Page 42 of The Maine Event (Romancing the Workplace #2)

TWENTY-ONE

I stride into The Maine Mall, my heels clicking against the glossy floor tiles with determined purpose.

The familiar scents of pretzels and perfume samples waft through the air as I navigate the bustling corridors.

I didn’t plan to be here this long—didn’t plan to be here at all beyond the meeting with Jonathan Harcourt.

But then again, I didn’t plan to be launching an agency in Maine either.

I only packed for a few days. One decent pair of heels. Two blouses that could pass for professional if you didn’t look too closely. Nothing suitable for the next few weeks of hiring, networking, and staking out the office lease.

Now, I need clothes. The right clothes. A suit that says leadership, not burned-out refugee. A coat that can handle a Maine November. A few pieces that can take me from client meetings to café catch-ups without making me feel like I’m impersonating a grown-up.

Because this is real now. I’ve said yes. I’ve leased a building. I’m staying—at least until the agency’s up and running. Then I’ll go back to Chicago, pack up the rest of my life, and come back for good.

Today is about getting what I need to look the part. Not just for others—but for myself. A uniform for the next chapter. Proof, in fabric and fit, that I’m not just reacting anymore.

I’m building something.

My steps falter as I pass the boutique where Chloe and I had spent a giddy afternoon choosing her dress for the singing competition.

The mannequins still wear their dreamy pastel gowns, unchanged, like time hasn’t moved on—except, of course, it has.

That day feels like it belonged to a different version of myself. One who hadn’t yet let Chloe down.

I pause, staring at the window display. She’d twirled in the changing room, all elbows and excitement, and asked me—me—if she looked beautiful. I’d told her yes, and meant it with my whole heart. Then I’d left before I got to see her wear it for real.

A pang hits, unexpectedly. Not guilt exactly. More like… the ache of unfinished business. Of wanting to have been someone she could count on.

I exhale slowly and move on. I can’t undo what’s already been done. But I can show up better going forward.

I scan the storefronts for something suitable. A chance to reinvent myself, to shed the weight of past regrets and forge a path that allows room for both ambition and genuine human connection.

The mall’s lively chatter swirls around me, a symphony of laughter and chiming cell phones.

For once, I let myself get swept up in the energizing current, imagining a future where I’m not just an observer of life’s vibrant moments, but an active participant.

With each step, I feel a flicker of hope, a tentative excitement about what lies ahead.

As I round the corner, a familiar logo catches my eye—a stylized coffee cup emblazoned on a chic storefront. The rich aroma of freshly ground beans beckons, promising a moment of indulgence amidst the day’s mission.

“Why not?” I ask myself, a smile tugging at my lips. “A little caffeine never hurt anyone.”

The bell above the café door jingles as I step inside, the scent of roasted beans and warm pastries wrapping around me like a hug.

Sunlight streams through the wide front windows, casting golden patterns on the wooden floors.

A low hum of conversation and clinking spoons fills the space, underscored by the hiss of steaming milk from behind the counter.

The barista greets me with an easy smile, and I order a large cappuccino—extra foam—and a chocolate croissant, telling myself I’ve earned both.

As I wait, I scan the room, my gaze lazily drifting past students glued to their laptops, parents juggling pushchairs and caffeine, and couples trading quiet laughter across tiny tables.

And then, like a jolt of color in a sepia-toned photo, I see her.

Blonde ponytail. Familiar stride. That unmistakable bounce in her step.

Chloe.

She’s surrounded by friends, mid-laugh, utterly at ease—and for a moment, the world just… stops. Everything narrows into soft focus, everything else blurring at the edges. There’s a split second when I don’t know what to do. Whether to call out, or disappear before she sees me.

Then her gaze lifts. Finds mine.

Time suspends. Just for a beat.

And then, her face lights up—pure sunshine breaking through cloud cover. No hesitation. No resentment. Just joy.

My coffee is forgotten. I push through the crowd, heart thudding, as Chloe breaks from her group and runs.

Chloe barrels into my arms, hugging me so tightly it knocks the breath out of me—and I let her. I let her squeeze every ounce of guilt and regret out of my lungs, because it feels just so damn good.

“Rachel!” she says into my shoulder. “I can’t believe it’s really you!”

I hold her just as fiercely, my arms wrapping around her smaller frame. She still smells like strawberries and shampoo. For a moment, neither of us says anything. There’s no need. The hug says it all.

Eventually, she pulls back, still clutching my arms, eyes searching my face with an intensity that startles me. “I was so mad when you left,” she says honestly. “And then I was sad. But now I’m just… happy.”

Tears threaten. I blink them back with a shaky smile. “I missed you too. So much more than I realized.”

She grins. “You look really good, by the way. Chic, but a little rumpled. Very fashion-editor-on-her-day-off.”

I laugh. “You’re too kind. I’ve been living out of a suitcase.”

“Still,” she says, tugging me a little closer, “you’re here. That’s what matters.”

We stand like that for a moment longer, until Chloe finally bounces on her toes with excitement. “Oh! I forgot to tell you—I won my heat! I’m through to the State finals!”

“What?” My mouth drops open. “Chloe, that’s incredible! I’m so proud of you.”

“It’s during Thanksgiving break. Two weeks. You have to come. Please?”

My smile falters for a split second. Chicago looms in the back of my mind—the condo, my things, the inevitable logistics of relocation—but her hopeful eyes pull me back into the present.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say, and mean it.

She lets out a delighted squeal, twirling once in the middle of the café like she’s made of joy. Then she stops abruptly, a new idea blooming behind her eyes. “Actually… there’s something else.”

“Oh?” I brace myself.

“Dad’s recording an episode of his new show tomorrow,” she reveals, a mischievous glint in her eye. “They film the apartment scenes in front of a live studio audience. You should come! It would be such a fun surprise for him.”

The suggestion hangs between us.

It’s a perfectly Chloe idea—earnest, hopeful, a little chaotic.

I’m a little thrown at the mention of Dan, and I feel a flutter of nerves in my stomach. The thought of seeing him again is both thrilling and terrifying.

I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to see Dan—if anything, that’s the problem.

“It might be awkward,” I say carefully, my voice lower now. “We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

Chloe tilts her head. “But you said yes to the finals.”

“That’s different,” I say quickly. “That’s about you. That’s something I wouldn’t miss.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I raise a hand gently. “It’s not that I don’t want to see him. It’s just… I don’t think he’ll want to see me.”

Chloe gives me a sympathetic smile, softer now. “You don’t know that.”

I offer a half-hearted shrug, not ready to let that thought settle. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s just relieved not to have to explain me to his friends and family. I sort of burst into his life, made a mess of things, and left.”

She frowns. “That’s not how I see it.”

“Well, I did announce his acting comeback without telling him, remember? And almost got you killed on a boat.”

“Almost.” She grins. “But instead, you saved me.”

I exhale, torn. “It’s just… if I show up, I don’t want it to look like I’m trying to wedge myself back in. Or make it about me. I don’t want to ambush him.”

Chloe steps closer and gently links her arm through mine. “It’s not an ambush. It’s a seat in the audience. That’s all. You’re not storming the stage.”

I smile at that, but the nerves don’t fully dissipate. There’s too much I haven’t processed. Too much left unsaid between Dan and me. But maybe, I think, being in the audience is a way of saying something without having to say anything at all.

“Please, Rachel?” Chloe pleads, her eyes wide and imploring. “It would mean so much to me. And I know Dad would love to see you too, even if he won’t admit it. He’s been moping around ever since you left Biddeford. I think he misses having someone to banter with, you know?”

I sigh, feeling my resolve crumble in the face of Chloe’s earnestness. “Alright, alright. I’ll come to the live recording.”

Chloe lets out a squeal of delight, throwing her arms around me in another exuberant hug. “Thank you, Rachel! This is going to be the best surprise ever!”

Chloe pulls back from the hug, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“I should probably get back to my friends,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at the group of girls waiting nearby. “But tap in your number and I’ll text you the details for tomorrow, okay?”

I nod, taking her phone and adding my number to her contacts. “Sounds good, Chlo. And congratulations again on winning the heat. I’m so proud of you.”

Chloe beams, her smile as radiant as the sun. “Thanks, Rachel. And I’m really sorry about asking you to go out in the boat with me. You saved my life.” She gives me a final squeeze before turning to rejoin her friends, her ponytail bouncing with each step.

I watch her go, my heart swelling with a bittersweet mix of emotions. It’s probably a good thing she didn’t wait for a response. I probably would have burst out crying. Chloe’s already halfway back to her friends when she turns, gives me one last wave, and mouths, Thank you .

I nod, managing a small smile.

I return to the café, and I sit back down at my table, my coffee now lukewarm. I find myself replaying Chloe’s words in my mind. “‘I think he misses having someone to banter with, you know?’”

The thought of Dan missing me, of him feeling the same sense of absence that I’ve been grappling with, it’s both touching and terrifying. Does he miss me? Has he even thought about me since I left?

But then I remember the way he looked at me in the boathouse, the intensity in his gaze, the unspoken words that hung in the air between us. The want. The desire. The way my heart raced and my skin tingled, like a current of electricity running through my veins.

Those daydreams are quickly put to rest when I remember how furious he was that we’d taken the boat out.

That I had risked his daughter’s life and all of this within forty-eight hours of announcing his acting comeback without bothering to ask for his permission first…

No, of course he hasn’t thought of me since.

If he has, it’s not with longing or regret…

It’s with relief that I’m no longer around.

How can I let Chloe down gently? The poor girl doesn’t understand why going tomorrow is a terrible idea. How could she?

I take a long sip of coffee, steeling myself. I’ll go to the recording. For her. To show up, like I should have done the first time. I’ll sit quietly, stay out of the way, and applaud when I’m supposed to.

No expectations. No drama.