Page 9 of The Maine Event (Romancing the Workplace #2)

Dan stands, quietly setting the book aside before glancing over at me, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Well?” he whispers as we step out of the room. “Told you I was good.”

I shake my head, still smiling, as we make our way back downstairs.

“You’re ridiculous,” I say.

Dan and I find ourselves on the back porch, nursing mugs of steaming coffee wrapped in a couple of Dan’s heavy winter coats and an unbelievably soft blanket he appropriated from the living room sofa.

“She’s a remarkable little girl,” I say softly, breaking the stillness. “You’ve done an incredible job raising her.”

He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Thanks. Appreciate it. It hasn’t been easy, doing it alone. After Rebecca passed, I wasn’t sure I could manage. But Chloe—she’s been my rock, my reason to keep going.”

I nod, sympathizing with his loss. “I can’t even imagine how difficult that must have been.”

Dan shrugs, staring out at the shimmering water. “We’ve found our way. I don’t always get it right, but it works. Although, I have to admit, I’m dreading the teenage years. But I guess I’ll cross that bridge…”

“When you’re forced to ground her for life?” I finish, smirking.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Something like that. They say it gets easier as they get older. It better, because some days I just want to tear my hair out.”

“My sister says my nieces have aged her ten years.”

“Sometimes it feels like that. I knew being a single dad would be hard, but I didn’t realize how relentless it would be. You don’t just have to be the provider—you’ve got to be the chef, the nurse, the chauffeur, the teacher… Sometimes I feel like I have half a dozen jobs, all rolled into one.”

I can tell he’s not really complaining—just being honest. “I guess you don’t get much time to yourself.”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Not really. It’s rewarding, don’t get me wrong.

Watching Chloe grow up… nothing compares.

But it’s just so… exhausting. Sometimes I feel like I’m just keeping my head above water, making sure the right sports gear is in the right bag on the right day and that there’s a homemade healthy lunch that won’t get traded for a pack of peanut M&M’s.

All while juggling laundry that somehow keeps multiplying and trying to figure out why certain foods are suddenly unacceptable when they were her favorite last week. ”

I laugh, imagining the chaos of it all unfold. “I don’t know how you do it. Parenting sounds like the hardest—and most underappreciated—job in the world.”

Dan glances at me, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grateful smile.

“Yeah. It kind of is. You don’t really understand it until you’re in it.

Before Chloe, I thought I knew what hard work was.

But it’s different when it’s your kid. There’s no clocking out.

No quitting time. You just have to make it work because they’re counting on you. ”

He pauses, almost like he’s catching himself before he says too much. I see it in his eyes—the fierce love, the unwavering commitment, but also that gnawing doubt that he’s not doing enough. I know the feeling. Different context, same fear.

“Sounds like you’re doing an amazing job,” I say softly, meaning it. “She’s happy. That says a lot.”

Dan glances over at me, his expression caught between surprise and something almost vulnerable. He doesn’t say anything, just nods, and the weight in the air softens just a little.

There’s a comfortable silence, just the rhythmic lapping of the waves filling the space. The air is cool, but not uncomfortably so under the heavy blanket, and for the first time in a long while, I feel… still. Not rushing to the next thing, not thinking three steps ahead. Just here.

Dan takes a sip of his drink, then tilts his head slightly. “What about you?”

I glance at him. “What about me?”

Dan takes a sip of his drink, then tilts his head slightly. “So, what do you do, Rachel?”

I glance over at him. “I’m in PR. Public relations.”

He nods slowly, like he’s turning the phrase over in his mind. “So you’re the person who makes things look good even when they’re falling apart?”

“Pretty much,” I say. “I tell stories for a living. Spin chaos into narrative. Make people and companies look polished, relatable, reliable—even when they’re anything but.”

Dan raises an eyebrow. “Sounds intense.”

“It can be.” I swirl my drink, watching the ice clink against the glass. “But it’s also kind of addictive. You get to shape perception. Influence the conversation. It’s like being the wizard behind the curtain.”

“And you enjoy that?”

I nod. “Most days. There’s something satisfying about taking a mess and turning it into something meaningful.”

Dan studies me for a moment, then gestures vaguely with his glass. “So is that what you always wanted to do? Be a wizard behind the curtain?”

I huff a laugh. “Not exactly. I didn’t even know PR was a real job until I was halfway through college.”

He grins. “Then what did younger Rachel want to be?”

“Honestly?” I pause, considering. “I just wanted… more.”

“More?”

“Yeah.” I roll the glass between my palms, the condensation slick under my fingers.

“More than what my mom had. More than what I grew up with. It was just me, my mom, and my sister. No big tragedy or anything—we just didn’t have much.

Mom was a teacher, but she took on extra work too.

We lived paycheck to paycheck. And I saw how hard it was for her, how she always looked tired. Always had to fight for everything.”

Dan’s expression softens.

“I used to lie awake at night promising myself I’d never live like that. That I’d build something solid, something stable. So yeah… I guess I’ve always been driven. Ambitious. Whatever you want to call it.”

He nods, quiet for a moment. “Makes sense now.”

“What does?”

He shrugs. “You’ve got this… presence. Like you’re always in motion, even when you’re standing still.”

I let out a quiet laugh. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or a warning.”

“It’s a compliment,” he says, smiling. “It’s… impressive.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the comfortable kind. I glance back at the house, the lights from within casting a soft pool of yellow on the decking, the sky overhead already inky with night.

I hesitate, then decide to ask what’s been on my mind since we first met. “So… have you always worked at the motel?”

Dan hesitates mid-sip, like the question catches him off guard. He puts his cup down carefully on the table before finally meeting my gaze.

“At the motel?”

I nod.

He lets out a snort of amusement, shaking his head. “No. I just help out when my brother needs me. James, I guess you would have met him when you checked in. He’s the one who actually runs it. Took over when our dad passed.”

There’s something in the way he says it—just a little too casual, a slight weight in his tone that makes me pause.

“So, it was your dad’s business?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, raking a hand through his hair. “Not really my thing, but my brother wanted to keep it going.”

I hesitate before asking, “Were you close?”

His jaw tightens for just a second before he shrugs. “Not really.”

His voice is light, but I know enough about deflection to recognize it when I hear it.

“I wouldn’t know,” I admit after a moment. “About having a bad relationship with a dad.” I exhale. “I never met mine.”

Dan looks at me then, something unreadable flickering across his face, like he wasn’t expecting that.

There’s a silence—not awkward, just heavy. Like we’re both working through something unspoken in real time.

I glance toward the staircase. And suddenly, things start clicking into place.

The way Dan rushed to help that woman at the diner without hesitation, the way he crouched down to talk to her, making sure she was okay before stepping back.

The way he always seems so attuned to Chloe, so present in her world.

It’s not just because she’s his daughter.

“You dote on her,” I say softly, the realization settling in as I speak. “Not just because she’s your daughter. But because maybe you’re trying to do things differently.”

Dan exhales. “Maybe.” He gives me a small, wry smile. “Or maybe I just got lucky and ended up with a kid worth doting on.”

I smile at that, but don’t push.

Instead, I shift the conversation. “So, if you aren’t always at the motel, what do you do?”

Dan leans back. “I used to work in television.”

That gets my attention. I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He smirks, but there’s something distant about it. “But that was a long time ago.”

“Do you miss it?” I ask, tilting my head.

Dan considers the question. “The money? Sure. But not the long hours. Or the time away from home. To be honest, acting feels like a lifetime ago. Sometimes I wonder if it even really happened, or if it’s just this weird story I used to tell.”

I watch him for a second, like there’s something unsaid just behind his smile. He says it so casually like it doesn’t matter anymore. But there’s something in the way his eyes linger on the wall, something wistful in his voice that he probably doesn’t even hear.

And I get it. I really do.

There’s a part of me that wants to press, ask more, prod a little at that closed door—but I don’t. Not yet.

Still, I can’t help the thought that slips in, uninvited.

He was someone once. Not just someone’s dad, or someone’s husband, or someone’s motel handyman. He was… bigger. Famous and successful, sure, but there was a version of him that stood in front of a camera or a crowd and believed—truly believed—that he had something to give.

I wonder what it would take to bring that version of him back.

He exhales, his gaze flicking back toward me. “And anyway, I have Chloe now. It’s just not a life that’s compatible with kids.”

I nod slowly, letting that sink in.

I’ve spent my whole life chasing the next big thing—success, recognition, my career-defining moment. Dan, it seems, has spent his, making sure he doesn’t repeat the past.

A glance at my watch makes me blink. Somehow, the night has slipped away without me noticing.

The warmth of Dan’s company, the quiet of the waterfront, the easy rhythm of conversation—it all lulled me into a space I’m not used to.

One where I wasn’t checking my phone, thinking about my next move, or strategizing my career path.

But reality nudges in. I should go.

I clear my throat, stretching slightly. “I should probably head out.”

“Yeah, it’s late.” He lifts the blanket from his legs and gets up. “You want me to drive you back to the motel?”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that. Chloe’s in bed, it’s too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble.” He shrugs. “Or I could just call you a cab.”

I let out a small laugh. “That works too.”

We go back inside, and while he taps the app on his phone, I glance toward the staircase. The house is quiet now, the kind of deep stillness that comes when the world outside is sleeping. I can’t remember the last time I spent an evening like this—no work emails, no client calls, just… talking.

Dan slides his phone into his pocket. “It’ll be here in about eight minutes.”

I nod, suddenly feeling like I should say something. Acknowledge something.

“I’ll wait outside with you,” he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And for some reason, I don’t argue.