She had spoken to a property management company.
She had looked at comparable listings.
She believed the cottage could bring in twelve to fifteen thousand dollars a month during peak season.
“We could split the income,” she said. “However you think is fair.”
I looked at Marcus.
He was spreading butter on a pancake for Claire.
I asked, “You’ve already spoken to a management company?”
Renata’s smile didn’t move, but her eyes sharpened.
“Just informally.”
“About my house?”
“About the opportunity,” she corrected.
I took a sip of coffee and said, “I’ll think about it.”
She took that as progress.
It wasn’t.
Over the next few months, she sent emails. Interior design links. Rental income projections. A PDF about “maximizing legacy properties.” A sample listing description that referred to my home as a “luxury lake retreat with old-world charm.”
I hated that phrase so much I closed the laptop and went outside for half an hour.
In October, they came back for a weekend, and I found Renata walking through the bedrooms with her phone held high, taking video.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She smiled like I had caught her wrapping a present.
“Just getting a sense of the space.”
