Page 74 of Lennox Lane

Lane watched him walk to the host’s table near the stage, tall and easy in the room like he belonged anywhere he decided to stand. The host, a broad woman with silver braids and red lipstick, looked at him, looked at the list, then looked back at him with delighted surprise. Lennox said something Lane couldn’t hear.

The host’s eyes flew to Lane.

Lane’s stomach dropped.

“Oh, I’m killing him.”

Lennox returned with that same calm little smile.

“What did you do?”

“I put my name on the list.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“Your nothing has priors.”

He picked up his drink. “Enjoy the poets, Lavender.”

She pointed a sweet potato fry at him. “You’re on probation.”

“I live there now.”

The first poet was a young woman with a voice like smoke and a poem about grief that made the room go church quiet. The second was an older man in a linen shirt who performed a piece about Black fathers, barbershops, and learning tenderness late in life. The third poet was funny enough to have the room hollering, a poem about dating men who had podcasts and no bed frames.

Lane laughed until her cheeks hurt.

Lennox watched her more than he watched the stage.

She felt it every time.

At first, she tried to ignore him. Then she tried to glare. Then she gave up and let the warmth of the room do what it came to do. The bourbon in her drink helped. The poetry helped more. Each voice seemed to loosen something inside her—one line at a time—until the tension she’d been carrying from Jeanette, Curtis Bell, and Lennox’s intrusive behavior softened around the edges.

Then the host stepped back onstage.

“All right, Ink Well family, y’all still with me?”

The room answered with claps, whistles, and somebody yelling, “Always!”

The host grinned. “Good, because this next poet is new to our mic, but from what he told me, he came with purpose tonight.”

Lane’s eyes cut to Lennox.

He picked up his paper.

Her stomach flipped.

“No,” she whispered.

He stood.

The host looked out over the room, smile widening. “And before he comes up here, I need y’all to know we’ve got a legend in the building tonight; make some noise for Lavender Haze.”

A few people gasped. Someone near the bar said, “Lavender Haze is here?” Another person clapped immediately, and suddenly the room looked at Lane with recognition, curiosity, and delight.

Lane’s face went hot as she glared at Lennox. He gave her a tiny shrug that said, You’re welcome, and I accept the consequences. She mouthed that she hated him and he mouthed back that she didn’t, making her laugh.