Page 118 of Lennox Lane

The second course was a roasted beet and watermelon salad with mint, arugula, toasted pistachios, and a peppery, citrus-brightened vinaigrette. Dana poured a dry rosé that smelled like strawberries, herbs, and summer refusing to mind its business. Lane hated how perfectly it worked.

The third course made her sit up straighter—seared scallops over black-eyed pea hummus, topped with crispy shallots and chili oil. The wine was a Maison Noire Viognier with enough body to hold the spice and enough softness to make Lane reconsider every white wine she’d ever loved as unserious and worthy of dismissal.

Lennox watched her take the first bite.

“You’re doing it again,” she said.

“What?”

“Watching me like my taste buds are giving a keynote address.”

“They’re expressive.”

“You love me, huh?”

“Real bad, as the kids say. ”

She was quiet before adding, “I love you too, Robot.”

She tried not to smile and failed after her declaration.

The fourth course was the showstopper: lamb ribs glazed with pomegranate molasses and sorghum. The protein was served with smoked collard greens, lemony potatoes, and a silky eggplant purée. Dana paired it with a deep, smoky Maison Noire Syrah that made Lane understand why people wrote love letters to wine instead of just drinking it and moving on with their lives.

Knox checked on them after the plates landed, eyes bright with pride. “How we doing?”

Lane set her fork down. “Chef, respectfully, I need a minute.”

“That good?”

“This lamb is sinfully delicious. The way your mind works when curating menus should be studied.”

Lennox laughed. “That’s serious.”

“It’s buttery and smoky. Sweet and tart. The tenderness is awe-inspiring and rude. I feel attacked. I don't need to gain another pound yet here I am ready to volunteer as your taste tester,” she giggled.

Knox’s grin spread. “That’s what I love to hear.”

Dana lifted the bottle slightly. “And the pairing?”

Lane looked at her. “The wine is flirting with the lamb.”

“As intended.”

“They’re doing a beautiful Tango. Seduction at its best, and I support it.”

Dana laughed. “You’re officially my favorite kind of guest.”

By dessert, Lane was warm from wine. Full from food and dangerously close to becoming the kind of woman who believed in being spoiled without suspicion. The fifth course was sweet potato cheesecake with a pecan-praline crust. It was topped with whipped mascarpone and a drizzle of bourbon caramel. Dana paired it with a late-harvest dessert wine that tasted like peaches and honey. It was as if someone’s rich auntie decided to bless the table. Lane took one bite and leaned back in her chair.

“I need to speak to management.”

Knox folded his arms, amused. “Complaint?”

“Yes. This is too good, and now I have to live with the memory.”

“That’s our burden to place on you.”

“I feel changed.”