Chapter 12 My apartment smelled like fresh peonies and amber-the diffuser I'd mixed myself from essential oils and a love of perfume. Everything in my space was designed to make you feel, not just look at. Warm light, soft textures, and colors that glowed in candlelight. Sensual without being performative. Comfortable, but never sloppy. A little vintage, a little French, a lot me. The walls were a muted shell pink, the velvet sofa in the living room a dusty fig. A bar cart gleamed under a gold-framed mirror, and a pair of antique heels I'd never worn sat like a sculpture next to a stack of art books. Even my vanity was a love letter-perfume bottles arranged in a tray, lipsticks in varying shades, a small, framed photo of my mother, who wore winged eyeliner and confidence like armor, right next to the bottle that belonged to her. I sat on the tufted bench at the end of my bed, smoothing my hand over my dress. The fabric was dark emerald silk, cut to flatter without revealing too much-it whispered over my skin. Underneath it, I wore a nude matching bra and panty set-lace, delicate. I didn't do it for Jonah. I wore it for myself. Because that's what I did, I found beauty. Paired it. Sold it. Wore it. Lived it. I rose and stood in front of the mirror, looking at myself objectively. You're not some girl waiting to be chosen, Naomi LeBlanc. You are a woman who makes her own choices. All the pep talks aside, when I looked at my reflection in the mirror, the familiar ache in my chest returned. With this date, Gage wouldn't be the last man I'd gone out with. But it's been months, Naomi. It's time! Months? But it felt like just yesterday and forever ago when Gage walked out of my store with a tight smile and a haunted look. Since I told him I loved him, and he looked at me like I'd broken the unspoken deal. He still lived in the corners of my mind like fog. I missed his hands. His voice. The way he made me laugh when he let himself be soft. The way he touched me, as if I were precious. I hated that I missed him. I was so damn tired of missing him. "I swear to God, Naomi, if you say, 'I'm not sure about this' one more time, I'm going to smudge your whole apartment with sage and forcibly change your star chart." Aurelie leaned against my bedroom doorway, arms crossed, a glass of rosé in hand, watching me like a stylist who didn't quite trust the model not to sabotage her own shoot. "I'm just saying"-I rose as I adjusted the silk wrap dress for the fifth time-"what if this is a mistake?" "It's a date, not a marriage license. You're having dinner and drinks with a hot, successful man who flirted with you like a gentleman and asked for your number in front of God, his sister-in-law, and lingerie. If that's a mistake, I'd like to make several." I laughed softly despite myself. Aurelie wasn't wrong, and...yet. She moved behind me and spoke to my reflection in the mirror, her voice gentle. "You don't have to be over Gage to go out with someone else." "I know." "Do you?" I looked away, brushing a curl behind my ear. "I'm trying." "Then let Jonah be a night of trying." She smiled, her hands on my waist, her chin on my shoulder. "And if it goes well, maybe a night of trying twice." I gave her a soft, amused glance. "You're incorrigible." She stepped away and regarded me with quiet consideration. "You will get over Gage, Naomi." "Will I?" I closed my eyes and turned away from the mirror to face my friend. "When?" I was feeling rather desperate to be over the man who didn't want my love or me, who was happier with transient relationships that were based on superficial attraction. "Yes, you will," she said firmly. "Now go charm the hot restaurateur. I'll text you at nine to make sure you haven't climbed out a bathroom window." Aurelie left a little before seven when Jonah was supposed to arrive, and he did, on the dot, as the intercom buzzed at 6:59 p.m. When I opened the door to the street, he was standing there in a navy linen suit with an open collar, holding a bouquet of wildflowers and wearing a smile that should've made me feel more than it did. "You look incredible." "You're not too bad yourself." "What can I say, I clean up nice." He handed me the flowers. "I thought you might like something a little wild." I rolled my eyes at the comment. "I'll just put them in a vase." The bouquet was soft and tangled, like it had been gathered from the edge of a dream. This man had all the moves! I didn't take him to my apartment. I wasn't ready for that. But I opened the store and arranged the flowers on the table by the register. "So, where are we going tonight?" I asked him as we walked toward Dauphine, where he said his car was. I willed myself to relax, to let go, to let the night be easy. The car was a sedan and came with a driver. Very fancy! And very different from Gage's truck. Jonah opened the car door for me, and I slid inside, grateful I'd dressed up-he was clearly pulling out all the stops. "Have you been to Saffron?" he asked as he settled in next to me, the door shutting with a muted click. The driver pulled into traffic, navigating the cramped, crooked streets of the Quarter like a pro. "No, but I've been meaning to." Gage loved Indian food. I'd been planning to take him there for his birthday. I'd even scoped out the menu, thought about what he'd like. But that day had come and gone a month ago-unmarked and unspoken. "Then I'm glad I chose it." Jonah smiled with satisfaction as he loosened the collar of his linen shirt slightly and added, "I know the family that owns it." "I know a little about you," I told him shyly, feeling a little stalkerish since I'd looked him up on the Internet. "Looked me up, did you?" He leaned back and studied me with amusement. I shot him a look of mock exasperation. "I needed to make sure I wasn't going on a date with a serial killer." He let out a soft laugh. "And what did you find out about me?" I pressed my back against the plush leather of the car seat. "That you're planning on opening a speakeasy." "Ah, Saints & Sinners." He launched into talk of the project-a speakeasy-style bar opening behind one of his flagship restaurants in the CBD. "We're playing on New Orleans' Catholic and hedonistic heritage. We're thinking moody indulgence with gilded altars, dark corners, and drinks with names like Confession or Original Sin." I let my eyes rest on him, thinking. He was a gorgeous man. Olive skin, trim body, high cheekbones, blue-gray eyes. He was a package and the complete antithesis of my rough-edged ex. Stop thinking about Gage! Focus on Jonah. Handsome, rich, refined.... "I'd love to try Original Sin." I tilted my head, infusing my words with a flirtatious tone that I didn't feel. He kept the conversation moving. He told me about an Italian wine bar and bistro he was planning to open in the Garden District, and about a pop-up collab with a New York chef that was already generating press. "I like concept-driven spaces," he continued. "Design that tells a story. Vibe is everything now-people eat with their eyes first. You sell lingerie, you know how it goes." He liked to hear his own voice. Nothing wrong with that, and it actually worked for me. I liked to listen. I felt that Jonah would not be comfortable with silences. Like Gage used to be. Damn it! I needed to stop thinking about him. This wasn't healthy. It was also counterproductive when I was on a date with another, very appropriate man. I nodded, smiled when it felt right, and listened politely, wondering if I should give up the fight and let my mind go where it wanted to. Every time Jonah spoke, I compared him to the man who wasn't interested in me. Gage wouldn't care about concept or PR buzz. He wouldn't build things because of trends or for optics. He wouldn't be caught dead in a linen suit-no matter how hot Jonah looked in it. He wore Carhartt to job sites and smelled like sawdust and sweat, and occasionally the cedar-scented soap he used. Gage could talk for twenty minutes about 19th-century joinery and get this quiet glow in his eyes like the wood was telling him secrets. Jonah was brilliant and polished, like one of his restaurants with dim lighting and expensive plates that were more art than food. Gage was the guy who'd take you to a hole-in-the-wall for gumbo and insist it was the best in the city-and he'd be right. "Does it ever feel like a lot?" I cut in gently. "The business. The constant expansion." Jonah's eyes danced with pleasure. "No. I love it." Then he winked at me. "I get restless when things sit still too long." I gave another polite smile. Gage didn't get restless. He was self-contained. He could sit still and watch the sunset quietly. He didn't run after change, no, he restored buildings-he didn't make them new...just whole again. By the time we got to Saffron, two things were clear. Jonah was having a great time with me, and I wasn't over Gage. But you're going to do it, Naomi. You're going to enjoy your time with Jonah. Even if there isn't a spark? Even if I still felt the ghost of rough hands and whispered promises trailing down my spine? Five-year-old Annie, who can understand animals, saved Landon Hawthorne, a wealthy businessman, from suicide. Now she's his whole world and he's her legal cheat-code against every villain fate throws ...