Page 8 of The Maine Event (Romancing the Workplace #2)

FOUR

As I pull up to Dan’s home, I’m struck by how breathtaking it looks against the night sky.

The waterfront property is bathed in the soft glow of outdoor string lights, their golden hue reflecting off the water like scattered fireflies.

The two-story house stands nestled among tall pine trees, their dark silhouettes swaying gently in the evening breeze.

Warm light spills from the windows, illuminating the wraparound porch and casting long, inviting shadows across the neatly kept lawn.

It looks like something out of a movie—effortlessly charming, like it’s been waiting for someone to come home.

Chloe jumps out before Dan can even put his car in park and runs straight into the house.

I step out of my truck, taking a moment to inhale the crisp, salty air.

The sound of gentle waves lapping against the riverbank fills my ears, and I feel a sense of peace wash over me, a stark contrast to the chaos of the day.

Dan lingers by his car until I catch up, giving me a glance that’s both grateful and a little uncertain.

“It was nice of you to check in on Marjorie. She’s something of a Biddeford institution. I wasn’t sure she was going to make it.”

“Someone’s got to look out for you stubborn Mainers. Can’t have you collapsing in diners every time the chowder’s a little too salty.”

Dan huffs out a short laugh, but the tension between us still lingers, hovering like unspoken words in the air. Before I even know what to say, Chloe reappears on the porch, waving us inside.

“Come on! I’m starving!” she calls out, clearly unfazed by the chaos of the evening.

“Guess we’d better feed her.”

“Yep. You do not want to mess with a hungry tween. Welcome to Casa Rhodes, by the way,” Dan says with a smile, leading me up the porch steps. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

I shake my head, taking in the charming details of the house—the white-painted wood, the nautical-themed decorations on the porch. “It’s lovely, Dan. Truly.”

As we step inside, I’m immediately enveloped by the warmth and coziness of the space. The living room is adorned with plush, inviting couches and soft, worn rugs. A large stone fireplace dominates one wall, its mantel lined with family photos.

I step closer, my eyes drawn to a particular image—a younger Dan, his arm around a beautiful woman with long, dark hair and a radiant smile. They look so happy, so in love. My heart clenches as I realize he’s married. Of course he is .

Dan notices my gaze and clears his throat, a flicker of sadness passing over his features. “That was taken on our honeymoon,” he says softly. “Becca always loved the ocean. She passed.”

I nod, unsure of what to say.

Just then, Chloe bounds into the room. She’s already changed into her pajamas, and she bounces excitedly. “You hungry?” she asks.

I laugh. “Starving, actually. And I couldn’t pass up the chance to see your dad’s famous grilled cheese skills in action.”

Chloe giggles, grabbing my hand and tugging me towards the kitchen. “Come on, you can help me set the table.”

As we enter the kitchen, Chloe opens all the cupboards and pulls out enough tableware to host a banquet. Dan stands at the stove, heating a large cast-iron skillet, then takes ingredients out of the fridge.

Chloe clearly relishes the responsibility and is meticulous with her placement of dinnerware. We set the table together and I have to admit, it looks great.

With a flourish, Chloe pulls out a chair for me. “Madam.”

“Thank you.” I take a seat and look over to see how Dan’s getting on.

“Smells amazing,” I comment, inhaling deeply. “What’s your secret ingredient?”

Dan grins, tapping the side of his nose. “Ah, now that would be telling. Let’s just say it’s a family recipe, passed down through generations of Rhodes grilled cheese connoisseurs.”

Chloe rolls her eyes, handing me a napkin. “He puts garlic powder in the butter,” she stage-whispers. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Hey!” Dan protests, waving his spatula in mock offense. “Don’t go giving away all my culinary secrets, missy.”

As we laugh and joke, pouring glasses of ice-cold lemonade, I feel a sense of warmth and belonging that I haven’t experienced in longer than I can remember.

The easy banter, the genuine affection between father and daughter—it’s a glimpse into a life I never knew existed and a far cry from my own relationship with my absent, now dead, father.

And as we sit down to eat, the golden, gooey sandwiches almost too hot to handle, I don’t think I can remember eating a late-night snack that tasted so good.

I take another bite and let out a satisfied sigh. “Okay, I’ll admit it—this really is something special. You’ve mastered the fine art of bread and cheese.”

Dan chuckles, a little bashfully, at the compliment. “I’ll take that as high praise. It’s one of the few things I can actually cook without burning it to a crisp.”

As we dig in, Chloe’s face lights up with excitement. “Oh, Rachel! Guess what? I’m going to be in the ‘Sing!’ Talent Competition next month!”

“Wow, that’s fantastic, Chloe!” I exclaim, genuinely impressed. “What will you be performing?”

Chloe beams, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I’m singing ‘Brave’ by Sara Bareilles. It’s all about being true to yourself and not being afraid to speak up. I really, really like the song!”

I nod, understanding the significance of the song, if a little surprised that it’s her own choice, given the song is almost as old as her. “That’s a powerful message, Chloe. I’m sure you’ll be amazing.”

“I’ve been practicing every day,” she gushes, her grin wide and infectious. “I really think I have a shot at winning this year.”

Dan beams with pride, his love for his daughter shining through in every glance, every word of encouragement.

Dan reaches over, squeezing his daughter’s hand. “I’ve never seen her so dedicated to anything before.”

Chloe’s enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself caught up in her excitement. “I’d love to hear you sing sometime. If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

She grins, nodding eagerly. “Definitely! I could use all the feedback I can get.”

I’m impressed by Chloe and love the way she pursues her passion with such fervor. It reminds me of my own childhood dreams, the ones I never had the chance, or encouragement, to realize, and that are now long since buried beneath the weight of adult responsibilities and expectations.

Dan claps his hands. “Now, come on, bed.”

“But we have a guest.” Chloe groans.

“Nice try. Up.”

“Are you gonna come up and listen to the story?” Chloe asks.

I blink. “Oh, uh… I?—”

I glance at Dan, feeling instantly awkward. This is their thing, their routine, and I suddenly feel like I’m intruding on something private. Like I’ve somehow stumbled too deep into their world.

Chloe, however, doesn’t care about my reservations. She steps forward, arms crossed like she’s already decided for me. “You should come,” she insists. “Dad’s really good at it.”

Dan smirks at her confidence in his storytelling abilities. “She’s not wrong,” he says, tilting his head toward me. “I do voices and everything. If you’re lucky, I might even let you read a character or two.”

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t know… I don’t want to interrupt?—”

Chloe groans dramatically. “You wouldn’t be interrupting.” She turns to her dad. “Tell her she wouldn’t be interrupting.”

Dan chuckles, setting his glass down. “You wouldn’t be interrupting.”

I sigh, defeated by their combined insistence. “Fine,” I say, standing. “But if this turns into some impromptu theater production, I’m not responsible for any secondhand embarrassment.”

Dan grins. “Oh, trust me, you won’t be the one embarrassed.”

Chloe groans again, already making her way up the stairs. “Dad, please just read normally tonight.”

We follow her up, and I feel a little out of place as I step into Chloe’s room.

It’s full of personality—books stacked on a nightstand, fairy lights draped around the bed frame, a few well-loved stuffed animals pushed to the side.

The walls have posters of singers and anime characters I don’t recognize, wedged in between photos of what looks like school trips and summer adventures.

Chloe climbs into bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin as Dan grabs a book from the shelf. He flips it open and clears his throat dramatically.

I take a seat on the floor by the doorway, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible, but the second Dan starts reading, I realize that is not going to happen.

Because he doesn’t just read.

He performs .

Complete with character voices, exaggerated expressions, and over-the-top dramatics, he brings the story to life like a seasoned stage actor. Even though Chloe is clearly growing out of these bedtime stories, she still adores them.

She rolls her eyes, groaning at some of his sillier antics, but her giggles betray her. “ Dad, come on ,” she mutters when he makes one of the characters sound like they’ve inhaled helium.

“What?” Dan says, feigning innocence. “This is how the royal wizard speaks. It says so right here in the subtext.”

Chloe sighs dramatically, but she’s smiling. I find myself biting my lip to stop myself from laughing as he goes on, somehow managing to make a generic adventure story sound like an award-worthy performance.

By the time he gets to the final page, Chloe is clearly fighting sleep, her eyes fluttering slightly even as she tries to keep up the pretense of being unimpressed.

Dan softens his voice for the last few lines, closing the book with a quiet thud .

I watch as he reaches out, brushing a few strands of hair from Chloe’s face, tucking them gently behind her ear.

It’s such a small gesture. Simple. Unremarkable.

But something about it makes my chest tighten.

“Goodnight, kiddo,” he says.

Chloe hums sleepily in response, already halfway to dreams.