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twenty-four

Olive

Lane Brooks doesn’t forget a thing.

Even the things you didn’t realize he knew in the first place.

I guess I mentioned to Sage that French food was my favorite after the three of us had lunch that day. And since Lane remembers everything, that means we’re at one of my favorite French restaurants in Midtown.

It was a very easy yes when he asked me out for tonight, but I did spend most of the day anxious and worried.

I’ve never been on a date before, and I don’t want to do something that would make Lane lose interest in me.

As much as I shy away from it with everyone else, I really like having his attention.

And I’ve had every bit of his attention tonight. He’s barely taken his eyes off me, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he looks away. But I don’t think there’s a force on Earth that could take me away from him. His pull is magnetic, and I’m always drawn right back in.

We’ve had courses of bouillabaisse and escargot—it was Lane’s first time trying it, and once he got past the mental block of what he was eating, he seemed to really enjoy it. I ordered moules marinières for my entree while Lane went with the coq a vin.

And now, we’re just enjoying some light conversation over the remainder of our bottle of a delicious French burgundy wine while we wait for our tarte tatin for dessert.

“So,” Lane says with his famous cocky side grin, “how has your first date been?”

I smile at him sweetly. “I’ve had a wonderful time, Lane.”

“Best first date you’ve ever been on, right?” he smirks.

“Easily,” I tease before we both fall into laughter.

Being with him is so easy. All of the nerves I felt through the day have completely dissipated, and I’m just soaking in every moment with him.

“You really do look beautiful tonight, Olive.” Lane reaches across the table and takes my hand, tenderly rubbing his thumb over it.

“Thank you,” I blush. “You look really nice yourself. You pull off a suit very well.”

I expect a cocky comment in return, but all I get is the most affectionate smile, and my heart flutters in my chest. This man affects me like no other.

“I like the pearls, too,” he says, gesturing to the jewelry I’m wearing. “I expected to see you in diamonds, but pearls suit you well.”

“I’ve always loved pearls,” I admit. “They’re beautiful. It’s also my birthstone, though, so I think that plays a part in it.”

Lane has a look of concentration on his face as he works out what that means. “So your birthday is in… June?”

“Mhmm,” I hum. “June second. What about yours?”

“October twelfth,” he responds. “So I’m newly thirty-two.”

I can’t help but tease him again. He seems to like it when I do that. “Newly thirty-two still makes you an old man, Hotshot. We should probably just get a cane for you now. Call AARP and get you set up with a plan. Probably need to look into getting your will ready as well.”

Lane throws his head back in laughter, and that turns some heads from the other patrons in the restaurant. He just brushes them off. “And yet here you are on a date with an old man. What does that say about you?”

“That I like silver foxes?”

“I do not have gray hair.”

“No, you don’t,” I chuckle. “Not that I’ve seen.”

“Olive Finch, you’re a menace,” he says with a shake of his head.

“And yet, here you are on a date with a menace. What does that say about you?”

“That I like trouble, I suppose.”

He’s teasing, but I don’t think he knows how right he is. With all of my baggage, I’m probably nothing but trouble.

And yet, he sticks around anyway.

He’s here when I need him, ready to brighten up even my darkest days.

I wasn’t looking for anyone when we met, but I think Lane Brooks is exactly what I’ve been needing.

“The view from here is beautiful,” I say as Lane and I lean against his balcony railing.

“I love it,” he smiles. “When Sage was a newborn, and things were really tough, this is where I’d come to just catch my breath. It’s so peaceful.”

“Did you struggle when she was born?” I ask.

“God, yes,” he breathes. “I’m a single dad; I always have been. If it weren’t for my friends, I can’t see how I would have even made it to where I am now. They’re always here when I need help. Each one of them has earned that aunt or uncle title.”

“You light up when you talk about her,” I state, looking into the hazel of his eyes. “About Sage.”

“Because she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Lane’s grin is so broad it practically stretches from ear to ear. “She’s sassy and inquisitive and the absolute best hugger. She knows exactly how to make your heart melt. I love her to fucking bits.”

“You’re a good dad, Lane. I’ve seen the way Sage looks at you. You are that sweet girl’s entire world.”

Lane’s look right now is so tender and caring, and I feel the warmth from his gaze pulse all through me. “I love that you call her that.”

“What do you mean?” I cock my head to the side.

“You call her sweet girl. You have a nickname for my daughter.”

“Oh,” I reply nervously. “I’m sorry if that’s not ok—”

“Ballerina, it’s more than okay. The fact that you have enough of a bond with my daughter to give her a nickname in the first place is the best goddamn thing. I love it. Truly.”

I smile and lean against his side. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me in closer. “Tonight has been absolutely perfect, Lane.”

“The night isn’t over yet.” He kisses the top of my head. “But it can be if you want. I can take you home or back to Harvey’s, or we can head inside and warm up in front of the fireplace.”

“Fireplace,” I breathe. “Let’s warm up. I’m not ready to leave yet.”

Lane smiles at me softly before leaning down and kissing me. Then he takes my hand in his, and we walk back into his penthouse, shucking off our shoes and laying our jackets over the back of the chair.

He turns the gas fireplace on and sits on the ground in front of it, opening his arms to welcome me in. I crouch down to join him, and Lane pulls me right onto his lap.

The moment I’m on top of him, we’re kissing again. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and his rest low on my hip, our bodies pressed flush together.

Our kiss turns deeper when he licks the seam of my mouth, and I part my lips to let him inside. His tongue strokes against mine as one of his hands finds the nape of my neck and rests there, holding me in place.

The hand still on my hip travels north, stroking up and down my side in a gentle caress. When his hand rests over my ribcage, he strokes his thumb over me, but this time on the outside of my breast.

I like the feeling, and that absolutely terrifies me.

“Lane,” I say, breaking our kiss.

“I’m sorry, Olive. I got a little carried away. I’m so sorry that made you uncomfortable.” He rests his hand on my cheek, sorrow in his eyes.

“No, no, I’m sorry. You should be able to express your feelings in whatever way you need, and you need a person who can accept that.” Tears prick the corners of my eyes before falling down my cheeks. “I’m not that person. I’m sorry, Lane.”

Now full-on sobbing, I stand and rush away from him, running back to the balcony. I left my jacket inside, so the cold is bitter against my skin, but I don’t care.

I can’t give Lane what he needs. What he deserves. I’m doing better than before, but I’m still not well yet. Maybe I won’t ever be.

I sit against the wall, legs bent in front of me with my arms wrapped around them while tears stream down my face. How did we go from such an incredible date to me now hysterically crying on his balcony?

Why can’t I just be normal?

The balcony door opens now, and Lane steps out, holding a blanket. Without a word, he walks over to me and wraps it around my shoulders before sitting on the ground next to me.

“Olive,” he says softly. “What’s going on?”

“I told you I’m fucked up, Lane. You don’t know everything I’ve been through.”

He turns my face to him, pressing our foreheads together. “So tell me. I can see how this hurts you, so let me help you. Let me be there for you.”

“I don’t think you want to know the whole story,” I whisper, refusing to make eye contact.

“Maybe not,” he breathes. “But I care about you, Olive, and if opening up is what you need to let me help you, then so be it.”

Lane takes his thumb and wipes the tears from under my eyes, and that gentle and tender motion reminds me that I can trust him. That we can’t move forward if I’m still holding back.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Might want to grab some tissues, though. My story is… a lot.”