his roll into his mouth and picked up his coffee. “What happens
