Page 38 of The Maine Event (Romancing the Workplace #2)
After meeting Chloe, pancakes have a new place in my heart as the go-to food for big moments, and today certainly measures up as one of my biggest. Lily couldn’t have offered a better suggestion. I glance up at Claire. “Only if the kitchen’s open for syrup-fueled chaos.”
Claire raises an eyebrow. “I’ll make the batter, if you flip.”
“Deal.”
And just like that, I feel folded back into the world and family I used to orbit but never made time for. No expectations. No pressure. Just warmth, laughter, and two chocolate-mustachioed kids who think I hung the moon.
The evening winds down in a slow, syrupy blur of bath bubbles, pajamas with teddy bears, and the ritualistic hunt for Anna’s missing sock, which somehow ended up in the toaster.
Anna was inconsolable for about twenty minutes when Richard was unable to locate his confiscated legs, or Anna’s tail, in the attic—but countless promises to look again properly in the morning eventually placated her.
I follow the girls up the stairs, their little feet thumping like a herd of elephants on the carpeted steps.
“We want you to read the story,” Lily announces as we reach the landing. “Daddy always skips pages.”
“I do not,” Richard calls from downstairs.
I suppress a grin. “Well, lucky for you, I’m wide awake.”
The girls scramble into bed, surrounded by a menagerie of stuffed animals. I settle between them with the chosen book—some vibrantly illustrated tale involving magical ponies and glittery maps—and read in my best dramatic voice.
They hang on every word, giggling when I do the accents and gasping at the cliffhangers. By the end, Anna’s head is on my shoulder and Lily’s hand is wrapped around my pinky like it’s her anchor to the waking world.
When I close the book, neither one of them makes a move. They’re blinking slowly, drifting.
“Will you be here in the morning?” Lily asks, half-asleep.
“Yeah, sweet pea,” I whisper. “I’m sleeping over tonight.”
Anna, already snuggled into her blanket cocoon, sighs in contentment. “And you’ll make pancakes?”
“If you let me sleep past six,” I reply, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
Lily giggles faintly. “No promises.”
I stay a little while longer, watching their little chests rise and fall, their lashes fluttering gently against soft cheeks.
There’s something grounding about it—this quiet, this simplicity.
It’s not just comforting, it’s… healing.
Like some tiny part of me is rethreading itself, just by being here.
Eventually, I tiptoe out, pulling the door closed with a soft click. Downstairs, Claire is curled up with a blanket and Richard’s flicking through TV channels like it’s a sport.
“Bedtime success?” she asks.
“Two out of two asleep. I expect a trophy.”
She hands me a cup of tea instead, and I accept it like it’s gold.
“Guest room’s all made up for you,” Richard says, not looking away from the screen.
“Thanks, really appreciate it.”
As I sit down beside my sister and sip my tea, the tension I didn’t even realize I was still carrying begins to melt away. There’s no urgent meeting tomorrow. No ticking clock. Just family. And, for the first time in a while, a night of sleep ahead that might actually feel like rest.
Later, after both Mom and Richard have retreated upstairs and the hum of the dishwasher fills the background, Claire and I are left alone on the sofa, legs tucked under us like teenagers during a sleepover.
The house has gone still, save for the occasional creak of settling floorboards and the muffled cough from one of the girls.
Claire hands me a blanket and refills my tea without asking. She’s always been like that—quietly perceptive, a master of knowing when to prod and when to just… sit.
We sip in silence for a moment before she speaks.
“So,” she says softly, “is this a visit-visit or a I-might-move-into-Mom’s-basement visit?”
I chuckle, but it’s low and tired. “Somewhere in between.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That’s not ominous at all.”
I sigh, curling tighter under the blanket. “A visit-visit. I just needed to stop. Everything’s been moving so fast for so long… and suddenly, I didn’t want to chase it anymore.”
Claire reaches over, squeezing my hand. “You’re allowed to change your mind, Rach. Even now. Especially now.”
“I don’t even know what I want,” I say.
“Then maybe this is the part where you figure it out,” she says gently. “Not with a five-year plan or a Pinterest board. Just… by sitting still and listening to yourself for once.”
A lump forms in my throat. “That’s easier said than done.”
She shrugs. “Most good things are.”
For a while we sit in silence, the kind only sisters can share. Then she leans her head against mine.
“You’ll figure it out. And hey—worst case, sell the condo and move back here with us. I’ll make space in the garage for your shoe collection.”
I laugh, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “Thanks, Claire.”
An hour later, the house has finally gone still. I pad into the guest room—Claire’s old childhood bedroom turned into a cozy catch-all—with a borrowed toothbrush and a mismatched pair of pajamas. The sheets are crisp, the lamp casts a warm glow, and the scent of fabric softener lingers in the air.
I sit on the edge of the bed, brushing a hand along the worn quilt. There’s a photo on the wall—Mom, Claire, and me on a windswept beach, hair tangled, arms flung around each other. I don’t remember when it was taken, only that we were laughing.
My phone buzzes faintly from my bag across the room. I don’t reach for it. Whatever it is, it can wait. For once, everything can wait.
Instead, I lie back and close my eyes, listening to the quiet creaks of a house settling into sleep. There’s nowhere I need to be, no one expecting a response, no task to cross off. Just stillness. Presence.
In the hallway, I hear the gentle patter of little feet—one of the girls up for a glass of water or visit to the bathroom. A low murmur, Mom’s voice, then silence again. This house, this life, isn’t perfect. But it’s real. It breathes.
I nestle under the covers. Tomorrow, I’ll start figuring out what comes next.
But tonight, I just let myself rest.