27. Macey
MACEY
The Burrow Bitches
Macey: Guess who’s attending her first press event as Macey’s Miles?
Britney: hmm i don’t know, could it be chicago’s newest it girl, macey?
Kira: You’re going to kill it!
Ariadne: I can’t wait until you’re rich and famous
I had never been so nervous to do something I’d done a million times before.
Tonight was the media event for the opening of a new hotel in Chicago, The Astor Royale, and this was my very first press invite as part of Macey’s Miles . Recent changes in my life were all sparked by covering a resort opening in Aruba, so needless to say, there was a niche here for the taking.
The nerve-wracking part was covering the event as part of my new blog. What if someone asked too many questions about why I left Roamer’s Digest ? What if they thought I couldn’t do it on my own? What if someone laughed ?
Ugh. I was convinced that no matter how successful you were, there would always be moments of insecurity.
I hoped that if I walked into The Astor Royale with confidence, they might not even notice I was an experienced professional turned newbie blogger.
To help blend in, I wore an all-black dress, silky and smooth.
I took out my braid and let the soft waves flow down around my face and down my back.
A little bit of dark makeup and red lipstick rounded out the look of someone who belonged.
The moon hung low in the sky just over the new hotel. Its grand facade gleamed under the streetlights, and the sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed faintly from the lobby.
As I approached the front entrance, I saw the impeccably dressed doormen greeting guests, their sharp eyes scanning the crowd. One large man held a clipboard and pen, checking names of people as they entered. I froze.
What if there was a mistake? What if my name wasn’t on the list? What if I had to do the humiliating walk of shame home, a nobody who dared to believe she could make it in this world?
My feet itched to turn back. A quiet, self-preserving part of me whispered that this wasn’t my scene—that I was out of my depth, playing pretend in a space that didn’t belong to me.
I imagined retreating to my apartment, curling up with a pint of ice cream, numbing the sting of failure with reruns of trashy reality shows.
But then I saw him.
Kyle.
The oak tree beside me provided just enough shadow to keep me hidden, but I still felt like a total coward, lurking there as I tracked his every move .
Kyle strolled past the bouncer without so much as a pause, slipping into the hotel like he owned the place.
Was I really going to stand in the shadows and let him —of all people—make me feel small?
Absolutely not.
Straightening my posture, I took a deep breath and marched toward the entrance, willing my face into one of calm confidence.
The doorman with the clipboard gave me a polite but expectant look. “Name?”
“Macey Monroe,” I said, steady and sure.
He ran a finger down the list, then handed me a badge. “You’re all set. Enjoy your evening, Ms. Monroe.”
That was it?
I exhaled, the tension uncoiling from my shoulders as I stepped through the grand double doors. Inside, the air hummed with soft jazz and the clinking of champagne glasses. Guests in designer outfits moved through the lobby, their conversations a blur of laughter and murmured business deals.
I had been bracing for rejection, for some kind of confirmation that I didn’t belong here. But it hadn’t come.
Because I did belong.
With a small, triumphant smile, I adjusted the strap of my bag, squared my shoulders, and stepped fully into the golden glow of the hotel.
I took a slow breath, letting my eyes sweep over the space.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline, the city lights twinkling like scattered diamonds.
A sprawling floral arrangement sat in the center of the lobby, a statement piece in soft blush and ivory, no doubt strategically placed for photo ops.
Servers in crisp white jackets glided through the crowd, balancing trays of bubbling champagne and delicate hors d’oeuvres .
I moved carefully, weaving through clusters of well-dressed guests. Every step felt like a tiny act of rebellion, a silent declaration that I belonged here just as much as the PR executives, journalists, and influencers who seemed to navigate the room with effortless ease.
It felt like I was living in my future.
And then I crashed into a man’s side.
Oh, no . My body immediately recognized the forearm. A little pathetic that I could recognize someone from their forearm alone, but well. This was where I was in life.
“Macey?” Noah’s voice was laced with confusion as his gaze locked onto me.
I instinctively took a step back, the soft ding of the elevator doors shutting behind me like a dramatic exclamation point to my predicament. “What are you doing here?”
He blinked, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. “I was hoping to see you here, actually.”
“Really?” I hesitated, already feeling the heat rise to my face.
Noah shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, his shoulders shifting like he wasn’t entirely sure how to stand. “Yeah. I’ve really enjoyed your last few blog posts, and I saw you share something about tonight, so I put two and two together.”
Hearing that sent a rush of emotions crashing into me—excitement, trepidation, the ache of missing him.
And then there was the simple fact that he looked good .
The kind of good that made my stomach tighten unfairly, like my body had decided to betray me entirely.
His black suit was perfectly tailored, skimming his frame in all the right ways.
The top button of his crisp white dress shirt was undone, just enough to hint at the casual confidence he carried so well.
And his hair was slightly tousled, giving him the image of someone walking the line between polished and reckless .
Not fair.
“If you’re interested,” he said, “I can point out some important people to talk to.” He exhaled. “But no pressure.”
I smiled, despite my heart kicking up. “I am interested.”
Okay. Okay. This would be fine. Just a guy helping his ex-fake-girlfriend crush a press event in a hotel lobby. Nothing to see here, folks.
Noah settled himself against the wall next to me, a polite distance away so no part of us touched. Disappointment flickered inside me before I could chase it away.
“So that guy”—he pointed to a bald man dressed in Armani—“is the CEO of the hotel chain. Big talker, you’ll get good quotes from him. And she”—he signaled toward the bar where a woman in a blood red dress was stirring a cocktail, “is the PR lead, Lina. She’s got a lot of stories about the hotel.”
“Thank you,” I said. We both continued to stand there for a few minutes, watching the crowd in front of us like a wave, ebbing and flowing. “I appreciate the help.”
The more I thought about Noah, the more I realized how he’d always been there.
Maybe not initially there for me but present regardless.
I realized he’d continue to be there, even if he dropped off the face of social media forever.
It was like an invisible, unbreakable string ran between us, stretching vast distances and tightening in the moments that mattered most.
“Of course,” he said. “I just wanted you to know that even though I’m always here to help, I don’t want you to feel like I’m controlling you or forcing you to do something.
You were right. I went overboard before, and I’m sorry I handled the situation so badly.
All I want to give you now is honesty and direction. ”
My breath hitched.
“Noah, I?—”
“Oh, Lina’s free.” He gave my shoulders a gentle nudge. “Go talk to her. ”
“But—”
“Macey, you came here for a reason. Don’t let me get in the way of your dreams.”
You’re not, I wanted to scream. Whatever dream I have, you’re in it.
The buzz of the lights overhead did nothing to combat the growing feeling of unreality that I carried with me toward the bar.
I turned my head over my shoulder once and was met with an encouraging wink from Noah.
I stared for a minute, gathering up all the details, like the exact shade of green of his button-down shirt and the casual way he leaned against the wall.
“Hi,” I introduced myself to the grinning PR lead. “I’m Macey.”
Lina, with cascading dark brown hair and the kindest gray eyes, shook my hand. “I know who you are,” she said. “And what you’re doing here tonight.”
Nausea swam in my stomach.
“You and Noah are showing off as the power couple of the town.” Lina laughed. “And I can only hope you write something amazing about tonight.”
Immediately, my spiraling seized, only to be replaced by a different wave of panic. She doesn’t know that Noah and I aren’t together anymore. Not that we were ever together. Ugh. I don’t even know anymore.
How should I play this?
Noah, with his bright green eyes and relentless smile, stared at us. I made eye contact with him yet again and he mouthed, “You got this.”
“Yeah, we’re pretty powerful,” I said, then smoothly added, “And speaking of writing, did you know I’ve started my own blog? ”
“Oh my gosh!” Lina’s hand flew to her mouth. “Tell me everything.”
So I did. Lina told me everything about the hotel too—history, plans for the future, fun facts. When our conversation came to a lull, I handed her a business card.
“Good for you, Macey,” she said. “I hope we can collaborate again.”
I thanked her and left, resisting the urge to fist-bump toward the sky.
Noah waited expectedly by the wall, having not moved an inch during the time I was gone. “How did it go?”
“Amazing.” I didn’t mention the power couple comment. “Thanks for the encouragement.”
“It was all you, Scribbles.”
“I didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” I said, hoping he could hear the sincerity in my voice.
“I know,” Noah replied, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips as if he were in on some private joke. “I guess that makes me the stalker, then.”
I tilted my head back against the wall we were both leaning on, mirroring his easy posture. “I guess we both are.”
The comfortable silence between us was brief before I said, “I saw your post about taking a break for the summer. You were so open with everyone. I like that you’re going to see what happens when you get back, instead of making empty promises.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice lighter than I remembered it. “I finally summoned the courage to be honest with my audience.” His gaze softened as it settled on me. “Thanks to you.”
Was it getting warm in here, or was that just me?
“What’s happening with school?” I asked, desperate for a topic change to distract me from the way my pulse had started racing .
He tucked his hands into his pockets, the sheepishness returning. “I’ll be attending the University of Illinois Chicago this fall.”
My jaw dropped, and before I could stop myself, I pushed off the wall like it had burned me. “No way!” Forget decorum—this was definitely hug territory.
Wrapping my arms around his middle, his surprised laugh vibrated against me. “I’m so proud of you,” I said, squeezing just a little tighter.
Arms wrapped around me in turn. Noah’s hugs were all-encompassing. Like I could bury myself here and stay safe forever. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you, too.”
“It’s worth everything.”
After a minute, we both awkwardly stepped back.
Where did this leave us?
Ex-colleagues who ran into each other every once in a while?
Ex-friends who played nice when forced to?
Ex-lovers who were awkward all the time?
Everything was ex, ex, ex. It didn’t have to be.
“I accept your apology,” I said. “I know you’ve only had good intentions when attempting to help me.”
He grinned. “Yes, but I’ll plan to get your explicit approval on help in the future.”
“Sounds like a deal.”
When Noah, with his arms still encircling my waist, asked, “Do you want to go out for real sometime?”, I thought I melted. Just a little. Maybe we could get on the same page again. A page of open communication and honesty.
“Yes,” I answered.
There was a lot still to figure out, but we could at least start with one real date.