Page 35 of She's Like the Wind
I’d fooled myself into thinking what I had with Naomi was just hot sex.
This wasn’t about sex. It never was. Not with Naomi.
She’d been more than a lover. She had been a safe place. The first one I’d had in over a decade, and I’d walked away from her like it meant nothing because I was too much of a coward to admit that I…loved her.
What the fuck? No, I didn’t. That wasn’t who I was.
I scrubbed my hands down my face, then over the back of my neck.
I couldn’t do this anymore.
Not the women. Not the pretending. Not the running from what I already knew.
I still didn’t know how to be the man Naomi deserved.But I was starting to understand that not being with her was worse than anything else I’d ever faced.
Even grief.
CHAPTER 12
Naomi
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 youfeel,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.”
