Page 82 of Lennox Lane

with my heart acting like

it doesn’t remember

who raised it,

I looked at that man.

and thought,

There you are.

Not perfect.

Not healed.

Not easy.

But trying.

And Lord help me,

I’ve always had a weakness.

for impossible things

that bloom anyway.”

Lane lowered the mic. The room rose again. Not just clapping. They were shouting. Fingers snapping. Some laughing and some crying. The host pressed one hand to her chest and shook her head as she’d just witnessed a baptism and a roast at the same time.

Lane stood there breathing hard with her eyes locked on Lennox. He didn’t move at first. He only stared at her, eyes shining in a way that made every joke inside her go quiet. Then he crossed the room as the crowd parted for him like they’d been waiting for this part too. He reached the stage but didn’t climb up. He stood at the edge, looking up at her like she’d rewritten him in real time.

Lane looked down at him, still holding the mic.

“What?” she asked, voice catching slightly.

Lennox shook his head, smiling like something inside him had broken open and healed in the best way.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just witnessing.”

The mic picked it up. The room sighed so dramatically Lane almost laughed. Almost. Instead, she stepped down from the stage, going straight into his arms. Lennox held her carefully. Reverently. Lane didn’t think about escape. She thought about what could be possible.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NO SAFE MODE

The Ink Well stayed loud long after Lane stepped off that stage.

Not just with applause, though there was plenty of that. People clapped until her palms tingled in sympathy. They snapped, cheered, called out her pen name like Lavender Haze had been gone too long and the room had been waiting for her return. A woman near the bar wiped her eyes. The host kept shaking her head and saying, “Now that’s poetry,” like the night had personally blessed her.

But the loudest thing was inside Lane; her heart was beating out of her chest. The impossible, reckless, terrifying thought that maybe Lennox Jackson had found one of the few doors she’d forgotten to lock.

He didn’t let her go immediately. After she stepped into his arms, he held her in front of the whole room like there wasn’t a single thing to hide. No joke to soften it. No slick line to make it smaller. No rush to turn the moment into something physical because feelings made him nervous.

He just held her carefully and proudly. Like she was precious, and he didn’t care who saw him knowing it. That should’ve scared her more than it did. Instead, she let herself breathe against his chest while the room celebrated around them, and when he pressed a kiss to her temple, Lane closed her eyes for one second longer than pride recommended.

“You good, Lavender?” he murmured.

“No,” she whispered. “You embarrassed me with tenderness in public.”