Chapter 2
A fter finalizing my all-too-public divorce, and at the request of my board of directors, I’ve shifted to working remotely and part-time for the next couple of months.
I’ve been angry for the past year and needed a place to regroup and figure out my next steps.
So, I rented this little lake cottage in Wisconsin from a friend of a friend to escape Chicago for the summer.
It’s been a decade since I started my day in a slow churn.
I’m looking forward to peaceful mornings with coffee on the patio and runs along the lakeshore path.
I couldn’t live in a small town like this long term, but it’s exactly what I need right now.
This summer, I’m focusing on finding balance and figuring out what I truly want.
Was that the door? I walk downstairs from the office toward the kitchen to investigate the noise.
As I round the corner— Jesus! —I almost say out loud.
There’s a girl in a bikini in my kitchen.
I glance at her perfect hourglass figure.
Her tits are practically spilling out of a little black bikini top, and a sheer scarf is tied around her hips.
Is that supposed to be a cover-up? What’s it covering? Although I’m not complaining.
“Hi, I’m so sorry,” she blurts out, looking flustered. She’s pretty. Her long brown hair softly frames her face and she has beautiful, big hazel eyes. “I forgot my aunt rents this place sometimes. I just wanted to borrow some cups, is that okay?”
She smiles, and damn, if she’s not a walking advertisement for orthodontics. Her perfect, white smile lights up her face, though it’s turning red.
“Of course. You probably know where they are better than I do,” I say, trying not to stare at her petite, very distracting frame. “I arrived yesterday.”
“Thanks, seriously,” she says, opening the white cabinet next to the farmhouse sink and stretching onto her tiptoes.
Get a hold of yourself, I mentally warn.
She grabs fish-themed cups from the middle shelf. “I promise I won’t bother you again,” she says, heading for the door.
Please , do , I think. She’s stunning. Should I invite her to stay? But I can’t tell how old she is, and the last thing I want is to come off as a creep. My mind races.
“Anytime,” I manage, immediately feeling embarrassed that’s all I could come up with.
She smirks and walks out.