I hugged her tight. She smelled like airplane recycled air and expensive perfume.
"What man?"
"Some finance guy in first class. Asked for my number before we even took off. Then spent the entire flight finding excuses to talk to me." She collapsed onto my bed, shoes still on. "He wasn't even attractive. Just persistent."
"Did you give him your number?"
"Absolutely not. I told him I was engaged."
"Are you engaged?"
"No. But he doesn't know that." She grabbed a pillow and put it over her face. "I'm so tired, Isa. The shoot in Barcelona ran late, and then my flight from London was delayed, and I haven't slept properly in three days."
"Barcelona?"
"Vogue Spain. Beach editorial." She removed the pillow. "It was beautiful and also extremely sandy. I'm still finding sand in places sand should not be."
I laughed. "Sounds glamorous."
"Glamour is a lie we tell civilians. Glamour is waking up at 4 AM to have someone paint your face while you're standing in the Mediterranean in April, freezing." She sat up, eyeing me. "But enough about me. What's going on with you? You have a look."
"What look?"
"The look you get when something happened and you're trying to figure out how to tell me." She crossed her legs, settling in. "Spill."
So I told her. About the vineyard. The winemaking lesson. The dinner on the terrace. The rain. The moment in the hallway where I thought—where I almost?—
"Wait." Naomi held up a hand, her eyes widening. "You almost kissed him?"
"I don't know. Maybe. It felt like something was about to happen, but then his phone rang, and?—"
"And you spent the night at his house."
"In a guest room. Alone."
"In his guest room. Wearing his clothes." She raised an eyebrow."Isa."
"It was raining. My clothes were wet."
She stared at me, her expression saying everything her mouth didn't.
"What about Femi?" she asked quietly.
The question landed like a slap. I wanted to smack myself. Femi. I'd barely thought about him all day, except for that one time. While I was at the vineyard, he'd slipped from my mind entirely—the anger, the hurt, the waiting for a call that never came.
"I haven't heard from him," I said, my voice small. "Not since that phone call two days ago. Not a single message."
Naomi's expression shifted. "You didn't call him, did you?"
"No."
"Good." She nodded firmly. "If he wants you back, he's going to have to earn it. You don't chase men, Isabelle. Men chase you."
"I just thought... after everything, he'd at least check in. Make sure I was okay."
"Apparently not." She reached over and squeezed my hand, her grip warm and anchoring. "Look. You have the boutique to focus on. The most important opening of your career.Everything you've worked for. Forget about men for now. Both of them."
"Both of them?"
