Updated Nov 2, 2025 • ~11 min read
The coffee shop meeting never happened.
Corporate called an emergency meeting for Sunday morning, and Garrett had to cancel. His text was apologetic but brief, and Layla tried not to feel disappointed.
So when her events department head told her Monday morning that she’d been requested to attend a site visit at their sister property, Layla was surprised.
“The Coastal Haven?” Layla asked. “Why do they need an events manager from here?”
“Corporate wants cross-training between properties. You’ll shadow their events team for the day, learn their systems.” Her boss shrugged. “It’s about a three-hour drive north. You’ll leave this morning, spend the day there, drive back tonight.”
“Who else is going?”
“Just you and Director Hawthorne. He’s doing a property inspection, so it makes sense to carpool.”
Layla’s stomach dropped. “Mr. Hawthorne and I are driving together? For three hours?”
“Is that a problem?”
Yes, Layla wanted to say. That’s six hours alone in a car with the man I’m trying not to be in love with.
“No problem,” she said instead. “What time do we leave?”
Garrett was waiting by his car at eight AM, dressed in slacks and a button-down, no tie, sunglasses pushed up on his head. He looked younger like this, more relaxed, and Layla’s heart did something complicated in her chest.
“Morning,” he said, opening the passenger door for her. “Ready for a long drive?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The first twenty minutes were painfully awkward. They made stilted conversation about the weather, about traffic, about anything that wasn’t the six thousand unspoken things hanging between them.
Then Garrett merged onto the highway, and something in him relaxed.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said quietly. “Having to cancel our coffee.”
“It’s fine. Work happens.”
“It does. But I meant what I said Saturday night. We need to talk. Really talk.” He glanced at her. “Maybe this is actually perfect. We have time, privacy, no one else around.”
“You want to have that conversation while driving seventy miles an hour on the freeway?”
“Better than having it at the resort where anyone could overhear.” He had a point. “Unless you’d rather wait?”
Layla considered. Three hours was a long time to sit in charged silence. And maybe the movement, the distraction of driving, would make it easier to be honest.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s talk.”
Garrett nodded, fingers flexing on the wheel. “I’ll start. I’ve been handling this whole situation terribly.”
“That’s your opening?”
“It’s the truth.” He exhaled slowly. “I’ve been pushing you away while simultaneously being unable to stay away. I’ve been jealous and possessive about someone I keep insisting I can’t be with. I’ve been—”
“Human,” Layla finished. “You keep forgetting you’re allowed to be human.”
“Not when it comes to you. Not when I’m supposed to be better than this.” He was quiet for a moment. “My ex-wife used to say I lived in my head too much. That I overthought everything until I talked myself out of good things.”
It was the first time he’d volunteered information about his marriage without Layla asking.
“What happened?” she asked gently. “With your marriage?”
Garrett was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then:
“I worked too much. She wanted more time, more attention, more of me. And I kept thinking if I could just make director, just get the promotion, just achieve the next goal—then I’d have time for everything else. But there was always another goal.” His voice was flat, matter-of-fact. “By the time I looked up from my career, she’d already checked out of the marriage. The divorce was just making official what had ended months before.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was my fault. I prioritized everything except the one person I’d promised to prioritize above all else.” He glanced at her. “That’s why I keep pushing you away. Because I already know how this ends. I’ll disappoint you. I’ll choose work over you. I’ll—”
“You don’t know that.”
“History tends to repeat itself.”
“Not if you learn from it.” Layla shifted in her seat to face him better. “You’re so convinced you’re going to fail that you won’t even try. That’s not protecting me—that’s protecting yourself.”
The words landed hard. Garrett’s hands tightened on the wheel.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “Probably. But the risk—”
“Is the same risk everyone takes when they care about someone. There’s no guarantee, Garrett. No one gets a promise that they won’t mess it up or get hurt or have their heart broken. That’s what makes it worth it.”
“Is it? Worth it?”
“I think so.” She watched his profile, the tight set of his jaw, the way sunlight caught the silver in his hair. “Don’t you?”
He was quiet for another long moment.
Then, without warning, he smiled—a real smile, warm and genuine.
“What?” Layla asked.
“You. You’re very sure of yourself for twenty-four.”
“Is that your polite way of saying I’m naive?”
“No. It’s my way of saying you’re braver than I am.” He glanced at her again, and something in his expression made her breath catch. “You know what you want and you’re not afraid to go after it. Meanwhile I’m forty-two and still too scared to—”
He cut himself off, but Layla finished the sentence in her head.
Too scared to try.
The conversation drifted after that to easier topics. Garrett asked about her college experience, and she told him about her roommate disasters and her failed attempt to join the hospitality club before realizing she hated networking events.
“You?” she asked. “Hated networking?”
“Still do. All that forced small talk and fake smiling.” She shuddered. “Give me actual problems to solve any day.”
“You’re good at it though. The networking, I mean. I’ve seen you work events.”
“That’s different. That’s my job. When it’s work, I can put on the professional mask and make it happen.” She shrugged. “But actual social networking? Kill me now.”
Garrett laughed—a real, genuine laugh—and the sound filled the car with warmth.
“I’m the same way,” he admitted. “Give me a spreadsheet over a cocktail party any day.”
“The divorce was partly my ex’s complaint. I’m terrible at the social circuit, all the schmoozing and political posturing that comes with climbing the hospitality ladder.”
They traded stories—disasters from events they’d managed, difficult guests, the weird requests they’d gotten over the years. Layla told him about the wedding where the groom’s ex showed up to object, and Garrett countered with a corporate retreat where a CEO threw a computer through a window.
An hour into the drive, Garrett’s phone connected to the car’s bluetooth and music started playing—classic rock, the kind her dad listened to.
“Sorry,” he said, reaching to change it. “I can—”
“No, leave it. I like this song.”
It was Fleetwood Mac, “Dreams,” and they both knew the words. Layla started humming along, and Garrett shot her an amused look.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. It’s just—cute.”
“Cute?”
“You. Humming. Being happy.” His expression softened. “I like seeing you happy.”
Something warm bloomed in Layla’s chest. “I like seeing you relaxed. You’re different outside the resort.”
“How so?”
“Less guarded. More yourself.” She gestured at the radio. “The Garrett at work would never admit to listening to Fleetwood Mac.”
“The Garrett at work has an image to maintain.”
“And this Garrett?”
He glanced at her, and the look in his eyes was unguarded, honest. “This Garrett is just trying to enjoy a drive with someone who makes him remember why life is supposed to be more than work and obligations.”
The words hung between them, loaded with meaning.
The next song came on—something upbeat and ridiculous from the eighties—and Layla laughed when Garrett started singing along without thinking.
“You know all the words to this?” she asked, delighted.
He looked embarrassed. “It was popular when I was in college. I might have had a phase.”
“Please tell me there are pictures.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on. I bet you had great hair.”
“I had terrible hair. Everyone in the eighties had terrible hair.” But he was grinning, and Layla couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him smile this much.
They stopped for coffee about halfway through the drive, at a little roadside place that looked like it hadn’t been updated since 1975. They sat in a cracked vinyl booth, drinking surprisingly good coffee, and Garrett told her about growing up in a small town three hours from here.
“I couldn’t wait to leave,” he admitted. “It felt so limiting, everyone knowing everyone’s business. I wanted the city, wanted opportunity.”
“Do you ever go back?”
“Not often. My parents passed away a few years ago. There’s not much there for me now.” He traced patterns on the worn table. “Sometimes I miss it though. The simplicity of it. The way life moved slower.”
“You could have that again. If you wanted.”
“Could I?” He looked at her. “I’m not sure I remember how to slow down.”
“Maybe you just need the right person to slow down with.”
The words were out before she could stop them, too honest, too revealing. Garrett’s eyes darkened, and for a moment Layla thought he might reach across the table, might touch her, might say something real.
Instead, he stood abruptly. “We should get back on the road. Don’t want to be late.”
The walls were back up, but not as high as before.
Progress, Layla thought.
The last hour of the drive was quieter, more contemplative. Garrett told her about his goals for the Oceanview Grande, about wanting to expand their event capabilities, about plans for renovation.
“I’d want your input,” he said. “On the events expansion. You have good instincts for what works.”
“You’re asking my opinion?”
“I’m asking my extremely competent events manager for her professional expertise.” He smiled slightly. “That’s allowed, isn’t it?”
“It is. I just—I didn’t think you saw me that way.”
“As competent?”
“As professional. Sometimes I feel like all you see is—” She gestured vaguely between them. “This. The complication.”
Garrett was quiet for a long moment.
“I see everything,” he said finally. “I see how brilliant you are at your job, how kind you are to staff members, how you solve problems before they become disasters. I see your work ethic and your creativity and your talent.” He paused. “I also see how beautiful you are when you laugh. How your eyes light up when you’re excited about something. How you bite your lip when you’re thinking.” Another pause. “I see all of it, Layla. That’s the problem. I can’t separate the professional from the personal anymore.”
Her breath caught. “Garrett—”
“We’re here.”
The Coastal Haven appeared ahead of them, another luxury resort nestled against the shoreline. The moment was broken, but something had shifted during that drive.
They’d talked. Really talked.
And for the first time, Layla felt like maybe—just maybe—they were finally on the same page.
The visit to the Coastal Haven was professional and productive. Layla shadowed their events team, took notes, asked questions. Garrett did his inspection, met with their director, reviewed operations.
They barely saw each other for six hours.
But when it was time to leave, and they got back in the car for the return drive, something was different.
Easier.
“Learn anything useful?” Garrett asked, pulling out of the parking lot.
“Tons. Their event coordinator has some great ideas about vendor management. And I think we could implement their scheduling system at our property.”
“Good. Write up a proposal and send it to me.”
“Will do, boss.”
“I’m not your boss anymore.”
“Force of habit.”
They drove in comfortable silence for a while, watching the sunset paint the sky in oranges and purples.
“Thank you,” Garrett said eventually.
“For what?”
“For today. For the conversation this morning. For reminding me that there’s more to life than work and fear.”
Layla reached out without thinking, placing her hand over his on the gearshift. He startled at the contact but didn’t pull away.
“You’re welcome,” she said softly.
They drove like that for miles—hands touching, music playing softly, both of them quiet and content.
It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t a solution to all their problems.
But it was something.
And for now, that was enough.
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