17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Lane
Everything changes on a random Tuesday morning. Well, it seems random to me, but something about it feels like Tage has been planning it. Or at least thinking about.
After bringing me my coffee, he asks how my night was.
He’s never done that before. Never stopped to chat after coffee first thing in the morning.
He always leaves to prepare for my day’s rundown.
I answer him, of course, telling him about my night but in few words because I’m a little caught off guard. He smiles, nods, then leaves.
When he comes back to give me the rundown, he sits instead of stands.
Another thing he’s never done before. Usually, he wants to get out of here as quickly as possible to get to work. Be away from me, even though he’s been better at being with me—even wanting it. It’s clear he’s keeping boundaries at work, but today… today is different.
He doesn’t rush out after going over my day; he takes his time leaving. Making small talk.
I wonder what he’s up to but can’t quite figure it out. He can’t want a raise or time off. He’d just simply ask or accept it every time I’ve offered. Tage is aware I’ll give him whatever he asks for, so what could have him being so nice? Could it be that he just wants to be?
I keep an extra eye on him all day and realize he doesn’t roll his once.
Finally, after our last meeting of the day, when we’re the only two left in the meeting room and he’s gathering his things to go back to his desk, I ask him.
“Are you coming down with something?”
“Coming down with something?” he asks, his brow pinched into confusion.
“Yes. You know… are you ill?”
He frowns. “I feel fine.”
In that case…
“Good. Because I’m taking you to dinner.”
May as well shoot my shot while I can.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
He sighs, smirking. “I don’t like being told what to do.”
I get up and walk over to him. “I beg to differ. You love when I tell you what to do.”
His smirk turns into a bashful smile. “You’d get a better answer if you asked nicely.”
I pause a moment, thinking over what he’s said.
“Fine,” I say, leaning against the table to seem more relaxed. Casual. “Tage, will you come to dinner with me?”
He looks up at me, his honey brown eyes sparkling. “Yes, Lane. I will go to dinner with you.”
Then he turns and leaves me speechless. Was it really so simple? Now I’m even more curious about what he wants.
I think hard on where I’m going to take Tage to dinner. Of course, there is a list of places in my head that we could go. Places I bring clients to impress them and give us a safe space to chat about business where we won’t be interrupted by rude waiters or screaming children.
But that doesn’t go far with Tage. In fact, it usually sets me back.
So something low key, not expensive but casual.
I think over the area in my head, going through all the places nearby, but nothing stands out.
I turn to my phone and look for places outside of the city.
Close enough that the drive won’t be inconvenient, but far enough away that it feels different.
A few pop up, but the thumbnails of a place called Driftwood catch my attention. The name throws me a little, but it’s just a name. The photos give off the exact vibes I’m looking for. Calm. Moody. Casual.
There is an outdoor patio with string lights twisted around poles, and a few pictures of a beach that’s a block away. It feels exactly right, so I call to make a reservation. Only they don’t take them. I laugh to myself as I end the call.
This is exactly the kind of place he’s going to love.
When the day is done, we walk to the garage together. He puts his things into the back seat, and I open the door for him so he can get in.
“Thank you,” he says with a grateful smile.
There is no eye roll or smart remark.
I get into the driver’s side, start the car, and put the address into the GPS.
Tage doesn’t watch what I’m doing, and instead his gaze is out the window as I leave the garage.
From the corner of my eye, I watch his reaction.
There are a few moments when he seems confused.
Clearly, he expected me to bring him deep into the city.
Only I know him better than he thinks I do.
Soon we’re in Evanston and finding the restaurant is easy.
I pull into a parking spot and shut the car off.
“Is this a joke?” he asks.
“Why would it be a joke?”
He glances back at the restaurant. “This isn’t the type of place you go out to eat.”
That hurts my feelings just a bit. Not enough to mention, but enough to feel. Especially because I am not the one who gave this impression to him, and I thought we were past this. I thought he’d accepted that I wasn’t some cookie-cutter CEO.
“I wanted to come to a place I knew you’d like.”
He flinches back as if I’ve hit him, and I don’t understand why there is such a big reaction. He says nothing and gets out of the car. I follow him out, and we head to the front podium where we’re greeted by a woman in jeans and a t-shirt. I feel overdressed.
“No reservations?” he mutters after I tell her we need a table for two.
“They don’t take them. I tried.”
He laughs under his breath as we follow the hostess to our table out on the patio. The chairs wobble, but they’re decently comfortable.
We’re left with menus and a promise that our waiter will be right over—which he is. A rugged guy with a bushy beard and a thick braid that starts at the top of his head, both sides shaved down so you can see the skin. He introduces himself as Rick and asks what we’d like to drink.
“I’ll take whatever you suggest,” I say.
“Like alcohol?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Beer?”
“Sure.”
“We have a house brew.”
“Sounds good,” I agree.
“I’ll have the same,” Tage adds.
He’s giving me a strange look as Rick walks away.
“What?” I ask.
“This is weird.”
Weird? What can I do to make this man happy? It’s becoming an impossible feat.
“Why? I thought this is the kind of place you’d like to go to.”
“Oh, it is. I love places like this. It’s just… you.”
“Thank you for insulting me.”
“You just seem out of place.”
“Again… thank you.”
“Lane—come on. You know what I mean,” he pushes.
I reach across the table to take his hand. His eyes pop open like he wasn’t expecting it. He doesn’t pull away though.
“I’m happy to be with you. I don’t care where we are. I’m not used to eating at places like this, but I’ve gone to enough of them over the years. Mostly not since college, but I’m not a snob.”
“I know that,” he says sincerely, something softening in his gaze. “Thank you for taking me here.”
“Thank you for joining me for dinner.”