Page 3 of Finding You
“A date?”
“For this legal gala. I am receiving an award for some pro bono work I did. And, I could skip it…”
“Stop right there. You are not skipping this. You worked your ass off, and you are not going to go run and hide after being fired. You are going to attend and show everyone there what a stone-cold badass Astrid Wentworth is. Got it?”
I smiled. Emily was fiercely loyal, and right now, I needed all the loyalty I could get.
“Yes. But I don't want to go alone.”
“We can take care of that, Astrid. You are gorgeous, and there are loads of single men out there who would happily squire you to your fancy event.” I doubted that very much. I had never had much luck in the dating department. “In fact,” she continued, “you should join some dating apps. Use this time in Havenport to go on some dates, meet some guys, have some fun!”
I shuddered. Dating apps were my idea of hell. But she was right about one thing—I certainly had the time on my hands to actually meet some people.
“Ok. I’ll join one app and see how it goes.”
“Sounds like a plan. Oh shit. Jacob is trying to slice his own strawberries again. I gotta run.”
Since I couldn’t possibly stay in my apartment next door to my office after being fired, I had packed a few bags, called an Uber, and gotten the hell out of the city. What do people do when they are not working? I have slept, gone for a million walks, listened to a few podcasts, and flipped through some of the hundreds of romance novels piled high in the built-in bookcases.
Despite living less than an hour away, it had been years since I had come up here to visit. I forgot how charming this place was. I had only been here a few days, and I could begrudgingly admit that I was already feeling more relaxed. The cottage was outside of the downtown area, but nothing a good brisk walk or an Uber couldn’t fix. And walking! Turns out I loved walking. It may sound strange, but for years, I just walked from the lobby of my apartment building across a tiny side street to the lobby of my office building. I rented an overpriced studio at the Greenside, a luxury apartment building for Boston’s trendy professionals, because it was located directly next to the office tower where Burns & Glenn had its Boston office. I overpaid for the convenience of having a two-minute commute. It made sense at the time. Time spent commuting was time I couldn’t be billing. And billing was the most important and most valuable use of my time. Sleeping? Exercising? Socializing with friends? Nope, my billable time was worth nine hundred dollars an hour, so nothing was worth that much. I spent very little time at the apartment, using it mainly for showering and sleeping. I certainly had never cooked a meal there or even watched a movie, as far as I could remember. Every minute was spent in pursuit of billing more hours, accomplishing more for my clients, and impressing the partners at the firm. Nothing else mattered.
And so there was no time for walks. Or fresh air or exercise. Coming here and just walking had been a revelation. I had been listening to podcasts, reading books, and getting to know the area. I had just signed up for Netflix and was excited to catch up on all the movies and television people had been gushing about for the past decade. I didn’t even own a TV. Now I had all the time in the world to kick back in front of the cottage’s modest-sized flatscreen. These activities were entirely unproductive and a waste of my sterling intellect, but I was enjoying myself.
Adding to the satisfaction, this morning I caught a glimpse of my hot neighbor. It was dark and cold at five thirty in the morning, but I still got a decent look at him. I woke as I usually do, in a panic around four thirty. My heart pounded and my mind raced as I reached for my phone to check my emails. It took a few minutes before I realized they had taken my company phone and so there were no emails to check.
But still, I was jittery and awake so I decided to take a morning walk and was rewarded with a sighting of one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen. He was tall and broad and exuded masculinity. I had no idea what he did for a living, but I bet he worked with his hands. His strong, fit body indicated a physical job, not just time spent in the gym. He was scruffy, with a full beard and long dark hair pulled back into a bun. I couldn’t tell exactly how old he was, but I’d guess probably in his thirties. He’d run in sweatpants and a faded Navy hoodie. When he got back to his yard, he stripped off the hoodie and started doing pushups in his T-shirt. I could see the faint outlines of tattoos in the early morning light. If I was a religious woman I would have thanked the good Lord for pushups. It seemed like he could do them for ages and ages. And I watched. I watched his arms, back, and shoulders contract and his firm, round ass in those sweatpants. The men in my life never wore sweatpants, so I was not familiar with their allure. Even across the street, they were the hottest thing I had ever seen. He was dirty and sweaty and oh so hot. Not my type at all, of course, but I could appreciate a fine specimen of man when I saw one.
My hot neighbor was one of the only bright spots in the past few days.
But as I stood on the tiny porch, the winter wind burning the skin on my cheeks, I knew coming here was the right decision. My world had completely shifted on its axis, and I needed to regroup and make a plan. What better place than a secluded oceanfront cottage in some small charming town where no one knew who my mother was or about the mistakes I had made?
2
DECLAN
It had beena long day at work. Winters were hard—there was little sunlight, and storms made navigating to and from our fishing grounds even more treacherous. People got sick, people got depressed, and everything got exponentially more difficult to manage. Our business continued to grow, and all the pressure rested squarely on my shoulders. I was in charge of protecting the legacy built by my great-grandfather, and sometimes, I dragged that legacy around like a weight. Today was one of those days. I was driving home, listing to some Arcade Fire and looking forward to seeing my dog, Ginger, when my phone rang. I clicked the Bluetooth link on my steering wheel. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hey, sweetie. How was your day?” My mother was relentlessly cheerful and organized. She had to be, raising three wild boys. She sounded sweet, but underneath that sweetness was a steely backbone that we knew not to mess with.
“Great, Mom. How’s Dad doing?” My dad had suffered a massive heart attack back in November. He was improving every day but still faced a long recovery. My mom managed his health like a general, so I had a lot of faith he would be back to his old self soon.
“Your father is a pain in my behind, but other than that he’s great. They have him walking on a treadmill at physical therapy now. He’s ahead of schedule!”
“That’s great, Mom.”
“And I know it’s because of the plant-based diet we’re doing. You should consider it, sweetie. We both feel amazing. And I am so regular.”
“Mom, please. TMI. Just stop.” If I didn’t stop this line of conversation soon, who knows what kind of awkward questions she could start asking me.
“Okay, okay. Sorry I brought it up.”
“I am actually just driving home from work, Mom. Anything you need?”
“Oh no, sweetie, I just wanted to say hello. I am so sorry you were stuck working late.”
“It’s fine. Business has been great, so I’ve been busy.”
“But while I have you. I was at the salon today getting my hair done, and I ended up chatting with Mrs. Zimmerman in the waiting area. Do you remember the Zimmermans, sweetie? They lived in town for a while and then moved to the South Shore. After retirement, they came back. She was filling me in on her kids. Her son, Bruce—I think he was a year or two below you in school—he just got married to a woman he met on some website called Bumble. Have you heard of it?”
