Page 61 of Lennox Lane

“Please don’t. You’d probably send a funeral arrangement and say it represents my dating life.”

He smiled. “That’s actually very good.”

“Do not steal my insult for later.”

“Too late.”

She shook her head, but her smile was there now, fuller than before.

Lennox stepped closer, slow enough for her to tell him not to.

She didn’t.

“Let me take you on an actual date,” he said. “No sabotage. No medical supplies. No surprise appearances from me because I’ll already be the man across from you.”

Lane studied him.

He expected a fight or a deflection sharp enough to draw blood because that was their rhythm. She resisted, and he pushed. She insulted him while he flirted with her. They circled each other as two people too stubborn to admit the ground beneath them had already shifted. But Lane only looked at him with her beautiful eyes steady and warm in a way that made his breath catch.

“Yes,” she said just like that.

No ten-minute speech about his personality defects, though he had no doubt she had one loaded and ready. Lennox stared at her for a second too long, still shocked at the ease of her answer.

Lane’s brows lifted. “You asked.”

“I did.”

“And I answered.”

“You did.”

“You malfunctioning?” She asked.

“A little,” he joked.

Her smile widened. “Good.”

He chuckled, stepping close enough that the space between them felt less like distance and more like restraint.

“What time?” she asked.

He told her to be ready by seven, but that was it. Her eye narrowed, and he knew she wanted to ask for more details; instead, she told him not to make her regret saying yes. He assured her he wouldn’t and told her to wear something comfortable. He let her know he was taking her somewhere she could let her hair down and relax.

That quieted her, and he watched the words reach her, watched the way they settled beneath the armor she wore so beautifully. Lane looked away first, but not fast enough. She threatened him once more before sending him to unload a truck.

He walked past her into the hall, and her voice followed him.

“Lennox?”

He turned, and Lane stood in the doorway of her office, arms crossed, face carefully arranged into irritation even though softness kept trying to break through.

“Thank you,” she said.

The two simple words impacted him more than anything else she could have given him.

Lennox nodded once. “Always, Lavender.”

Her eyes rolled on instinct, but she didn’t correct the name. He carried that small victory all the way back to the loading dock.