Chapter 16
Lisa
I change my outfit three times before Blake even arrives.
It’s both embarrassing and deeply unnecessary, considering I already bought a dress specifically for this date.
I also promised myself I would not overthink it like a teenager preparing for her first school dance.
Yet, somehow I still find myself standing in front of Zane’s hallway mirror adjusting the sleeve for the third time as though the fabric might suddenly decide to behave differently if I just give it enough attention.
“You’re going to create a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that.”
I turn around and find Zane leaning casually against the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in his hand. He’s watching me with the exact expression he used to wear when I was twelve and pretending I wasn’t nervous before competitions.
“I’m not pacing,” I say immediately, even though I absolutely am.
“You’re pacing.”
“I’m walking.”
“You’re walking in circles.”
“That still counts as walking.”
He raises one eyebrow slowly, clearly unconvinced.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“Out.”
“With who?”
“No one.”
“Lisa.”
I sigh dramatically, grab my purse from the couch, and finally give up pretending this is casual.
“Fine. A date.”
His eyebrows lift higher.
“With who?”
“A guy.”
“A guy,” he repeats slowly, like he’s testing the words to see if they make sense. “That narrows it down.”
“You don’t know him,” I lie automatically.
He watches me for a second longer than necessary, and I wonder if he is aware that I am lying and is waiting for me to admit it.
“Well,” he says finally, taking another bite of cereal, “tell him he has to bring you home before midnight.”
“I’m not twelve.”
“Still applies.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling when I step into the hallway. There’s something comforting about the fact that even after everything that has changed in both our lives, Zane is still the same big brother I grew up with.
Blake is already waiting outside the building when I step through the front doors.
He’s leaning casually against the passenger side of his car like he has nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.
It shouldn’t surprise me because Blake Saxon is exactly the kind of man who arrives early and pretends he didn’t plan to.
However, it still does something unexpected to my chest when he straightens the second he sees me.
And then he just… stares.
“Well?” I ask, lifting my hands slightly as I walk closer. “You said live music, not a runway show.”
“You look amazing,” he says immediately. There’s no hesitation or exaggeration in his tone. He’s saying it like it’s simply a fact he has decided to state out loud.
The sincerity in his voice makes warmth spread across my cheeks before I can stop it.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Then I narrow my eyes at him.
“You clean up pretty well yourself.”
“I always do.”
“That confidence is dangerous.”
“Sometimes.”
I laugh softly. He opens the car door for me without making a big deal out of it. It earns him another silent point on the imaginary gentleman scoreboard I absolutely did not use after our first date.
“Play me your favorite songs,” I tell Blake as he turns on the engine.
“You sure you can handle it?” he jokes, and I nod.
“Bring it,” I say softly, and the music starts playing. It starts with Elton John, followed by Hollywood Undead and Andy Black.
“We’re here,” Blake suddenly says as I am bopping my head to We Don’t Have to Dance.
“You definitely listen to a wide mix of things,” I laugh as we get out of the car.
“It all depends on the mood,” Blake shrugs.
The venue turns out to be smaller than I expected.
It’s tucked between two brick buildings with soft yellow light spilling out through tall windows.
The lights make the whole place feel warm before we even step inside.
The second we enter, I realize he chose this place very deliberately because it isn’t crowded, overwhelming, or loud in the way larger bars tend to be.
Instead, there’s a small stage in the corner, a guitarist adjusting his microphone, and people talking quietly at tables. They’re close enough together to feel cozy instead of cramped.
“You checked this place out beforehand,” I accuse as we walk toward our table.
“Maybe.”
“You did.”
“I like being prepared.”
“You like being impressive.”
“That too,” he admits easily.
He leads me to a small table near the stage that somehow manages to feel both close and private at the same time. I immediately realize that he didn’t just pick the venue carefully; he picked the seats carefully, too.
It’s perfect.
And he knew it would be.
“You look nervous,” he says after we sit down.
“I’m not.”
“You adjusted your sleeve four times in the last minute.”
The way he says it is so calm and matter-of-fact that it almost knocks the air out of me.
“Well,” I say after a second, trying to recover my balance, “that’s not intimidating at all.”
“It’s meant to be reassuring.”
“It’s working,” I admit quietly.
The music starts a few minutes later. The sound of a soft acoustic guitar fills the room, making conversation feel easier rather than harder. I realize after a moment that Blake isn’t watching the stage at all.
He’s watching me.
“You’re not even listening,” I whisper.
“I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m listening to you listening,” he corrects.
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
I shake my head, but I can’t stop smiling.
Halfway through the second song, my phone vibrates against the table.
I almost ignore it.
Almost.
But when I glance down and see the name on the screen, my stomach drops. The feeling is so sudden that the room seems quieter than it actually is.
James.
The message is short.
We should talk.
I stare at the screen longer than I mean to.
“Lisa?” Blake says gently.
I look up. He’s watching me carefully now.
“What happened?”
I hesitate. Then I flip the phone over.
“It’s nothing.”
He doesn’t believe me. I can tell immediately.
“Perth?” he asks quietly.
I blink.
“How did you…”
“I saw you at the game,” he says. “When you saw him.”
Something in his voice makes pretending impossible.
“We used to date,” I say.
The words feel heavier than they should.
“How serious?” he asks after a moment.
“Too serious,” I admit.
“He’s been texting me since I moved back,” I continue more quietly. “I didn’t think he’d show up like that.”
“You don’t have to answer him,” Blake says immediately.
“I know.”
He hesitates.
“Did he treat you badly?”
The question is gentle enough that it almost surprises me.
“Yes,” I say softly.
Something shifts in his expression when I say that. It’s something steadier than anger, something protective without being overwhelming.
“You don’t have to deal with him alone,” he says.
“I know,” I repeat, and this time I mean it.
The music shifts into something brighter again, and Blake leans back slightly. It’s like he’s deliberately giving me space to move away from the moment instead of staying stuck inside it.
“Ok,” he says.
“Ok?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it? You’re not going to interrogate me?”
“Not unless you want me to.”
I laugh softly.
“No. I don’t.”
“Then we’re back to the part where I impress you with my excellent date-planning skills.”
“That’s your plan?”
“That’s always my plan.”
A few minutes later, he stands and holds out his hand.
“Come dance with me,” he suggests.
“There’s no dance floor.”
“There’s space.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is if you’re brave,” Blake counters.
“I’m not brave.”
“I am,” he says. “You can borrow some.”
I stare at him for a second. Then I take his hand.
Dancing with Blake feels easier than it should. He doesn’t pull me too close or try to take control of the moment in a way that would make me uncomfortable. Instead, he lets his hand rest lightly at my waist. At the same time, we move slowly together in the small open space near our table.
“You’re smiling,” he murmurs.
“So are you.”
“That’s because I’m winning.”
“This isn’t a competition.”
“It is if I’m trying to make you like me.”
“I already like you,” I say before I can stop myself.
He stills slightly.
“Good,” he says softly. “Because I like you too.”
When the song ends, neither of us moves. We’re standing too close, close enough that I can feel his breath when he laughs quietly under his breath.
“You’re thinking again,” he says.
“I do that sometimes.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“I know.”
He reaches up slowly. His fingers brush a strand of hair behind my ear with a gentleness that makes my heart skip completely.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper.
The kiss starts soft and careful, like he’s giving me time to change my mind even though I already know I won’t. When I step closer, instead of pulling away, his hand settles more firmly at my waist. It’s as if he’s been waiting for permission he never expected to receive this easily.
It isn’t just chemistry. It isn’t just attraction. It feels like something beginning. And when we finally pull back, I’m still smiling.
“So,” he says softly, his forehead still close to mine, “third date?”
“Yes,” I whisper.