Page 113 of Lennox Lane

There it was again. That quiet command that her body responded to before her pride could object, but she made sure to roll her eyes as she settled back into her seat. His hand left the gear shift and rested palm-up near the console—an offering. Lane looked at it for one beat, then placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers. She stared at their joined hands. When they turned onto Lennox’s street, Lane expected to see the space in his driveway where his car had been parked before the dismantling. She expected evidence of the chaos she’d caused. Maybe a tow truck or scattered tools. Maybe Tariq leaning against a fence with popcorn, because that man appeared anywhere mess had a scent.

Instead, she saw the car. Lennox’s custom luxury car sat in the driveway beneath the soft glow of the exterior lights, flawless and gleaming as it had never been violated by heartbreak, rage, and a woman who stopped at nothing to get her lick back. The car looked expensive, whole, and deeply unaware of how close it had come to becoming a permanent installation titled Men Should Explain Quickly.

Lane sat up straight. “Oh.”

Lennox parked beside it and turned off the SUV.

For a moment, neither of them moved, and he finally spoke, “Lavender, I was never worried about that damn car because nobody in or out of this city is willing to cross me. I’m glad you were able to get your frustration out, but the car has been here for days,” he smirked.

She looked at Lennox with adoration in her eyes. He was the man who had corrected her without cruelty and made accountability feel like a hand held out instead of a sentence. Lennox got out, rounded the SUV, and opened her door.

When she stepped down, he didn’t touch her right away. He stood close enough for the warmth of him to wrap around her in the night air. Together, they walked past the resurrected car and toward the front door, and Lane had the inconvenient thought that maybe love wasn’t always about never breaking things. Maybe sometimes it was about knowing how to repair what mattered before morning.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE WONDER OF WINSTON HILLS

By the time they crossed into Winston Hills, Lane understood why people spoke about the town like it had been handpicked by God and landscaped by rich Black aunties with standards.

It was beautiful.

Not cute. Not nice. Not one of those polished developments with decorative trees and sidewalks nobody used. Beautiful in a way that felt rooted. Lush, green, and full of trees that arched over wide roads like they were protecting everybody beneath them. Old oaks stretched their branches across stone-lined streets. Crepe myrtles bloomed in soft bursts of pink, white, and lavender. Ivy climbed brick walls around private estates, and every turn revealed something intentional: wrought-iron gates, walking trails, pocket parks, fountains, brownstone-style shops, and homes sitting back from the road like they knew they didn’t have to beg for attention.

Lane sat in the passenger seat, one hand resting near the window, taking it all in.

“This place is the definition of luxe,” she murmured.

Lennox glanced over. “Absolutely. I love to visit to unwind without being too far away.”

“I can definitely see why. You can smell the wealth in the air. The kind of affluence where even the trees look like they have trust funds.”

He laughed.

“Winston Hills takes landscaping seriously.”

“They take everything seriously. I can tell.”

She watched a woman in a cream pantsuit walk a giant poodle down a sidewalk lined with hydrangeas. “That dog has a better credit score than me and owns some property.”

“And what’s more breathtaking is the city is predominantly black. People that look like us are behind the wealth here,” Lennox added before reaching across the console, palm up.

Lane looked at his hand as she placed hers in it. That had started happening more often. Not automatically. Nothing with Lane happened automatically unless it involved sarcasm or vengeance. But lately, when Lennox offered his hand, she didn’t always make him wait long enough to regret reaching.

He didn’t comment on it either.

Smart Robot.

They checked into a luxury hotel tucked against a wooded ridge with sweeping views of the town below. The lobby smelled like cedar, citrus, and expensive quiet. A massive chandelier hung above them, all glass and gold, catching the afternoon light like jewelry. The floors were polished stone, the furniture deep green velvet and warm leather, and behind the front desk, a wall of living plants climbed toward the ceiling.

Lane stepped inside and immediately looked at Lennox.

“This hotel is something out of a movie.”

He smiled. “You like it?”

“I love it.”

“I figured you would.”