Chapter Fifteen #2
His breath warmed her skin. “We’re making dinner. I promised Knox we’d be there.”
He stepped back and looked her over one more time, eyes dark and reverent. “Stunning,” he said.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said.
His grin flashed. “High praise.”
They arrived at Olive and Oak a few minutes before their reservation. Lane understood immediately why the place had a reputation that stretched past Winston Hills.
The restaurant sat at the edge of a private vineyard, its exterior a blend of warm stone, dark wood, and glass walls that reflected the last purple-gold streaks of evening.
Olive trees lined the walkway. Lanterns glowed low along the path.
Beyond the terrace, rows of vines rolled gently into the distance, kissed by dusk and surrounded by trees that made the whole property feel hidden from the rest of the world.
Lennox told her that Dana had started the vineyard and she had the olive trees had been imported from Greece.
Inside, Olive and Oak was intimate without feeling small.
The dining room carried the warmth of a family table and the polish of a place that knew exactly how good it was.
Exposed beams crossed the ceiling. Shelves held pottery, cookbooks, wine bottles, and framed black-and-white photos.
The scent of garlic, herbs, lemon, smoke, butter, and something slow-braised entranced Lane the moment she stepped inside.
Her stomach, which had been pretending to be too refined to growl in a Michelin-star restaurant, betrayed her.
Lennox’s mouth twitched. “Hungry?”
“No.”
“Your stomach just testified.”
“It was a character witness.”
He laughed softly and placed a hand at the small of her back, guiding without pushing. Lane let him because his hand felt good there, and because she was trying this new thing where every instinct didn’t have to become a fight.
A host led them past the main dining room to a private alcove near a glass wall overlooking the vineyard. The table was already set with five wineglasses per place, gleaming silverware, linen napkins, and a small arrangement of olive branches, white flowers, and lavender.
Lane looked at Lennox as he stood there looking entirely too pleased.
“Lavender follows me now?” she asked.
“Apparently.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And attentive, Lav.”
“Fine. That too.”
Before she could sit, a tall, broad-shouldered man in a chef’s coat approached their table with a smile that was both charming and sensual.
His skin was a beautiful toasted brown. His beard was neatly trimmed, and his eyes were warm but assessing.
He moved like a man who knew his kitchen was a kingdom and didn’t need a crown because everybody else already knew it too.
“Lennox Jackson,” he said, pulling Lennox into a brief hug. “Been too long.”
“Knox.” Lennox clasped his shoulder. “Appreciate you doing this.”
“For you? Always.” Knox’s gaze moved to Lane, and his smile softened into something respectful. “And you must be Lane Sanders.”
Lane offered her hand. “I am.”
Knox took it gently. “Welcome to Olive and Oak. I’ve heard good things.”
Lane glanced at Lennox. “That depends on the source.”
Knox chuckled. “The source is questionable, but his taste has improved.”
“I’m standing right here,” Lennox said.
“We know,” Knox and Lane said together.
Lennox looked between them. “That felt coordinated.”
Lane smiled. “Natural alignment.”
Knox laughed. “I like her.”
“She’s very easy to like,” Lennox said.
Lane rolled her eyes, but warmth moved through her anyway.
Another woman approached then, carrying herself with effortless elegance.
She was stunning in a sleek cream jumpsuit.
Her short pixie cut curled to perfection as gold hoops brushed her jaw.
A deep plum lip made her smile look even sharper.
She held a wine key in one hand and a bottle tucked against her arm like she’d been born doing it.
“Lane, I’m Dana Evans,” she said warmly. “Owner of Maison Noire and Master Sommelier.”
Lane smiled. “I know. Your Syrah made me believe in second chances after a terrible work dinner.”
Dana’s eyes lit. “Now that’s the kind of review I like.”
“She means it,” Lennox said. “She wrote notes.”
Lane smiled playfully. “I audited the bottle.”
Dana laughed. “Then I’m honored.”
Knox gestured toward the table. “Tonight is five courses. Greek and soul influence with wine pairings by Dana. We built the menu around comfort, heat, depth, and a little surprise.”
Lane sat slowly, taking in the glasses, the vineyard, the flowers, the man beside her who had planned every detail because her joy mattered enough to coordinate with a chef and Master Sommelier.
“Y’all are trying to kill me,” she said.
Dana smiled. “Only softly.”
“Respectfully,” Knox added.
Lane looked at Lennox. “This has your energy all over it.”
He leaned close. “You said I was courting you like a proper gentleman.”
“I said it once, and you haven’t disappointed me yet,” she said, kissing him tenderly.
“And I'll continue to do so for more moments like this.”
“You’re insane.”
“For you? Yes.”
Her breath caught before she could stop it. Dana, who clearly missed nothing, smiled into the first pour and pretended not to notice.
The first course arrived like art.
A small plate of whipped feta and smoked honey served with warm skillet cornbread crisps, pickled okra, and charred lemon. Dana paired it with a crisp Maison Noire sparkling white that cut through the richness, making the honey taste even deeper.
Lane took one bite and closed her eyes.
“Okay,” she said after swallowing. “This is...My God. So amazing.”
Knox grinned. “Good start.”
The second course was a roasted beet and watermelon salad with mint, arugula, toasted pistachios, and a peppery, citrus-brightened vinaigrette. Dana poured a dry rosé that smelled like strawberries, herbs, and summer refusing to mind its business. Lane hated how perfectly it worked.