“Where are we?”I repeat, stepping through the door he holds open for me.
He just smiles again—mischievous and a little smug—as we approach the front desk.
“Welcome to Elk River Winery,” says a woman with sandy brown hair as she beams. “Do you have a reservation with us this evening?”
“Yes,” Lane answers. “Should be for two, under Hartford.”
I blink twice, and my gaze snaps to him.
He made a reservation?
“Right this way.” The woman smiles, gliding through a wide arched doorway.
Lane’s hand finds the small of my back, gently guiding me as we follow her.
The dining room is glowing. Candlelight spills off the linen tablecloths and tall glass vase centerpieces wrapped in antlers. A chandelier made entirely of antlers hangs overhead in the center of the room. It’s rustic and elegant, all at once.
I peek at Lane, my mouth parted in awe. He was already watching me, taking in my reaction, that same smile tugging at his lips.
The hostess leads us to a table by the window and Lane pulls a chair out for me. It’s not until the hostess slips away that I realize I’m still standing.
But when I try to move, I can’t.
I’m frozen in place, struck by the quiet realization that no one has ever put this level of care into a date before.
My chest tightens, and before I know it, a tear slides down my cheek.
Lane’s smile drops instantly.
He shoves the chair away and is beside me in a heartbeat, hands cradling my face. “Hey. Whoa. What’s wrong, love?”
Love.I don’t know when a single word started carrying this much weight.
I laugh through the tears, exhaling a shaky breath. “I’m happy.”
Before I can second-guess myself, I rise onto my toes and kiss him—a soft, grateful press of my lips to his. Because I don’t know how else to say thank you.
His hands tighten slightly, kissing me back, slow and reverent, before resting his forehead against mine.
The room blurs until it’s just me and him.
“Happy tears?” he whispers.
I nod, smiling through it. “I’m a crier. Sorry if that’s a dealbreaker.”
He laughs, low and easy. “Sadie, you could tell me you have a tail, and I still wouldn’t think that’s a dealbreaker. I can handle some tears.”
He kisses my forehead, gaze flicking between my eyes. “You’re okay?”
“I feel okay with you,” I whisper.
His fingers trail down my arms before he steps back and pulls out my chair.
This time, I sit.
Lane takes the opposite seat, grabbing the bottle of wine chilling in the ice bucket. He dramatically presents it to me, and I give him an exaggerated nod of approval.
He pours me a generous glass, then sets the bottle down without pouring one for himself. I give him a curious, questioning look, but he lifts his water glass and tilts it toward mine.
