Page 23 of The Maine Event (Romancing the Workplace #2)

We fall into a rhythm after that—exchanging stories, teasing each other about our teenage music tastes, bad fashion choices, our favorite childhood snacks.

He tells me about the time he accidentally locked himself out of a theater in full costume and had to scale a fire escape in tights.

I tell him about a college pitch meeting where I used the word ‘disruption’ so many times I gave myself a migraine.

The laughter comes easy, like we’ve done this a hundred times before.

But it’s not just funny. It’s comfortable.

Dan listens—not just waits to talk, but actually listens. He asks follow-up questions. Smiles in all the right places. Like he’s paying attention to more than just the words.

And I realize, somewhere in the middle of all this, that I’m not used to being this seen. Not without being on. Not without performing. And it’s… nice.

Too nice.

So, I flick a peanut at him from the little snack dish on the table. “Still can’t believe you were a Black Star.”

He catches it and grins. “It was a moment. Don’t judge me.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely judging you,” I tease. “But respectfully.”

He leans back in the booth, his gaze resting on me for a beat too long. “You’re different when you’re not pitching something.”

That catches me off guard. “Different how?”

“I don’t know,” he says, swirling the ice in his glass. “More… you, I guess.”

I don’t know what to say to that. So, I take a sip and deflect with another question. “This is your hangout, then?”

He shrugs. “Not really. I used to come here when… Well, back when I actually had a social life.”

“Before Chloe,” I guess, and he nods.

“It’s not like I mind,” he says quickly, almost defensively. “But yeah. Things are different now. Priorities shift.”

I tilt my head, studying him. “You ever think about getting back into acting? Or something else, maybe? You’ve got this energy that just… belongs in front of people.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Nah. That ship’s sailed. But you’re not the first person to suggest it.”

“What about teaching?” I offer. “I saw you with the kids at the rehearsals. You were great with them.”

He glances at me, a little surprised. “You think so?”

I nod. “Totally. You brought out their confidence without making them feel silly or self-conscious. They loved it.”

He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, mulling it over. “I like it, helping out at the school, I mean. But teaching means evenings and weekends—prime Chloe time. I’m not sure I’m ready to give that up. Besides, part of me feels like I’d be helping other people’s kids at the expense of my own.”

I give him a gentle smile. “You’re a good dad, you know that?”

He doesn’t respond, just gives me a shy sort of grin and swirls the ice in his glass.

“So,” he says, shifting gears, “you never really answered my question the other night. What’s with the PR obsession? You sure that’s your life’s calling?”

I smile wryly. “Absolutely. It’s more than just work.

I love it. I fell into it by accident, to be honest. Interned for the summer after my sophomore year and I knew straight away that’s what I wanted to do when I graduated.

There’s something thrilling about crafting a story, finding the angle that’ll hook people.

It’s like getting into their minds and figuring out what makes them tick.

Building awareness. Making connections. I guess I love the challenge of it. ”

“But does it make you happy?”

The question lingers between us, heavier than I expected. I hesitate.

“Sometimes. It’s rewarding when things go right. But it’s exhausting, too. Working for a big firm means constantly being available. It never really stops.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes. “You know… to do your job well, you kind of have to be something of an actor too. Pitching, convincing, persuading…”

I laugh. “I never thought of it like that.”

He grins and picks up his pen from the table, absently sketching on a napkin while I watch him, curiosity piqued.

“What are you doodling?” I ask.

He glances at me and then, almost reluctantly, slides the napkin across the table. Instead of pictures, there are words: character or actor?

I look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

He shrugs, giving me that crooked half-smile. “Just something I’ve been thinking about lately. About… being who people expect, versus being who you really are.”

I trace the words with my fingertip, my mind whirring with thoughts. “So… which are you?” I challenge.

His smile turns wistful. “That’s what I’m still trying to figure out.”

I glance down at the napkin again, considering it. “I think… maybe we’re all both. We act because we’re supposed to. Because it’s what people need from us. But sometimes, we slip out of the role, and that’s when we’re real.”

His gaze lingers on me, like he’s seeing me differently, more clearly than before. I don’t know what to do with this sudden intensity, so I lift my glass and drain the last of my gin.

“Guess I’m not the only philosopher in the room tonight,” he teases.

I roll my eyes but can’t help but laugh. “Blame the gin.”

“Blame the company,” he counters, and there’s something almost tender in the way he looks at me.

I reach for the napkin and slip it into my pocket. Something about those words—scrawled in his messy handwriting, passed across a sticky table—hits me in the chest. I don’t know why. But it feels like a question I’ve been avoiding for a long time. One I’m sure I don’t have an answer for.

“So, what about the rest of your life, then?” he asks, a teasing glint in his eye. “Are you one of those career women who doesn’t believe in relationships, or have you just been fending off a line of suitors?”

I chuckle, leaning back in the booth. “A few blind dates here and there. Usually set up by friends who think they know what I need better than I do.”

He grins. “And do they?”

“God, no.” I shake my head with a laugh. “They’re always nice enough, but never… wow. You know? We’d have a perfectly civil evening, eat something overpriced, laugh at the right moments. Then we both go home and never call each other again.”

Dan lifts a brow. “Ghosted?”

“No, it’s more mutual apathy.” I smile wryly. “Like we both quietly agree to let the whole thing die a dignified death.”

He laughs, warm and unguarded. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re great company.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Careful, Dan. Sounds like you’re flirting.”

He spreads his hands innocently. “Just making an observation.”

I tilt my head, studying him. “What about you? Have you dated since…?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. There’s been no one serious. No one, period, if I’m honest. Between Chloe and the motel and… everything, it never felt like the right time.”

“That’s understandable,” I say gently. “But… maybe it’s time you thought about going on a date. You’re good company too. Funny, decent. Not bad on the eyes. Maybe invite a potential special someone to the party.”

He smirks. “You’re laying it on thick tonight.”

“Well, I’m in PR,” I grin. “Selling people is my job.”

He sobers slightly, tapping the side of his glass. “It’s not that I’m closed off to the idea. It’s just… Chloe. I don’t want to confuse her. She’s already had enough upheaval. And what if someone does come along and it gets messy?”

I nod, understanding. “Yeah. My mom dated another teacher from her school once and I tell you, Claire and I were awful about it. Acted up, gave her such a hard time. To this day, I don’t know if it came to a natural end, or if we just made it impossible for them.

Unforgivable, really. It was years before she tried again. ”

Dan gives a small smile. “Exactly.”

There’s a quiet moment between us, not awkward, just thoughtful. Then he lifts his glass again. “But… I promise to consider it.”

“Good,” I say. “And I promise to go on another blind date… in, oh, about four months, when I have a free hour in my schedule.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You really know how to romance a guy.”

“I aim to impress,” I reply, raising my glass to clink against his again.

We step out of the bar and into the crisp night air, the briny scent of the ocean drifting in on the breeze. The streets are quiet, lit by the soft amber glow of the streetlights. I hug my coat tighter around me as Dan unlocks the car.

“That was fun,” I say, glancing over at him as we walk. “Thanks for the company.”

He casts me a look that’s all soft edges and crinkled eyes. “Thanks for saying yes.”

We reach the car, and he opens the passenger door for me, his hand hovering for a second like he’s debating whether to say something else. I slide in, but he doesn’t move right away. Instead, he leans on the frame of the car, looking at me with a kind of quiet thoughtfulness.

“You know,” he says slowly, “I don’t do this much. Go out. Relax. Talk.”

I smile gently. “You could’ve fooled me.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I guess… it’s just easy with you. You get it.”

I don’t reply right away—just meet his eyes and hold his gaze for a beat too long.

And in that moment, something shifts. Not dramatically.

Nothing explosive. Just a subtle awareness.

A sense that maybe—just maybe—we’re more than co-conspirators in a school play or two people stuck in the same small town for very different reasons.

Just… two people who enjoy being around each other. Maybe a little more than they’re willing to admit.

Dan clears his throat and straightens up, knocking twice on the car roof before moving around to the driver’s side. “Alright. Homeward bound. This housewarming party isn’t going to organize itself.”

As he pulls out onto the road, the silence in the car isn’t uncomfortable. It’s full of everything unsaid.

And for once, I don’t feel the need to fill it.

Back at my motel, the glow from the reception area spills onto the lot, and for a moment, neither of us moves. Dan kills the engine and leans back in his seat, exhaling slowly like the night is finally catching up with him.

“Thanks again,” he says quietly.

I nod, smiling, though there’s a flicker of something deeper beneath it. “Any time.”

We say goodnight without fanfare—no lingering looks, no dramatic pauses. Just a simple, warm farewell. But as I enter my room and peel off my jacket, the weight of the evening settles around me like a favorite sweater I didn’t know I’d been missing.

It’s not just the drinks, or the laughter, or the napkin still tucked into my coat pocket.

It’s the feeling of having been seen—really seen—for the first time in a while.

Dan’s questions, his quiet observations, the way he listens without interrupting…

it all made me feel like I wasn’t just performing, or selling, or spinning something for someone else’s benefit.

And I liked it. More than I should.