Page 3 of Always in Watch Hill
TWO
JUSTIN
Whew. That was easy.
Easier than I thought.
Not those things wereeasythese days. They were far from that. But the tiny conversation I’d just had with Lynne next to the front porch counted as my first true face-to-face interaction with a customer in over a year. I’d done well. I’d managed.
Good for me.
I walked in to the second bedroom of the farmhouse, the one located just off the top of the staircase to the second floor. Months earlier, I converted it into my office once it became clear that “working from home” wasn’t going to be a temporary policy for First Run Financial, the downtown Cincinnati firm where I had a job as a fiduciary. Working there meant mostly managing portfolios geared toward luxury retirements. The higher-ups at First Run didn’t take long to decide that their staff was more productive at home, and they soon made it clear they didn’t want us back in the office on a full-time basis.
At least it gave the space a purpose, which was better than its previous use as a catch-all for unused furniture, mementos, and old clothes I kept promising myself I’d donate to charity.
I sat in the swivel chair across from the large bank of computer monitors and a keyboard that make up the crux of my office. During the week I spent eight to ten hours a day staring at the screens as I analyzed the markets and ran interference for twenty-five clients high net worth that made up my core workload. On nights and weekends, I traded cryptocurrency. In fact, that’s what had kept me from answering the door right away. I shook the mouse to wake up the monitor and restarted the software. Already that day, I’d purchased some bitcoin and other crypto, adding to the stash I stared accumulating during the darkest days of the COVID-19 pandemic. It wasn’t a fortune, but it wasn’t a small amount either. Each transaction represented a step toward independence.
I peered at the monitor and willed myself to get back to the tasks in front of me. It was already mid-afternoon, and I planned to work on this for about two more hours before taking a break for dinner and the final few holes of the Grayson Open golf tournament. I needed to focus. Keep my hands steady. Get back to it.
But I kept thinking abouther—the woman staying in the rental on the far side of my property.
Lynne was prettier than I imagined—not that I expected much of anything. Still, I had to admit it was odd to have a single, unaccompanied woman check in for a week on my property. Since listing it online three years earlier, most of my bookings came from couples on their honeymoon and families looking for proximity to Cincinnati in a space that wouldn’t break their budget. I could have counted on one hand the number of single people who’d stayed at my place, and none of them looked like her.
Lynne had a gossamer quality, and a look that struck me—all of it set against long brown hair and pair of red lips painted in a shade that seemed almost made for a man like me. Her black cotton dress, sparkling white sneakers, and casual cool sweater tied around her shoulders set off the whole contemporary picture, and I liked what I saw. A lot.
Six days. She’d booked my place for six days, and her booking information had revealed a Chicago address I vaguely recognized as one of the better neighborhoods in the city. She’d therefore float out of my life soon enough. Given the way the last year or so of my life had gone, that was probably a good idea.
Shewouldn’t want to be around someone likeme.
No one did.
THREE
LYNNE
The cottage was nice. Cozy. Comfortable. Cute.
