Chapter Nine
TERMS & CONDITIONS APPLY
When Lennox pulled into his driveway that evening, he had spent the entire ride trying not to look smug.
Not because he thought he had won Lane Sanders.
A man with his track record would have to be foolish, delusional, or plain out spiritually misguided to believe one yes from Lane meant victory.
Lennox was at least two of those things on a good day, but even he knew better.
Still, she sat in his passenger seat wearing fitted jeans, a soft cream sweater that slipped off one shoulder, gold hoops, and white sneakers, looking casual in a way that felt more dangerous than sequins.
Her lavender pixie was curled softly around her face, her makeup light but perfect.
Her lips were glossy and kissable. Her skin was glowing beneath the low dashboard light.
She had spent most of the ride pretending to scroll through her phone while sneaking glances at him when she thought he was not paying attention.
He was always paying attention, especially to her.
“You’re quiet,” he said, turning into the drive.
“I’m preserving my energy in case this date requires me to flee.”
“You won’t flee.”
“Bold assumption, Lennox.”
“I have amazing food and wine.”
Her gaze slid to him. “That is the first reassuring thing you’ve said all day.”
He smiled and parked. “Progress.”
Lane studied the house through the windshield. “If I walk in and see handcuffs and rose petals shaped like my initials, I’m leaving.”
“No handcuffs.”
“That pause was suspicious,” her brow raised.
“I was remembering where I put them.”
“Lennox.”
He laughed and got out before she could decide to use the heel of her sneaker as a weapon.
By the time he reached her door, Lane had already opened it herself, of course.
She stepped out and looked up at him with one brow raised.
She allowed him to guide her toward the front door without touching her lower back.
He wanted to. Badly. The urge sat in his palm like memory.
But he had spent the last twenty-four hours learning that wanting to protect Lane did not give him the right to claim every inch of space around her.
So he walked beside her. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and let her step in first. Lane stopped just inside the foyer, and her reaction hit him before she spoke.
Her shoulders softened. Her lips parted slightly.
Her gaze moved slowly from the entryway to the dining room beyond it, and for once, Lane Sanders didn’t have a ready-made insult loaded and aimed at his chest.
His house had been transformed while they were at the food bank. Not dramatically. He knew Lane would have hated dramatic. No rose petals. No violinist lurking in a corner. No ridiculous show of wealth designed to overwhelm her into gratitude.
The dining room glowed under dim amber lighting, warm enough to flatter skin and low enough to make the evening feel private.
Fresh flowers covered the center of the table in a loose, elegant arrangement: cream roses, blush ranunculus, white tulips, eucalyptus, and lavender woven through in fragrant purple sprigs with silver-green leaves.
The lavender carried through the room lightly, not overpowering, just enough for Lane to inhale and know she had been thought of.
A small candle flickered near each place setting. Crystal glasses caught the light. White plates sat on woven chargers, simple and beautiful. R&B played softly through hidden speakers, old enough to feel familiar, slow enough to make the air seem warmer.
Lane walked forward carefully, as if the room might disappear if she moved too fast.
Lennox stayed behind her, letting her take it in.
“This is…” She stopped, then tried again. “You did all this?”
“Yes,” he said. “I did all this.”
Her hand lifted toward the flowers, fingers brushing lightly over the lavender. The movement was so gentle it made his heart skip a beat.
“You remembered,” she said.
“I remember everything with you.”
Lane gave him a look over her shoulder. “That would be romantic if you weren’t a cybercriminal,” making him laugh.
She looked back at the table, and he watched her fight a smile.
The chef had already left, per Lennox’s very specific instructions.
Lane did not need strangers hovering while she decided whether to trust him with a quiet evening.
The meal was warming in the kitchen, plated in stages and labeled because Lennox could break into encrypted systems across the world, but sauces required humility.
He walked past her toward the kitchen. “Sit.”
“Do not order me around on a date.”
“Please sit, Lavender.”
“That’s better.”
She sat, though the look she gave him promised she would revisit his tone later.
Lennox brought out the first plates himself—pan-seared salmon with crisped edges and a glossy citrus-herb glaze.
Creamy parmesan risotto folded with lemon zest and fresh herbs.
Broccolini roasted with garlic and charred just enough at the tips.
The wine, chilled and already breathing, had been chosen to complement the salmon without overpowering it.
Lane stared at the plate, then at him. “This is my order at almost every restaurant that has decent salmon. Even risotto when I’m pretending I’m not about to judge the texture and broccolini because asparagus is too aggressive and green beans are usually depressed.”
His smile spread. “Exact quote.”
Lane sat back slowly. “You have a file on me?”
“I remember everything about you,” he flirted.
“You’re human surveillance with a handsome face.”
“I ha…you think I’m handsome?”
“Robot?”
“Hmm?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Hush.”
He poured her wine and set the glass beside her plate. “Taste.”
Lane picked up the glass, still watching him with suspicion, and took a sip.
Her eyes closed as she moaned her appreciation of the wine.
Lennox nearly forgot how to breathe. It wasn’t a dramatic reaction, just a small, involuntary pause.
A tiny hum she probably didn’t realize had escaped her.
He would have spent three hundred dollars to see her reaction again but next time in slow motion.
“Okay,” she said, opening her eyes. “The wine is excellent.”
He sat across from her even though every part of him wanted to sit beside her.
He wanted to be close enough for their knees to touch.
Close enough to catch the warmth of her perfume beneath the lavender and candlelight.
But tonight was not about crowding her. It was about showing her he could be intentional without being invasive.
He wanted he to know he was learning. They ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the kind neither of them usually allowed.
Lane took her first bite of salmon, and her eyes lifted to his.
“This is unfair,” she said, licking her lips.
“Good unfair?”
“The kind of unfair that makes me want to ask for the chef’s number.”
He laughed and took a sip of wine. Watching her eat something made specifically for her did something strange to him.
It was not about impressing her, though he wanted that too.
He wanted Lane impressed, smiling, and off balance in the best way.
But deeper than that, he wanted her cared for in ways she didn’t have to translate into a favor owed.
In this space, he wanted her to enjoy a meal she loved in a room that smelled like her name that didn’t require her guard up. meal she loved.
Lane set her fork down after a few bites and looked at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to say something that might make me groan in annoyance.”
He leaned back in his chair. There were a dozen ways he could make a joke. A dozen ways to soften the moment before it became too serious. That had always been his gift and his escape route. Charm people until they forgot to look for the wound.
“I know you think I’m incapable of being a man you’d be proud to love,” he said.
The R&B continued around them. Loved By You by Mali Music singing about how good it feels to be loved by a woman. Candlelight moved across Lane’s face, catching the faint shine in her gloss and the guarded shift in her eyes, the sudden tightness around her mouth.
“Lennox,” she said quietly.
“No, let me say it.” He rested his forearms on the table with his gaze locked on hers.
“I know what I’ve shown you. I know I’ve been arrogant and careless.
I know I got scared and left you with the pieces of something I helped start.
I know I made you feel like you were too much when the truth was I was terrified I wasn’t enough to handle what you made me feel.
I need you to understand day by day how wrong you are about me being incapable.
Not because I can say the right thing once over salmon and candlelight, but because I can keep showing up until you believe it. ”
Lane looked down at her plate, blinking fast. He’d seen her furious. He knew what to do with furious. Furious gave him something to spar with. This softness. This shimmer of emotion she didn’t want him to see made him feel clumsy and careful.
“You’ve had to make ice into protection,” he said, voice lower now. “I understand why. That ice kept people out when people were dangerous. It kept you moving when nobody came for you. It kept you alive.”
Lane’s eyes lifted again, wet now.
His own voice roughened. “But I’m asking for the chance to melt it slowly. Not break it. Not take it. Melt it—day by day. Let me take over the job of protecting you, at least sometimes. Let me be somewhere you can rest without having to prove you deserved it first.”
A tear slipped free before she could catch it.
Lane looked offended by it.
That made him love her more, which was a dangerous realization to have over risotto.
She wiped beneath her eye quickly. “Robot, all I ask is to be kept in the loop when you do stuff on my behalf, please.”
Lennox blinked.