Chapter 16 Lennox
LENNOX
The town surrounding The Three Bears was quaint, with cobblestone streets, family-owned shops, and a charm that felt worlds away from the urban rush of Pittsburgh.
I’d promised Naima a real date, something outside of the retreat’s bubble, and this town—with its rustic beauty and quiet vibe—was perfect.
We parked near a bistro with ivy creeping up red brick walls and fairy lights twinkling under the eaves.
The sign, hand-painted and a little worn, read Sullivan’s Nest. Inside, the space was intimate—tables draped in cream linens, candles flickering, and the soft strum of a guitarist in the corner.
The air smelled of rosemary and fresh bread, warm and inviting.
Naima slipped her arm through mine as the hostess led us to a corner table by the window. Her warmth was a comfort, and as we sat, I found myself reaching for her hand. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers laced with mine, and a soft smile played on her lips.
“This place is beautiful,” she murmured, her eyes bright as she looked around. “I’ve walked by a few times, but I never thought to come in. It always seemed… special. Like the kind of place you share with someone important.”
“Then I’m glad you’re here with me.”
Her gaze softened, and I felt a weight settle in my chest. It was love. It had to be. The kind that swelled in the quiet moments, that sat heavy on your tongue because saying it aloud would make it too real.
But how could I love her when I was lying to her every single day?
The guilt was a hard edge, slicing through the tenderness of the moment.
I had never shared so much of myself with anyone before—not even with past girlfriends.
With Naima, I’d told her about my childhood, about my brothers Micah and Cairo and how Micah had always been the golden boy, and Cairo the funny charismatic one, while I was the one finding trouble.
I’d told her about my mom, and how beautiful she was.
How kind and forgiving. She knew about my father, but only the version of him that was a distant, successful man—not the controlling force sending me here to betray her.
And Naima had shared too. She’d told me about her family, about the fear of failing them when she took on the retreat.
She told me about her late grandmother’s wisdom and how she’d whisper prayers over the amethyst crystal around her neck.
She’d spoken of lost love, of heartbreak, and of the dreams she held close to her chest, too fragile to expose to the world.
It made what we had real—something I couldn’t dismiss as just an assignment. But that was exactly what it was supposed to be.
We ordered, sharing small plates that encouraged us to lean in close, to brush fingers as we reached for bites of crusty bread and tender vegetables.
The conversation flowed easily—soft, intimate, like we were the only two people in the world.
I asked about her favorite childhood memories, and she painted pictures of summer afternoons running barefoot through her grandmother’s garden and Sunday dinners filled with laughter and love.
Her shy smile hit me like a punch in the gut because with it came the realization that something had to give. I was only supposed to be here temporarily. If I tried to stay beyond the one-month agreement, my father would bust my deceit wide open before I’d have a chance to explain.
We finished dinner, the conversation turning light again as we shared a chocolate torte that melted on our tongues. She laughed when I smeared a bit of cream on her nose, and I felt the world narrow to just us—our quiet bubble in the candlelit corner of Sullivan’s Nest.
Her laughter was music, her eyes bright, and when she leaned across the table to kiss me, it was soft, unhurried, a promise wrapped in sweetness.
Her lips tasted of chocolate and wine, and I lost myself in the gentle brush of her mouth against mine.
For a moment, everything else disappeared—the retreat, my father, the weight of my secrets.
There was only Naima and the way she made me feel like I’d finally found something real.
When we pulled away, she rested her forehead against mine, her breath warm on my skin. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For this. For everything.”
“Anytime,” I murmured, leaning in to give her a kiss that held a promise for what the night alone in our suite would bring.
We paid the check and stepped out into the cool night air, her arm looping through mine as we walked along the quiet street.
She pointed out the small shops, sharing stories of the locals, of the guests who had wandered into town looking for a taste of its charm.
Each story was a thread, weaving me deeper into her world.
We stopped at the general store, a quaint shop with wooden shelves and the kind of customer service you only find in small towns.
We filled our cart with tea candles, fresh herbs, and pantry staples.
Naima moved through the aisles with practiced ease, greeting the shopkeeper by name, laughing with a couple of guests who had wandered in from the retreat.
Her world was beautiful, and vibrant, and I wanted to be a part of it.
But I felt the thread of my lies pulling tighter, threatening to snap.
There was no way the retreat could sustain itself if they continued to shop in this way.
The prices weren’t wholesale, so even if they helped the town, it didn’t help them.
As we loaded the bags into the truck, I caught sight of a sleek, black luxury sedan rolling up the mountain road. Its tinted windows and smooth, quiet glide didn’t belong here. The hairs on my neck stood at attention.
Naima noticed too. “That’s odd. No one around here drives anything like that.”
I forced a smile, but my mind raced. “Probably a guest. Or someone lost.”
But I knew better. I knew who it was. And as we started the drive back to The Three Bears, dread settled in my gut. My father was here.
And everything was about to fall apart.