Chapter 12
Lisa
By five thirty on Sunday evening, I have already changed my outfit three times.
This is ridiculous. It’s dinner. With Blake. A normal dinner.
With a man who loaned me his car, who hijacked a lobby screen to ask me out, and who somehow convinced me he deserved a chance, even though he has a reputation. A reputation of being someone I should not trust, and yet, here we are.
Totally normal.
I stare at myself in the mirror again.
The green dress was the right choice. Gwen and Tess were correct. I hate that they were correct, but they were. It falls exactly right at my waist, the fabric soft enough to move with me, elegant without looking like I tried too hard. Which I absolutely did.
I adjust my earrings again. Then my hair. Then my lipstick. Then…
My phone buzzes.
BLAKE: downstairs
Of course, he’s early. Of course he is. This man is apparently determined to rewrite every assumption I’ve ever had about him.
I take one last look at myself.
“You’re fine,” I tell my reflection.
Then I grab my clutch and head downstairs before I change my mind.
Blake is standing next to his car when I step outside. His car. The one he lent me. Which is still a completely unreasonable thing to do. He looks up the second the door opens. And then he just… stops moving. Like someone pressed pause on him. For a second, neither of us says anything.
“You’re staring,” I say.
“I am.”
“That’s not subtle.”
“I’m not trying to be subtle.”
That does not help. He steps closer, slower this time, like he’s giving me room to change my mind if I want to.
“You look incredible,” he says.
My cheeks warm immediately.
“Thank you.”
He gestures toward the car door. “May I?”
“Yes.”
He opens it for me like this is something he does all the time.
“Gentleman point number one,” he says as I slide inside
“You’re keeping score of yourself?”
“Always.”
The drive to the restaurant is maybe five minutes, mainly on the highway, and it’s enough to calm my nerves.
“I’m so hungry,” I tell Blake as soon as we get out of the car.
“Good,” he smiles as he opens the door for me.
The restaurant is quiet in the best possible way. Low lighting. Soft music. White tablecloths that make me sit straighter without meaning to.
Blake pulls out my chair before I even realize what he’s doing.
“Gentleman point number two,” he says.
“I did not agree to a scoring system.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I did not.”
“You set the rules. I’m winning.”
I laugh before I can stop myself.
“That is not how this works,” I tell him.
“That’s exactly how this works.”
He waits until I’m seated before sitting across from me. There’s a moment where neither of us reaches for the menu, which is strange. Comfortable. Unexpected.
“You’re nervous,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“You adjusted your earrings four times.”
“You noticed that?”
“I notice everything about you.”
That should be illegal.
“I’m not nervous,” I repeat.
“You are.”
“You’re smug.”
“I am.”
I smile despite myself.
Dinner starts easily. Too easily. Which feels suspicious. We order wine. He lets me choose. He doesn’t comment when I hesitate over the price.
He just says quietly, “Get anything you want.”
Another gentleman point.
“So,” he says once the waiter leaves, leaning back slightly. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
“That feels dangerous.”
“Good.”
I consider him.
“You first,” I suggest.
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
He sighs dramatically.
“Fine. I once broke my arm trying to impress a girl by jumping off a dock.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
“Tragic,” I laugh.
“She dated my friend.”
“That’s worse.”
He smiles.
“Your turn.”
I swirl my glass.
“I have always wanted a tattoo,” I admit while I look at his arms.
“A tattoo?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“You’ll figure it out,” he says confidently.
“Do you want any new ones?” I ask as I observe his tattooed arms.
“I live in the moment. I’m sure I’ll get another one when the time is right,” Blake smiles. “What are you thinking of getting?”
“Maybe something to symbolize my past,” I tell him, and he nods.
“Something about figure skating?” he asks, and I shake my head. “You were amazing,” he says.
“I was alright.”
“Silver at nationals isn’t just alright.”
“I didn’t like who I was becoming.”
He nods slowly, like that makes perfect sense. He doesn’t push, which makes me want to keep talking.
“I liked the ice,” I say quietly. “I didn’t like everything around it.”
“That’s fair.”
Halfway through dinner, he makes me laugh so hard I nearly spill my wine.
“It was not a raccoon,” I insist.
“You said it hissed at you.”
“It did.”
“That’s raccoon behavior.”
“It was a cat,” I say as I cross my arms.
“That is not cat behavior.”
“It was a very rude cat.”
“I would’ve defended you,” he grins.
“You would’ve laughed.”
“I would’ve laughed first,” he admits.
“At least you’re honest.”
“Always with you.”
That lands.
Soft.
Serious.
Real.
I take a sip of wine to recover.
“Cocktails?” he asks when dinner ends.
“Yes,” I say before I can overthink it.
“Excellent.”
He offers his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I hesitate for half a second. Then take it.
The cocktail bar is quieter than the restaurant. Velvet booths. Low amber lighting. Music soft enough that conversation feels private.
Blake slides into the seat across from me instead of beside me. Which I notice immediately. Which I appreciate more than I expected.
“Gentleman point number three,” I say.
“What did I do?”
“You didn’t sit next to me.”
“I’m pacing myself.”
“That’s suspicious,” I smile.
“I’m strategic.”
“They have so many options here,” I say as I look at the menu. There are at least forty cocktails on here, and I don’t know where to start.
“Can I order one for you?” Blake asks, and without even realizing, I immediately agree.
The bartender brings our drinks only a few minutes later. Mine is citrus and sparkling and stronger than it tastes. Blake watches me take the first sip.
“Well?”
“It’s good. You picked well.”
“I pay attention.”
There it is again. That sentence.
“You’re different tonight,” he says softly.
“How?”
“Less ready to run.”
“I didn’t run before.”
“You did.”
“That was strategic retreat.”
“That was panic.”
I laugh.
“Maybe.”
“I like this version better.”
“This version?”
“The one that stays.”
Something warm spreads through my chest.
“That sounds like pressure,” I say softly.
“It’s not.”
“It sounds like it.”
“It’s appreciation.”
That’s worse because appreciation is harder to argue with.
We leave the bar about an hour later, and in that time, I have learned that Blake is a total chemistry nerd. He has also told me he loves ancient Egypt and is a big fan of tacos. Outside, the air is cool and quiet. Chicago at night always feels softer somehow.
Blake walks beside me instead of ahead. Not leading and not hovering. Just there.
“Did I pass?” he asks.
“Pass what?”
“The gentleman test.”
I consider him.
“You opened doors.”
“Yes.”
“You let me choose the wine.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t flirt with anyone else.”
“I was busy.”
“You didn’t disappear halfway through the night.”
“I considered it.”
“You did not.”
“I did not.”
I smile.
“You passed.”
He exhales like that matters more than he expected it to.
“Good.”
We turn the corner toward the street where he parked the car. And that’s when I see him.
At first, I don’t recognize him. I only see a shape near the sidewalk. A familiar stance. Then he steps forward into the light. James. Everything inside me goes cold.
“Well,” he says slowly. “That was fast.”
Blake looks between us.
“You know him?” he asks, surprised.
I can’t answer immediately. James smiles like this is funny.
“Used to,” I sigh.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” James says to me. My hands curl instinctively at my sides. “How have you been, Blake?” he asks him, and though I know the ice hockey world is small, I didn’t think there was a chance they would know each other.
“What are you doing in Chicago?” I ask. His eyes flick to me.
“Business,” he says. “Apparently, I’m not the only one making new friends.”
Blake steps closer beside me. Not touching, closer.
“You ok?” he asks softly.
I nod automatically. I am not ok. James watches the movement.
“Didn’t think you were the type,” he continues casually.
“That’s enough,” Blake says. His voice is calm. Steady. Not aggressive but firm. James raises an eyebrow.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” James asks.
“Leave,” Blake tells him in a darker tone.
There’s a long pause. James studies him. Then me. Then smiles again like he’s already decided something.
“Enjoy your night,” he says.
He turns and walks away, just like that. But the damage is done. My hands are shaking. Blake notices immediately.
“Lisa,” he says quietly.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
I exhale slowly.
“He’s someone I used to know.”
Blake watches me carefully. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask questions. Instead, he steps slightly closer again. Not crowding. Just there.
“Do you want to go home?” he asks.
I nod.
“Yes.”
The drive back is quieter. Not uncomfortable. Just thoughtful. Blake doesn’t fill the silence. He lets it sit. Which somehow makes it easier.
When we stop outside my building, neither of us moves right away.
“I had a really good time,” I say finally.
“I know.”
“You’re very confident,” I laugh.
“You told me already.”
“I’m confirming.”
“I had a really good time too,” he says quietly.
For a second, I think he’s going to ask about James again. He doesn’t. Instead, he opens my door. Walks me to the entrance. Stops just close enough. Giving me space. Waiting.
Gentleman point number four. Which is unfair. Because now I’m the one stepping closer.
I kiss him on the cheek. Soft. Careful. Deliberate. When I pull back, he’s smiling.
“I’ll see you soon?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say.
And this time, I mean it.