“Knowing you? Probably more spreadsheets than sleep.” He pauses. “Try not to forget why you’re there.”
I don’t answer right away. Because lately, that reason’s feeling blurrier by the day.
“Trying my best not to,” I say, scrolling through a report I won’t remember. “Anyway, that Long Island asset looks clean. I’ll send a summary later this week.”
“Good,” he says. “No rush. Just keeping the gears warm until you’re back.”
I shift in my seat. “Hey, is Frankie still coming on board?”
“Yep. That’s the plan,” he says casually. “We’ll make the transition once you’re back from Crystal Cove.”
“So…September-ish?”
“Right around then. Give or take. Should be a good fit.”
I take a sip of coffee. “Cool. I could use the help.”
“Yeah, Frankie’s always had a strong head for numbers. Much better than me, in fact.”
“Well, that’s what we need right now,” I say, picturing some younger, buttoned-up version of Mont. Hopefully not some know-it-all pain in the ass. But if he’s solid, maybe I can finally start thinking about an exit plan.
Not too long ago, I used to measure success in square footage and press features. Jenna loved a good headline. Probably still does.
But now? I want something that doesn’t get applause.
Quiet mornings. Earned trust.
My name on something that lasts.
“Enough about work,” Mont says. “You still playing house with the hottie next door?”
I smile. “It’s been nothing short of amazing.”
“Bet you’ll be the first to catch feelings.”
“Hope not,” I say though the words taste like a lie.
Mont chuckles. “Might be hard not to, now that she’s basically moved in.” A beat drifts by. “You want my advice?”
I don’t say yes, but I don’t stop him either.
“Let yourself be in love,” he says. “Doesn’t matter if it’s temporary. Doesn’t matter if it ends. Most people are so damn scared of the ending, they miss the good part.”
I don’t answer, but something in my chest tightens.
“Doesn’t have to be forever to be worth it,” he says, then, with a wry edge, adds, “But if it does end up being forever? You can thank me later. I’m the one who dared you to hook up with her.”
I laugh quietly even though part of me wants to groan. “That’s not exactly how I’d frame your influence.”
Mont’s grin comes through the phone. “Hey, just trying to keep life interesting. Figured a little hot-girl-next-door action might unglue you from that post-divorce sulk.”
We trade a few quick updates, some loose ends, nothing urgent, before he signs off for a breakfast meeting.
When the line goes dead, I sit back, thumb tapping the side of my mug.
Morning light sharpens into focus: a brighter sky, calmer water.
Here, inside the attic, I’m not so sure.
