Page 26 of The Maine Event (Romancing the Workplace #2)

THIRTEEN

The warm glow of string lights illuminates the garden path as Dan and I slip away from the chatter of the guests who have now migrated into the house. A gentle breeze carries the sweet scent of honeysuckle, and crickets serenade us from the shadows. I’m grateful for a moment of respite with him.

We walk side by side, our shoulders almost touching, until the boathouse comes into view at the water’s edge.

In the moonlight, it looks like something out of a painting—rustic wooden beams, large windows reflecting silvery ripples, a freshly painted exterior that will protect it from salt and age for years to come.

Dan goes inside and I follow, pleased to have the chance to see it properly.

“Dan, this is absolutely beautiful,” I say, running my hand along the smooth, wooden, paneled walls. “You renovated it all yourself.”

He nods, a wistful smile playing at his lips as he pulls the large swing doors closed. “It was her sanctuary. She loved being out on the water, feeling the wind in her hair.” His voice is tinged with both fondness and sorrow.

“I can see why. It’s so peaceful.” I turn to face him. “You’ve done an amazing job.”

Dan’s eyes meet mine, glistening with emotion in the low light. “Thanks. That means a lot.” He takes a shaky breath. “I wanted to have somewhere to feel closer to her. To remember our time together.”

I reach out and give his hand a gentle squeeze, hoping the gesture conveys my understanding and support. We stand there for a moment, hand in hand, the lapping of gentle waves the only sound.

Being here with Dan, in this place he created to honor his late wife, I feel a deep sense of connection, empathy, and there’s something else too—a spark, an undeniable pull between us. I know I should probably ignore it, but right now, it’s the most alive I’ve felt in a long time.

Dan turns to face me, his hand still in mine.

In the moonlight, I can see the flicker of something in his eyes—longing, curiosity, a hint of guilt.

“You know, I can’t help but think that you and Rebecca would have gotten along so well.

She had that same drive, that same passion for her work that you do. ”

I smile softly, feeling a warmth spreading through my chest at his words. “Really? What was she like?”

“Brilliant, for one. Always coming up with creative ideas, seeing possibilities where others didn’t. And kind, so incredibly kind.” His voice is wistful, but there’s a note of pride too.

“She was an artist,” Dan continues, his gaze softening as he looks out over the yard.

“Not the paint-on-canvas kind. More… eclectic. She did graphic design for ad agencies, but on the side, she’d make these incredible mixed-media collages.

Old photographs, bits of newspaper, fabric scraps—she’d blend them into something beautiful.

She’d spend hours in here. It was her studio. ”

I picture it for a moment—a studio bathed in warm light, Rebecca hunched over her worktable, bits and pieces scattered around her, totally engrossed in the transformation of chaos into art. I can almost feel the energy of it, like creativity itself is something you can touch.

Dan smiles, a little nostalgic, a little sad.

“She had this way of looking at the world that made everything seem connected, like every random object had a story just waiting to be uncovered. It’s why her work was so good.

Her clients loved her because she’d take these half-baked ideas and somehow turn them into something that made people feel something.

She didn’t just make things look pretty—she made them… matter.”

I can’t help but smile at that. “She sounds like she was really talented.”

“She was,” he agrees. “And completely hopeless with technology.” He laughs, a low, fond sound.

“We used to joke that if her laptop so much as beeped at her, she’d just give up and go make coffee until I could fix it.

She once deleted an entire client presentation by accidentally pressing one button.

Panicked, she called me on set, convinced she’d ruined her career. ”

I chuckle. “Did you manage to save it?”

“Of course. Took me about five minutes to restore it from the recycle bin. But she was so relieved you’d have thought I’d just performed open-heart surgery.

” He shakes his head, clearly amused by the memory.

“She bought me a ridiculous ‘Tech Genius’ mug the next day as a thank-you. Still have it somewhere.”

His eyes turn distant again, and I can tell he’s wrestling with the ache of her absence.

I hesitate, not wanting to intrude, but I can’t help asking, “Was it hard for her to balance work and being a mom?”

Dan nods slowly. “Yeah, sometimes. She loved being with Chloe, but creating was like life itself for her. I used to worry she was spreading herself too thin, trying to be everything to everyone. It didn’t help that I was away so much.

But she never saw it that way. To her, creating wasn’t just a job—it was part of who she was.

Even on the hardest days, she’d always find time to sketch something or pull a few colors together on a mood board.

She didn’t like feeling stagnant, like she wasn’t moving forward. ”

I can’t help but relate to that—always needing to be moving, producing, achieving.

“Sounds familiar,” I say with a wry smile.

He glances at me and smirks. “Yeah, I thought you might get that.”

I nod, feeling a little more connected to the woman I never got to meet. “She sounds incredible.”

“She was,” he agrees, his voice quieter now.

“And stubborn. God, was she stubborn. Once she got an idea in her head, nothing could make her change it. One time she decided she was going to build Chloe a treehouse—even though she’d never built so much as a birdhouse before.

I offered to help, but she insisted it was something she needed to do herself.

Three months later, it was done—slightly crooked and nowhere near as high off the ground as she planned, but Chloe adored it. ”

I can’t help but laugh at the mental image. “Sounds like she was determined.”

Dan’s smile turns soft and a little sad. “Yeah. She always said that just because something’s hard doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing.”

There’s a lump in my throat that I can’t quite swallow. I reach out, placing a hand on his arm.

“She sounds amazing. Chloe’s lucky to have had a mom like that.”

He glances down at my hand, and for a moment I think he might pull away, but he doesn’t.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “And I guess that’s why it scares me, sometimes. How fast she’s growing up. I don’t want to… I don’t know… let her down. Or make her feel like she’s alone.”

“You won’t,” I say gently. “You’re doing great with her. Really. And I think Rebecca would be proud of you. I wish I could have met her.”

“Me too.” His thumb gently traces circles on the back of my hand, sending a shiver up my arm. “But in a way, I feel like she brought you here, to this moment. Is that crazy?”

My heart skips a beat at his words, at the implication behind them. “No, not crazy at all.”

Dan takes a step closer, his other hand coming up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch lingers, his fingertips grazing my cheek.

“Rachel, I…” His eyes search mine.

The air feels electric, charged with unspoken desire. I know we’re on the edge of something big, something that could change everything. And even though a part of me is terrified, I don’t want to run from it anymore.

Dan’s hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lips. I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When I open them again, he’s so close I can feel his breath on my skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion.

Instead, I move toward him, pressing my lips to his in a passionate kiss. Dan responds immediately, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me flush against him. I melt into the embrace, losing myself in the sensation of his mouth moving against mine.

The kiss deepens, growing more urgent. My hands slide into his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands. Dan’s hands roam my back, his touch leaving trails of heat through the fabric of my blouse. I arch into him, craving more contact, more of him.

We stumble backwards until my back hits the wall of the boathouse. Dan’s lips leave mine to blaze a trail down my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse point. I gasp, my head falling back to give him better access.

Fumbling fingers work at the buttons of my blouse, and then it’s falling open, exposing my lace-clad breasts. Dan’s hands skim up my ribcage, cupping me through the delicate fabric. I moan, the sound lost in another searing kiss.

He reaches behind me, unclasping my bra with deft fingers. It joins my blouse on the floor, leaving me bare before him. For a moment, he just stares, his gaze heated and reverent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, before dipping his head to place open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, my shoulder.

I’m lost in a haze of sensation, my world narrowed down to Dan’s hands and mouth on my skin. Nothing else exists outside of this moment, this connection blazing between us. I want to drown in it, surrender completely to the desire coursing through my veins.

I slip my hands beneath his shirt, exploring the planes of his back, the flexing muscles. I want to touch every inch of him, map his body with my fingertips—to be the cause of more of those shudders. Dan groans against my skin as my nails rake lightly down his spine.

We’re a tangle of desperate touches and heated kisses, years of pent-up longing pouring out of us. The intensity is overwhelming, and exhilarating. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want him right now.

Dan’s hands skim lower, toying with the hem of my skirt. I whimper, arching into him, silently begging for more. His fingers raise the fabric and…