Gage had shattered me with his story, but he broke me by telling some stranger I was clinging to him. Objectively, I understood he didn’t mean anything by it, he was pushing the woman away—so he was being cruel to her by being cruel to me, which made him an asshole in my book.

    As true as that was, there were some other truths that I had to face.

    Months after we were over, I was still rattled by him.

    Even when I told myself I was fine.

    Even when I wore something cute, had a great hair day, and told Aurelie that I’d moved on. That I was good. Grown. Graceful.

    That liested three seconds.

    Aurelie sympathized with me when I told her all that had happened with Gage, and dered that my ex was TSTL.

    “What’s that?” I asked.

    “Too Stupid To Live,” she exined. “The son of a bitch wants you, but he’s too afraid because his childhood sweetheart died. Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s hard to get over trauma like that—but a lot of people do. The fact that Gage is using that as an excuse to fuck around with you is all kinds of fucked up. I say, fuck Jonah’s brains out and get past the coward.”

    “Hmm.”

    Aurelie arched a brow, lips pursed. “You’re still in love with the coward.”

    Shrug.

    “And there’s no spark with Jonah.”

    Nod.

    “Christ!”

    “Amen.”

    Aurelie wasn’t wrong—I was still in love with Gage (because the stupid heart wants what it wants), and there was zero spark with Jonah.

    I hated that. And since I couldn’t do anything about how I felt, I did what I always did when my world tilted sideways.

    I worked.

    I threw myself into prep for the Burlesque Noir Trunk Show at the Marigny Opera House in a week, editing mood boards and finalizing fabric pairings for the final disy pieces.

    Feathered corsets, blush mesh gloves, embroidered bodysuits—all sensual, theatrical, a little dangerous. Lingerie that made women stand taller.

    The weekend event would start with a runway show, and two of Aire Noire’s lingerie lines would be featured. I’d done the fittings already. One model was Aurelie, and another was a friend of hers whom she’d recruited. There would be twenty models in total, and several of the burlesque, Mardi Gras costumes, and lingerie stores across New Orleans would be represented.

    Following the runway show, each vendor would have a stall set up—and if past years were any reference, I’d have a banner weekend with more sales in two days than in all of July when tourists and locals abandoned the Quarter.

    I usually loved this part: the styling, the anticipation, the confidence in the air.

    But everything I touched made me think of Gage.

    I remember the way his eyes darkened when I modeled new arrivals for him.

    I remember the way his hands held my hips, still calloused from work but always reverent.

    I remember the time I caught him staring at a gold-trimmed bodysuit like he was memorizing it so he could take it off meter, slowly.

    I hated that my heart still ached for a man who treated love like a virus he didn’t want to catch.

    When Jonah came by, I was in the middle of steaming a blush-pink cape made of marabou and drama.

    “What’s up?” I asked.

    “Do I need to pretend I have a lingerie emergency to see you?” he asked cheekily.

    “Absolutely,” I replied, infusing my words with mischief. “Otherwise, Kadisha’s going to think I’m cking off.”

    “Speaking of which, where is your trusted sidekick?”

    Kadisha had met and approved of Jonah even though she worried he might be too “suit and tie” for me, but had magnanimously given her approval for me to try him out to see if he fit.

    “At the courthouse. One of her clients is being sentenced.” I set the steamer down. “Which means she mighte back either heartbroken or ted.”

    Kadisha worked with people who had mental illnesses, advocating for them to be incarcerated in a medical facility and not Ang. Last month one of her clients had gotten life without parole, and she’d been devastated.

    “She needs to learn topartmentalize.” Jonah picked up a silk chemise and looked at it critically.

    “It’lle with time.”

    “And needs to stop getting so affected,” he added.

    “If she isn’t affected then she’d make a shitty social worker and should find a new line of work,” I quipped, more heated than I intended. “I think it’s her empathy andpassion that make her a great social worker.”

    He faced me then, spection in his eyes. “All okay?”

    I let out a long sigh. “Feeling testy.”

    He bobbed his head. “Gage been by again?”

    He’d found out what happened with Gage because he’d been out with Aurelie, her gang, and me a couple of days ago, and she wouldn’t shut up about it.

    “No.” I began to go through the hangers that I’d set aside for the trunk show.

    I felt him behind me, and he set his chin on my shoulder. “Babe, something is not right.”

    I clenched my jaw. I had to tell Jonah that we weren’t going to happen. I turned, and he straightened.

    “You’re…lovely.” I waved vaguely at his polished shirt and subtle cologne. “And smart. And kind of annoyingly hot.”

    “But?” he prompted, stroking a finger down my cheek.

    “But…we don’t have…you know?”

    He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

    I licked my lips. “Chemistry.”

    “Ah.”

    I hesitated for a moment and took the plunge. “And…I’m still sorting my…you know…Gage out. It feels unfair to keep you in orbit when I’m stuck in ce.”

    Jonah tilted his head. “What if I like to orbit?”

    I gave him a look.

    “Let’s check on the chemistry, yeah?” he suggested.

    He didn’t wait for permission.

    He just stepped forward—steady, quiet—and ced his hands on either side of my waist. I didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

    Then he leaned in.

    It wasn’t rushed.

    It wasn’t a dare.

    His lips brushed mine the way silk slips over skin—smooth, curious. Like he was trying to read a story in my mouth, page by page, pause by pause.

    He deepened it slowly, tilting his head just enough to angle the kiss, his fingers tightening slightly at my waist. He tasted like coffee and confidence.

    Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

    And for a second, just a flicker—I kissed him back.

    There was warmth.

    There was ease.

    There was a glimmer of…what could be.

    But…there was no wildfire in my lungs. No ache behind my ribs. No world-tilting rush.

    When he pulled away, he kept his forehead against mine for a beat. His hands stayed light on my waist. His breath was calm.

    “Well?” he asked softly.

    I opened my eyes. “You kiss like a man who reads poetry and owns very good sheets.”

    He grinned. “Five thousand thread count Egyptian cotton.”

    This time Iughed.

    “Darlin’, let’s keep it simple. asional oysters. And wine. And long conversations where I tell you how amazing you are and remind you what aplete idiot he is.”

    “You know that’s not how simple usually works, right?” I cupped his cheek.

    “I want you, Naomi, nothing simpler than that.” He rubbed his face against the palm of my hand.

    I dropped my hand. “I’m not…in the market for that.” The idea of having sex with anyone, even Gage, right now, didn’t feel like a possibility.

    “That’s fine.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “I’ll wait…while we eat oysters and drink champagne, obviously.”

    I rolled my eyes, enjoying his charm. “Obviously.”

    He hung out with me as I worked, told me about his life and family. His sister Lenora was married to Alia, who I’d met. His brother, Jerome, had three kids and lived in the Garden District. Jonah was the youngest, and, in the words of his family, “the resident manwhore.”

    He said it with a grin, but I caught the flicker of loneliness. He might be joking about it, but he wanted a rtionship. Unlike Gage. It would be so easy to just be with this man. He was kind and sweet and….

    “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Naomi. I’m looking.”

    “For?” I asked even though I knew.

    “Someone who makes me stop.”

    I set aside a white negligee, deciding not to take it along for the show. “Stop what?”

    “Stop looking.”

    “You want to fall in love,” I remarked.

    He smiled, slower this time. “Yeah.”

    I felt a shiver run up my spine. It wouldn’t do for me to weave dreams about this man. It would be unfair to him and me.

    “People get over people,” he continued, leaned, and kissed my nose. “You’ll get over him. Give me a chance, darlin’.”

    My mouth went dry and blurted out, “You’re not in love with me, Jonah.”

    “No.” He let out a cleanugh. “But I like yourpany. I’d sleep with you in a heartbeat, though. No pressure. Just facts.”

    Iughed into my coffee. “Appreciated. Noted. Ignored.”

    After he left, I felt oddly lighter, and because I did, I could see myself a little clearer.

    I’d been looking, too, and I’d stopped when I met Gage.

    He hadn’t been looking.

    I didn’t want Jonah…or rather, I wanted what I had with Gage—without the feeling that I was loving a man who didn’t know what to do with that love once he had it.

    Get back to work, Naomi. Bras and panties make sense. Wisps ofce make sense. But wishful thinking? That is nonsense—and the fastest way to getting hurt.