Chapter 21 #2
Harlan was already seated. He stood when she approached, wearing a deep navy suit with no tie, collar open just enough to show a hint of gold at his neck.
His watch gleamed faintly under the soft overhead lights, but everything else about him was intentionally unshowy. Controlled. Masculine. Effortless.
“You look incredible,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
Sabine’s dress was simple—black, off-the-shoulder, the slit hugging just above the knee but the way he looked at her made it feel like more.
“Thanks for the invite,” she replied, easing into the seat across from him.
The menu was all white linen and handwritten calligraphy. French-leaning dishes with things one had to Google under the table but Harlan didn’t rush her. Didn’t show off. He just asked how she liked her steak and what kind of wine she enjoyed.
The first sip of the red he ordered tasted like velvet and fire. It warmed her chest.
Conversation flowed easily. They started with safe ground—Aderra, market strategies, the quiet ego death of building something no one believed in until it worked. But soon, the conversation shifted.
Harlan sipped his wine, then looked at her more fully.
“What made you get into data?” he asked.
Sabine smiled. “Honestly? I was good at math. That was it at first. Then I realized I didn’t want to just solve problems, I wanted to solve systems. Understand why things worked, and why they didn’t. The people side of data. That’s what stuck.”
“That’s rare. Most people either fall in love with the numbers or the control. Not the empathy.”
“And you?” she asked, setting her glass down. “What made you start Pillar Grove?”
“I got tired of being ‘the Black guy’ at someone else’s table.
I wanted to build my own. My father ran a corner store his whole life and was the smartest man I ever knew.
Could forecast supply better than any algorithm but nobody ever called him a strategist. Just a hustler.
I guess I wanted to rewrite what that meant. ”
“Did you always know you’d end up here? Leading a firm?”
“I didn’t even know I’d survive my twenties,” he said honestly. “But...here we are.”
“He’d be proud.”
“I hope so.”
They fell into a short, thoughtful silence.
“You ever think about what comes after all this?” she asked. “Like beyond the business. The scale. The next big thing?”
He studied her for a second. “You mean legacy?”
“I mean life,” she said. “The personal kind. Family. Somebody to share it with.”
“I’ve thought about it. More lately than before.”
She nodded once. Then, carefully: “Any kids?”
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
Sabine smiled, gently teasing. “So no little ones out there secretly calling you dad?”
That made him laugh, a low, easy sound. “No. No hidden families. No surprise visits.”
“Ever wanted them?” she asked, voice softening.
“I used to,” he said. “Still do. But...the timing’s never been right.
Life moves, people move...I move.” He gave a faint, thoughtful shrug, eyes momentarily distant.
Not guarded—just distant and she caught the shift.
“I know you’ve been married before, and have a son, do you want more kids?
” he rebutted. Sabine blinked and she could tell the moment her eyes glossed that his question was sensitive for her. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“No, it’s okay,” she said. “I think about it sometimes. Not in a pressing way. Just…quietly. I loved being pregnant. I didn’t love being lonely during it.”
Harlan nodded, slowly. “What was that like? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“It was heavy,” she said. “And I don’t just mean physically. I had a partner, technically but I felt like I did it alone.” Not wanting to get any deeper, she rerouted the conversation. “What about you? Have you ever been married?” she asked gently.
“Three times.”
“Oh wow…you…you just gonna say it like that?”
“Would you prefer I dress it up?”
“No,” she laughed. “I just—three?”
“Three,” he said again. No shame in his voice. “You don’t get to a fourth without learning how to sit with your own shit. I used to be careless. Passionate, impatient. The kind of man who knew how to start love, but not how to sustain it.”
Sabine nodded slowly, his words brushing up against something in her chest. “I get it.”
“Do you?” he asked, watching her. She didn’t look away, set her fork down beside her half-eaten mousse.
“Yeah. I stayed too long. Wanted so badly to fix something that was broken beyond repair.”
Harlan’s gaze didn’t soften, he didn’t need to perform empathy. He just listened. Let it land.
“And you still believe in love?” he asked quietly.
“I do,” she said, surprising even herself with the genuine response. “But it has to be honest now. It has to choose me back.”
He lifted his wine. “Then here’s to doing it better next time.”
She clinked her glass against his. “And not something we have to recover from.”
They both smirked—less charm, more truth.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It sat between them like heat. Not loud, not urgent, but charged. Like maybe they understood something about each other now. Something past the pitch decks and perfect answers.
After dessert he said, “no pressure, but I’d love for you to see my place. There’s a vintage bottle I’ve been saving, and I promise not to pour anything without your full consent.”
Sabine paused. Not out of fear. Just…reflection.
But she said yes anyway.
Harlan’s condo overlooked the skyline like it had been handpicked by the architect to watch the stars.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. Marble countertops.
A turntable played something low and jazzy in the corner.
Real vinyl. One wall held a shelf full of Black authors—Coates, Hooks, Baldwin, Morrison, Butler, Ellison.
Another wall held framed black-and-white photographs.
One of a boy she guessed was him. Another, of a woman with his eyes.
“Your mother?” she asked.
He nodded once. “She passed a few years ago. Still runs things from heaven.”
“She raised you well.” Sabine smiled.
Harlan didn’t respond right away. Just walked to the bar cart and poured them each a glass of deep crimson wine.
“I hope so,” he said finally, handing her the glass.
He motioned with his hand and they sat down on the sectional—closer than they had at the restaurant, but not too close. There was space for her to breathe.
“This is beautiful,” Sabine complimented, sipping.
“Built it for solitude,” he said. “Didn’t know I’d ever want to share it.”
That line should’ve felt like a setup but it didn’t. He said it with no performance, just a truth offered into the open.
They talked more. Not about business. About their fathers.
What they learned, what they carried. Sabine shared a small, special memory about how Adair used to hold Ade’s feet when he was a baby—just hold them like they were too precious to set down.
Harlan listened, really listened, not shrinking at the mention of another man. Just nodding, present.
And then—not suddenly—he touched her.
A shift in the way he sat. A warm hand on her knee, thumb brushing her skin. Sabine didn’t move or pull away but the feeling was so new. Another man’s hand on her in such a way.
When he leaned in, she let him.
The kiss was soft. Confident. His lips knew how to ask and not assume. His hand came to rest at her waist, then glided slowly down her hip. Another kiss—this one just under her jaw. His other hand traced her thigh, fingers warm through the thin fabric of her dress.
And then—
Sabine’s body didn’t follow.
Froze. Not out of fear. Not from discomfort.
But…from something deeper.
Something she couldn’t name.
Actually it did have a name—she just refused to acknowledge it.
In that moment of failure, she genuinely wanted it to.
She’d said yes. She’d gotten dressed. She’d showed up.
She’d told herself she was ready but her breath slowed instead of quickening.
Her pulse flatlined instead of pressurized.
It was that her body couldn’t believe him yet. Couldn’t believe herself yet.
The desire had started at dinner but somewhere between the couch cushion and the slow kiss on her neck, her mind had drifted.
Not to guilt but to disconnection. To the emptiness she remembered too well, of doing things with her body when her spirit wasn’t in the room.
She placed a gentle hand on his chest and leaned back.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Harlan pulled away immediately, no irritation. His hand left her body like it had only ever meant to be there with full permission.
“Hey, it’s okay, don’t apologize.”
“I thought I was ready,” she said softly, shaking her head. “But I think…my body isn’t there yet.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Sabine,” he said, voice sure. “And that’s not a line.”
She searched his face for pity, frustration, even confusion but there was none. Harlan meant it. He wasn’t embarrassed. He wasn’t frustrated. He was present. Still with her.
“You sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” he said, calm and unbothered. “I’m here because I like your mind. What I was drawn to tonight? Still here and I’m not withdrawn because you aren’t ready.”
Her throat tightened. That was what made it hard. Not rejection but kindness. Not a cold withdrawal, but a warm, steady staying.
“Thank you,” she said, eyes burning a little at the edges.
“You don’t have to thank me, beautiful.”
Then she stood. “I should head out.”
“Are you sure? This doesn’t have to ruin the evening.”
“I…I know…but I think it’s best that I go.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll walk you down,” he offered.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
She nodded. Quiet. Grateful.
At the elevator, neither of them tried to fill the space with fake promises. He didn’t ask when he’d see her again. She didn’t pretend tonight meant more than it did. It had meant something. Just not what either of them expected.
No shame.
No awkward tension.
No pretending.
No need to explain away what didn’t happen.
Just two people—trying.
One learning how to move slow.
The other honoring that.