Lemons and Roses

Episode11

When I opened the door, I didn’t expect him.

Brad stood there casually, one hand in his pocket, the other lifting slightly in greeting as if he wasn’t aware of the quiet shock that flickered across my face.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I was in the area and decided to stop by. I should’ve called, but… I don’t actually have your number.”

I blink once, then stepped aside without a word.

“That’s fine,” I said softly. “Come in.”

He nodded and walked in, glancing around the apartment with polite curiosity but no intrusion. I noticed that immediately—he wasn’t scanning, judging, or lingering on anything. Just observing enough to exist in my space without disturbing it. Can I get you anything? I ask cautiously.

coffee is fine, he replies with a stunning smile.

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft sound of water boiling.

I moved on autopilot, but for the first time in a while, I didn’t feel tense about a stranger in my personal space. When I returned to the living room, I found Brad sitting comfortably, not sprawled, not stiff—just… present.

I placed the cup in front of him and sat opposite.

A brief silence settled between us before I spoke.

“I should properly introduce myself,” I said.

Brad raised a brow slightly. “You don’t have to—”

“My name is Rue, Rue Bennett.” I interrupted gently. “And… I’m sorry about how I acted the day you found me.”

My hands tightened slightly in my lap.

“I wasn’t… myself.”

Brad studies me for a moment, then shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologise.”

I hesitate.

Then add, quieter, “Thank you. For saving me.”

His expression softens immediately. “I would’ve done it for anyone.”

I nod, accepting that without argument, though something in his gaze suggested it wasn’t entirely true—but I didn’t challenge it.

we talked for a while.

At first, it was small things—simple questions, light answers. Brad didn’t push. He didn’t ask about what happened, didn’t probe into the silence behind my eyes. He let me control the pace.

And slowly, the tension in my shoulders eased.

He made jokes about random things—telling me a story of how an old lady poured holy water on him and chased him out of a Japanese restaurant that isn't hers when he cussed, because his client was running late for a meeting that the client scheduled himself and in turn making him run late for his next meeting.

In the end he missed both meetings because he had to get changed into new clothes before going for his next meeting but his car broke on the way and he couldn't make it in time.

Against my better judgment, I laughed.

It surprised me, it surprised him too—but he didn’t comment on it, just smiled like it was the most normal thing in the world.

For a while, it almost felt ordinary.

Eventually, Brad glanced at his watch.

“I should get going,” he said, standing slowly. I instantly felt a bit empty.

I followed him to the door, he paused there. “Can I have your number?”

I hesitated for only a second before nodding. I typed it into his phone, "there.”

“Good,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll call you.”

“You better,” I said inwardly but only gave him a smile. Then he left, that night, my phone rings.

Brad. I answered almost immediately.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he said, voice lighter than earlier. “I said I'd call, yes you did. A pause, I had a good time today. Better than I expected, actually.”

I sat down on her bed. “Me too.”

Another pause. Then, more carefully, “Can I see you again?”

My fingers tightened slightly around the phone.

“Yes,” I said.

A soft exhale came through the line. “Good.”

“Goodnight, Brad.”

“Goodnight, Rue.”

The call ended.

And for a long time after, I just sat there, staring at nothing.

In the days that followed, something inside me began to shift again. I felt lighter.

I started wake up earlier, go out for morning runs, eating without being reminded, sitting with Zia longer instead of retreating immediately into silence.

One afternoon, I sat with Zia in their balcony watching the kids play around in their small garden.

“I think I’m going to start online classes.”

Zia looked up from her laptop instantly. “Wait—seriously?”

I nod. “I don’t want to rush into another job. I want to… build something first.”

Zia’s face lit up. “Rue, that’s amazing.”

I almost smiled. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Zia said firmly. “I support you. Whatever you choose.”

And for the first time in a long time, I believed my future wasn’t something I had to survive—but something I could shape.

Brad and I talked often after that.

Phone calls stretched longer each time. Sometimes they lasted minutes, sometimes hours.

And slowly, carefully, I told him everything. The club, Mr Richardson, the harassment, the firing, the k********g.

And Brad listened—completely, quietly, without interrupting once.

When I finished, there was silence on the line.

Then he said softly, “I’m glad I found you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that but I didn’t hang up.

One evening, I told Zia about him.

“Brad asked me out,” I said casually, like I wasn’t fully sure how to hold the words.

Zia froze for half a second.

Then screamed.

“HE DID WHAT?”

I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear. “Zia, can you stop yelling all the time?

“No. No. This is serious. You’re going on a date. A REAL date.”

I sighed. “Apparently.”

Zia came over in minutes, moving around the room like a lost puppy. “Okay, we are doing this properly. You are not going out there looking basic. Absolutely not.”

“I can dress myself—”

“No you cannot.”

And that is final.

When Zia finished, I barely recognised myself.

Zia had literally transformed me from basic beautiful to absolutely stunning. My hair styled softly, my makeup subtle but perfect, my dress elegant without being overwhelming. When I looked in the mirror, I felt like a stranger.

“You look unreal,” Zia said proudly.

“I feel unreal,” I muttered.

“That’s good. Now you look like someone Brad is going to lose his mind over.”

“Zia.”

“What?”

Before I could argue further, the doorbell rang.

Brad stood outside in a dark shirt and jeans, looking calm until he saw me.

Then he stopped.

Completely.

For a moment, he just stared.

I suddenly felt exposed. “Hi.”

Brad blinked once, then smiled slowly. “Wow.”

my eyebrows lifted. “Wow good or wow bad?”

“Definitely good,” he said immediately. “You look… beautiful.”

I looked at him properly then, and for the first time, smiled back. “You don’t look bad either.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is.”

The restaurant was far more expensive than I expected.

Everything was quiet, polished, controlled.

Before we even reached out table, a manager approached us with a warm smile.

“Mr O'Neil,” he said respectfully. “Right this way.”

I slowed slightly.

we were led to a private table near the window, the kind of seating that made everything feel deliberate.

When we sat, I looked at him carefully.

"You and that manager guy seemed very familiar, I didn't know we'd be coming to a place like this.

Brad leaned back slightly. “Like what?”

“This fancy.”

He shrugged. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” I said. “Just unexpected.”

A pause.

Then, casually, to be sincere I wanted to take you somewhere more special for our first date but my assistant couldn't get an appointment so I just came here instead of cancelling. “ And as for why the manager acted the way he did is because I own the place.”

I froze, “you own this restaurant?”

“And a few others, yeah.” he added.

My eyes widened slightly. “You just casually own restaurants?”

Brad tilted his head. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” I said slowly. “I just didn’t expect… this.”

“I mentioned before that I own a few businesses, so you wouldn't be caught off guard when you later find out.

“Yeah you did, but you never actually mentioned them being this big.

He laughed lightly, to lighten the mood. It's just a few businesses, he said cautiously.

But I wasn’t laughing anymore, something in my chest tightened.

Too familiar, wealthy people, too much.

My thoughts spiraled before I could stop them.

What if he finds out everything? What if he thinks I’m damaged? What if he changes?

I stood up abruptly.

Brad looked up immediately. “Rue?”

“I can’t—” I started, voice shaking slightly. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“Wait—”

But I was already backing away.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated quickly. “I just can’t.”

Then I turned and walked fast, pushing through the restaurant before anyone could see me differently. outside, I stop a cab quickly.

Brad sat frozen for a second, then he stood.

“Rue!” he called.

He followed me out, but when he reached the entrance—my taxi door was already shutting.

And I was already inside.

The cab pulled away into the night.