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“I’d love the job,” her mother answered eagerly. “But, Lane, you don’t have to do that…I don’t deserve⁠—”

“This isn’t about deserving,” Lane said before continuing, “This is about work. You said you wanted to give back, so I want to make sure you have the chance to give back. I think it’ll be good for you, for me, for us.”

Jeanette’s eyes welled again.

Lane held up one hand. “This is not a shortcut into my life. You’ll still interview with Marisol like everybody else. I’m starting you part-time until you get used to how things work, and then we can move you to full-time. You’ll be paid biweekly, so we have to get you a bank account, and I’d like to introduce you as my mother,” she let her mother know.

“Okay,” Jeanette answered, tears still sliding down her face.

“Background check consent, employment eligibility, availability, and emergency contact forms,” Lane informed her mother as she slid the onboarding paperwork across the small table.

Jeanette touched the papers like they might disappear and Lane’s own eyes burned all over again. Jeanette picked up the pen with a shaking hand to fill out all the paperwork Lane slid to her. Lane watched her mother write her name at the top of the first form, and she thanked God for the serenity and clarity he’d allowed her to have today. The past she had with her mother wasn’t healed or forgiven, but seeing her fight to be sober and accountable opened the door for them to find healing together. Her heart still hurt, and the past still hurt, but in this moment the hurt didn’t feel like the only thing in the room—hope sat there too, uninvited but not unwelcome.

Lane, who had built an entire life out of refusing to wait for anyone to come back for her, noticed herself watching her mother put pen to paper and wondering if maybe some people did return. Not the way they should have, but in time to meet the woman that was blossoming into someone truly beautiful.

CHAPTER TWENTY

DECRYPTING LANE

Lane left the treatment facility feeling wrung out, but strangely lighter. She wasn't suddenly ready to braid Jeanette’s hair and call her Mama in public while letting the past sit at their table like it hadn’t burned the house down. It was the type of lighter that came after crying hard enough to make space in the body. When Lane finally pulled out of the facility’s long driveway with her mother’s signed onboarding paperwork in the passenger seat, the sun was dipping low behind the trees.

“Whew,” she whispered to herself, “Absolutely not. We are not crying at a stoplight like somebody’s auntie in a Tyler Perry movie.”

Her reflection in the rearview mirror looked unconvinced at the last statement. She’d planned to grab dinner for herself and Lennox since he was working late, thinking of something flavorful and comforting. Her favorite Mediterranean spot was only fifteen minutes away. She and Lennox would discuss her emotions with Jeanette over lamb kabobs with garlic sauce, warm pita, and roasted potatoes. Speaking of Lennox, he’d texted her twice throughout the day, and both times were vague enough to annoy her.

Robot : Busy day. Putting out a bunch of little fires for KC, don’t worry I’m not breaking any laws.

Which was exactly the kind of text that made a woman like Lane worry. Then again, Lennox telling her not to worry was progress, because old Lennox would’ve simply handled whatever crisis had crawled out of hell, buried the evidence, and then shown up with dinner and a kiss, proving that felonious problem-solving was his love language.

They’d gotten to a place where Lennox asked and communicated. In the past, he had never been accountable to a woman, but Lane was bringing out the grown man in him. Lane pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot and found a spot near the entrance when her phone buzzed in the cup holder. Lennox’s name lit up the screen, making her heart do that annoying thing it had started doing lately, which was softening before she even read what he said.

Robot : Meet me at The Full Plate Project. It’s important.

Lane stared at the message, causing the softness to dissipate. What could be so important there that she didn’t know about it? Her mind immediately sprinted toward disaster. Had there been a fire or a break-in? Did Curtis Bell somehow crawl out of whatever hole Lennox had scared him into attempting one last act of villainy?

“Oh no,” Lane muttered.

She threw the car in reverse so fast the backup camera barely had time to wake up, letting the restaurant disappear behind her as she pulled out the same driveway she’d just entered with one hand already calling Lennox. Being sent to voicemail was only making her spiral more.

“Lennox Jackson, you sent me a cryptic text and let my call go to voicemail. I’m prepared to make cussin’ yo ass out my hobby for the next week,” she said as she left the irate voicemail.

Lane channeled her inner Nancy Downs, driving like traffic lights were under her control. By the time she pulled into The Full Plate Project’s parking lot, her pulse was everywhere, and her eyes swept the parking lot. She didn’t see any emergency vehicles, no crowds, just cars that belonged to her friends parked near the side entrance. Lane sat there for half a second, gripping the wheel.

“What the hell?” she asked, audibly frustrated.

If this was some kind of emergency, why did it look like a group project? She got out, leaving her mother’s folder on the seat because her brain had no room for paperwork; she needed to know what was so important. The front door was unlocked, which only irritated her more because they had procedures for locking up at closing. She stepped inside, expecting noise, but was met with a quiet, dark lobby with just enough light to show there was no danger.

“Lennox,” she called with no answer, making way for her irritation to rise high enough to hold hands with fear.

“Robot, I know you hear me,” she fussed, and still nothing.

Lane pulled out her phone, ready to call him again and threaten the entire Jackson bloodline. Before she could dial him, she noticed a faint glow coming from the direction of the conference area. Lane walked toward it slowly, ready to read him the riot act.

“Lennox, I swear to God,” she muttered, hand finding the wall switch near the doorway.

She turned on the lights and froze. The room was in bloom; that was the only way to describe it, and even that didn’t do what was in front of her justice. Purple roses and lavender covered every table, windowsill, and corner of the conference room. It wasn’t gaudy or cluttered, but a beautiful and intentional display of love. Candles flickered safely in glass holders, casting soft lighting across the room. A narrow aisle had been formed between the tables, leading to the front where a glowing sign stood against a backdrop of flowers.

WILL YOU BE MINE?