#teamjulian

[theartofmovingseries]

The Art of Paris

Summary: Paris Haute Couture Week — a whirlwind of work, fashion, and fleeting encounters in the City of Love. Can Noa balance everything? Travail and rendezvous, s’il vous plaît.

Full Episode Soundtrack

Master List

Africa by Toto 

Amina’s apartment was a stone's throw from the iconic Sacré-Cœur Basilica, in the southern part of the 18th Arrondissement, a vibrant, cosmopolitan area with a large Sub-Saharan African population. Goutte d’Or (the golden drop), better known as Little Africa and the center of the West African community in Paris, was a place filled with Black folk and was a must-visit for every Black foodie.

The Patats always knew that Amina Diop, a proud Senegalese-Harlemite, would find herself in Little Africa — the 125th of New York in Paris, where the vibrant Black community brought their flavor, their voices, and their culture into every corner. Mixes of languages, music, and the unmistakable smell of spices spilling from the shops and restaurants filled the air, along with an intricate array of African textiles hanging in storefront windows.

Amina’s building was one of the classic Parisian structures, with tall windows and old wooden shutters. Her apartment was a reflection of her personality — warm, inviting, and filled with life, a testament to her pride in being raised in two cultures — finding the way to blend the old and the new. Inside her living room, was a massive handmade bookshelf, an oversized sofa with colorful cushions in shades of red, yellow, and green, soft, large worn rugs covered the floor, African art and portraits of family members, and photographs of various Patats' travels adorned the walls.

Anything by JoJo

Amina greeted each of the Patats with tight hugs, telling them where to store their bags. Their reunion was warm, full of laughter, with the chaos that only old friends could bring. It was the place where, no matter where you came from, you felt welcomed and loved.

The dining table was set with an array of delicious Senegalese dishes—tender lamb stew swimming in a rich peanut sauce, yassa chicken, and a huge pan of steaming hot jollof rice — bottles of red and white wines and baskets of bread sat on both ends of the table. The girls, way too excited to chow down and gossip, buzzed with nervous energy.

Amina laughed softly, a smile spreading across her face as she gestured toward the kitchen. "Go wash up, ladies, and get seated—dinner’s ready! And no touching the food until those hands are clean!"

Carmen, her mouth already watering as she caught a whiff of the food, eagerly said, "I’m ready to eat, Amina. You know I’ve been starving for your cooking!"

Selam, wide-eyed at the sight of the new decor, let out a dramatic gasp. "Amina, this place… it’s gorgeous. You’ve really outdone yourself!"

Noa, inhaling deeply as she stepped into the room, nodded with a satisfied smile. "Amina, the smells... YES LAWD! And where are the face masks? I ain’t forget about them!" she laughed.

Lore, already at the sink, scrubbing her hands while chuckling to herself, called out, "Amina, I swear I’m gonna need a second helping of whatever this is. No one can cook like you—okay, I’m ready, let’s eat!"

Selam, Carmen, and Lore started debriefing Amina on the flight to Paris, their words tumbling out in excitement as they recounted their encounters with Julian, his gorgeous eyes—were they blue, green, hazel? The way he tried to make small talk once he found out they knew “Noelle.” Selam teased, emphasizing the British accent as she said Noelle, and how they ended up seated next to him for hours.

"You should've seen him, Amina!" Carmen laughed. "He was practically blushing when we mentioned Noa."

"No, he did not!" Noa gasped and interjected, shaking her head in mock defense, her face heating up in disbelief. "We are getting friendly, that’s all."

Amina grinned, leaning in to give Noa a side-eye as she put down her fork and grabbed her glass of wine. "Team Julian or Team Theo?"

Selam looked at Amina with a conspiratorial wink. "Theo, all the way. Noa needs to admit that she’s grown, she’s a boss now with her own identity, which is all she wanted. She never stopped loving Theo, and the timing was right then. Julian? He’s... nice, but he’s got nothing on Theo."

Carmen, joining the fun, added, "Team Theo, hands down. Who has a private jet and wants to use it to rescue you in a crisis? Romcom-type shit."

Amina chuckled. "You know, I’m Team Joelle. I think Julian has potential. And you know, Noa, he has been consistently trying to get to know you."

Lore laughed, standing up to grab more stew. "May the best man win."

Noa looked a little flustered, but Amina pulled her into the conversation, asking, "So what really happened in Amsterdam? How is Papa Piet?"

Noa sighed dramatically, setting her glass down. "Papa Piet... I don't even know how to explain it. It was so scary. But he is doing much better. Thank God. But Amsterdam was..." Her voice softened and trailed off as memories of the city flooded back.

"Full of nice, hot passion…" Selam jumped in, teasing, and the girls ooh'd and ahh'd and laughed.

"So, did something happen?" Amina asked, suspense hanging in the air.

"Yes," Noa said firmly, and the girls erupted in cheers before Noa continued, solemnly,"But we decided to be friends, for now. Well, Theo did," she moved her fork around her food. "He thinks I need a rebellious phase and to explore, because I need to make the choice without pressure."

"Here’s to the hoe phase!" Lore burst out, raising her glass in teasing cheer.

Amina said, "He’s not wrong."

Selam chimed in, "SEE, this is why we," gesturing to Carmen, "are Team Theo."

"Maybe," Noa smiled and took a bite of her food, lost in thought, her mind clearly elsewhere. After a second, she looked up, meeting Amina's gaze. "You know, only time will tell."

Spa Day at The Hammam Medina Center

After the meal and catch-up, Amina whisked the girls away for a self-care day at the Hammam Medina Center, promising a luxurious spa experience. Located at 43–45 Rue Petit in Paris's 19th arrondissement, the Hammam Medina Center immersed them in traditional Moroccan and Turkish bath culture. Noa wasn’t quite prepared for the nakedness, despite seeing it on Emily in Paris—but Amina made sure all the girls had the proper hair covers and post-steam hair care supplies at the ready.

A cozy, dimly lit space set the tone as they left behind the hustle and bustle of the Parisian streets and stepped into a real oasis. A French-speaking receptionist immediately welcomed them, with everyone chiming in a polite "Bonjour," waiting for Amina to take over — she was the only French speaker after all.

The air was thick with steam and the sweet scent of rosewater, while the rhythmic splashing of water created a soothing soundtrack. Soft, delicate music played in the background, setting the mood just right.

The girls indulged in all that the center had to offer: a session in the spacious steam room, a dry heat sauna, a hot marble stone treatment, a dip in the shockingly cold swimming pool, chatting and gossiping as they caught everyone up on what they missed or couldn’t share in the group chat. They finished off with a trip to the exfoliation room for a traditional body scrub. Finally, they unwound in the relaxation room, sipping Moroccan and Turkish teas and enjoying light refreshments. It was a steamy day of self-care, and by the end, they were all scrubbed clean and tea-rifically relaxed!

As the steam cooled on their skin, the relaxation of the Hammam felt like a fever dream, the scent of essential oils lingering. But stepping out into the sunny Parisian afternoon, from the comforts of the dimly lit spa — the contrast was immediate and striking, replaced by the lively rhythm of the city. 

Leaving the Hammam, the girls hopped into a taxi to head toward the Seine, ready for a nice private boat ride.

"I swear, I could've spent an hour just in that steam room!" Selam said, riding off the spa high.

Amina grinned. "Right? Like, where else can you get all of that for that price, in Paris of all places!"

The excitement quickly ended when the taxi came to an abrupt halt. The driver didn’t say a word, just shifted the car into park and jumped out, leaving the girls staring at each other, puzzled.

"Wait… what?" Noa exclaimed, her brows furrowing. "Is this… normal?"

"I don’t know, but I’m definitely not paying for this ride," Selam muttered under her breath, eyes darting between the driver and the unfamiliar street.

“Maybe he’s just making a quick stop,” Lore said, half-laughing, half-confused. “But it’s kinda weird, don’t you think?”

The minutes dragged on in silence. Amina watched as the driver, who didn’t even look back at them, walked away with a nonchalant air, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He held a coffee cup as if he was off on a leisurely stroll, oblivious to the fact that the group was stranded in the middle of Paris, far from their intended destination and clearly running late.

"This is unbelievable!" Selam huffed, her patience waning.

Noa tapped her fingers against the window, frustration written all over her face. "Is this some sort of weird Parisian prank?"

"Mans needed to get a coffee and cigarette realllll bad," Carmen laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "Like, 'I don’t give a damn.'"

They continued to sit in silence, the sounds of cars whizzing by and horns honking as drivers navigated around their parked car, tensions reaching their final tipping point. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the driver returned. He casually opened the door and slid into his seat, taking a sip of his coffee as if nothing odd had transpired.

Amina, unable to hold back her annoyance and amusement, raised an eyebrow before bombarding him with French. "Did you just… leave us here? For coffee?"

The driver shrugged with a smirk. "Paris, no?" and quickly pulled off to the destination without so much as another word.

"Unbelievable," Selam muttered as they all piled out of the cab. Everyone glanced at each other in silent acknowledgment and disbelief of what just happened.

They finally made it to the Seine, Amina gave the driver one last piece of her mind, the girls walked toward the private boat ride that awaited them, laughing at the absurdity of what just happened.

"Unbelievable!" Selam huffed. "Just like the damn French. Always on strike."

Everyone bursted out in laughter.

Riverside by Agnes Obel

The girls finally arrived at the Seine, greeted by their private tour guide and boat, the sun sparkling off the water, a light breeze blowing just right. 

The boat began its descent through the river, offering the girls breathtaking views of the city’s iconic landmarks. The Eiffel Tower, tall in the distance, casted a large shadow over the water.

"It's a perfect day for this," Amina said. She took in the fresh air, popped open a bottle of champagne, and the girls clinked their glasses together in celebration. 

"To N*ggas in Paris," Selam exclaimed, her glass raised.

Baskets of fresh croissants, a variety of French pastries, and platters of cheese and charcuterie were passed around. 

Noa took a bite of a flaky croissant, savoring the soft, warm texture.

"This is heaven," she mumbled between bites, her eyes closed for a moment in pure bliss. "I could eat croissants all day."

“We know,” Lore teased as everyone laughed in agreement. 

The boat picked up speed as they cruised by the lively Parisian streets. People cheered from the riverbanks, waving as the boat whizzed by. The girls waved back, smiling and laughing, caught up in the excitement of it all.

Then, just as they’re settling into the speed of the boat, Selam pressed play on her speaker,  Jay-Z and Kanye’s “Nggas in Paris” erupting through, making everyone laugh and jump to their feet.

"We’re gonna skate to one song, one song only," Selam said, grinning widely.

Noa, felt a bit shy at first, and hesitated, until the dun dun dun of the beat picked up and she couldn’t resist any longer, starting the group along in singing the lyrics across the river:  

Selam: Ball so hard, motherfuckers wanna fine me

Noa: So I ball so hard, motherfuckers wanna fine me But first niggas gotta find me What's fifty grand to a motherfucker like me? Can you please remind me?

Selam: (Ball so hard) This shit crazy Y'all don't know that don't shit faze me The Nets could go 0 for 82 And I'd look at you like this shit gravy

Amina: (Ball so hard) This shit weird We ain't even 'posed to be here (Ball so hard) Since we here It's only right that we'd be fair

Carmen: Psycho, I'm liable to go Michael, take your pick Jackson, Tyson, Jordan, Game 6

Lore: (Ball so hard) Got a broke clock Rollies that don't tick-tock Audemars that's losing time Hidden behind all these big rocks

Noa: (B-ball so hard) I'm shocked too I'm supposed to be locked up too You escaped what I escaped You'd be in Paris getting fucked up too

The Eiffel Tower glimmered in the background, as they took photos, capturing the perfect blend of Parisian beauty and carefree fun.

Shopping for Beyoncé Concert

As the sun began to set, the girls walked to the nearest Métro station, descending into the tunnels where they were met with worn, tiled walls and the buzz of conversations in multiple languages, a lively atmosphere matching their giddiness from their fun boat ride through the Seine. They were on their way to Les Galeries Lafayette in 9th arrondissement, near the Opéra Garnier, the ultimate shopping spree for their Cowboy Carter outfits before a nice dinner and a night of partying on the horizon. 

Les Galeries Lafayette — a prime shopping destination in the city, known for its incredible architecture, the focal point — an iconic glass dome with a breathtaking view from the rooftop, and a wide selection of high-end brands.

It took all of five minutes inside the first high-end store before the bickering began — what Carmen should wear. 

“No, Carmen, you cannot wear that print,” Selam said, shaking her head in disgust. She held up the selection, raising an eyebrow. “This is Beyoncé we’re talking about.”

Carmen laughed, waving her hand dismissively. “But I like it, and I know Beyoncé would appreciate it.”

“That print?” Noa scoffed, nudging Carmen in the ribs. “You’re in Paris, babe, I think not.”

Each girl chimed in with disapproval until finding the perfect outfit that Carmen loved and they all could, stomach. 

Eventually, the conversation drifted to Noa.

“You know, you should stay another day,” Lore teased, poking her. “I mean, we’re shopping for a Beyoncé concert. You can’t miss that! No excuses.”

Noa rolled her eyes, laughing. “I have a job, you know. And my schedule’s tight. I can’t just drop everything for Beyoncé. I really will try though.” she said, more to herself than the group. She really did want to stay, though she protested, a part of her longed for that extra day of fun.

Paris by Chainsmokers 

Dinner at Andia Restaurant

By nightfall, the group found themselves in the heart of Paris’s 16th arrondissement, at Andia. The ambiance was grown, sexy, and exclusive, with candles flickering on each table and the chatter of other guests conversing quietly in the background. The space blended contemporary and rustic charm, with exposed brick walls and unique wooden accents. The scent of freshly prepared dishes filled the air as the girls took their seats. 

Their waiter approached, bringing the menu, featuring the best of South American Andean cuisine with a Parisian twist — fresh ceviche paired with creamy avocado, tangy chicken tacos with a spicy kick, and savory seasoned meats served with delicious roasted vegetables and quinoa rounded out the menu. The girls exchanged knowing glances, their stomachs rumbling in anticipation.

Lore, of course, was the first to speak, smiling in greed as she scanned the menu. “Ceviche with avocado? Yes, please,” she said, her fingers tapping the menu.

“Chicken tacos,” Carmen added, “I know that’s right.”

Noa, still caught up in the ambiance, sighed contentedly, “I love this place,” she murmured, her voice almost reverent. “It’s so chic.”

As the plates arrived, there was a hustle—forks clinking and plates passing across the table as everyone salivated to try everything offered. 

Lore, grinned as the waiter placed the ceviche in front of her, “Oh. My. God. This looks incredible.”

She took a bite and moaned from the taste, “Honestly, I think this ceviche just changed my life. Taste it Amina.” 

Carmen, laughing, reached for a taco, she took a bite, eyes lighting up with delight, “Okay, this is fire. I’ve been waiting for something with some real heat. Paris you got this one.” she said, pointing to the air. 

Noa stared at her plate, before picking up her fork, she took a careful bite of her roasted vegetables, savoring the flavors. “Damn. These are delicious, taste them, Sele.” she says passing a helping to Selam. 

They settled into their meal, enjoying each bite and each moment, over light conversation and red wine filling their glasses — Paris was theirs.

Drinks at Bambini

After dinner, the girls headed to Bambini, located in the vibrant 3rd arrondissement of Paris, tucked away in the heart of the Marais district — famous for its narrow, winding streets, charming boutiques, and blend of old-world Parisian architecture with modern, trendy spots.

Despite being in the heart of Paris, Bambini was a hidden gem, popular with celebrities who wanted a relaxed private vibe away from the usual crowds but still within the major Parisian nightlife. As the girls entered, they were greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread and various tequilas and vodkas — low murmurs of conversation filled the air. The walls were adorned with soft, earth-toned tiles, vintage mirrors, and wooden tables were set with simple yet expensive dinnerware. The open kitchen showcased chefs moving about — the sizzle of fresh pasta being interrupted with the occasional pop of a cork at a nearby table.

Drinks were served in tall glasses, the girls happily chatted away, laughter filling the air, until the door to Bambini swung open with a soft jingle, and Julian Poitier stepped in. 

His tailored jacket hugged his frame perfectly, a crisp white T-shirt peeked through paired with dark, tailored pants. As always, he was in his signature gold-rimmed glasses, gold chain adorned on his neck.

Tyler Blackwood Jr. and his girlfriend followed closely behind— she was dressed in a black jumpsuit and her bold red lip. They laughed softly, sharing a private joke, as they quietly entered. 

“Look who just walked in,” Amina said, her eyes widening. “Julian Poitier, with Tyler Blackwood Jr. and… who is that with them?”

“Tyler’s girlfriend, I think,” Selam replied, leaning forward to catch a better look. “Damn, they look good together.”

The moment Julian entered, Noa’s eyes immediately began drinking him in from head to toe, a spark of recognition lit up her expression, the restaurant completely fading into her background. 

At the same time, Julian’s eyes swept over the restaurant where he surprisingly spotted Noa, meeting her gaze with his signature smirk. She watched him make his way toward her, a confident smirk on his face. His stride was steady, his presence unmistakable.

Noa stood up to greet him, her heart racing just a little as she saw him approach. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she teased, her voice filled with a mix of warmth and playfulness, the thrill of seeing him in person again radiating in her bones.

“Couldn’t stay away, especially now that I know you’re here,” Julian replied, his voice a smooth mix of merriment and excitement, as he pulled her into a warm embrace, the energy between them electric. Everyone’s eyes flickered between the two, watching the palpable emotional familiarity in their hug. The room paused for a moment as their hug lingered just a little longer than necessary.

After the embrace, Julian pulled back, his eyes dancing on Noa as he introduced his friends. “This is Ty and his girlfriend Sophie.” He gestured toward Noa with a grin. 

“This is Noelle,” he nodded to Tyler as if he could read his mind. 

The group exchanged greetings, but Noa couldn’t help but notice the way Julian kept his hazel eyes laser focused on her, his stance closing the gap between them with each hello from the group passing tightly through them. 

“This is Lore, Selam, and Carmen.” Noa gestured to each of them as she spoke. 

“You’ve already met them, apparently,” she teased.

Julian and the girls greeted each other like old friends. 

“And this is Amina, our bestie who lives in Paris.” she finished.

Amina stood with a friendly smile, extending her hand to Julian, Tyler, and Sophie. “Nice to meet you,” she said warmly.

“Nice to meet you,” Julian said with a twinkle in his eye. “Heard loads of proper good things about you, and…. Noelle….on the flight,” he turned and winked at Noa.

“Good to meet you.” Tyler said.

“Likewise,” Sophie added, offering a charming smile to the group.

The atmosphere was light, as Julian and his friends exchanged a few more words with Noa’s friends. 

He turned back to Noa, whispering in her ear, “We’ll definitely catch up proper soon, yeah?” his breath was warm against her ear, sending goosebumps down her spine. 

Noa smiled at Julian. “Yes,” catching and holding his gaze.

Before they could talk any further, the hostess approached, a polite smile on her face. “Mr. Poitier and Mr. Blackwood, your table is ready.”

Julian gave Noa a quick smile. “Looks like I’d better be off,” he said, reluctant to leave Noa’s side. “But I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?” he leaned close, words dancing across her cheek.

Noa nodded with a grin. “I’ll hold you to that,” she teased as Julian gave a lingering touch before heading off with Tyler and his girlfriend to their table.

The girls exchanged amused looks between the two of them as they settled back into their conversation, noticing every lingering glance between Noelle and Julian throughout the evening.

Fill Me In by Craig David 

Later in the night, as the girls ordered a last round of drinks, Noa noticed Julian standing at the bar, looking over, waiting for a clear moment. The room was a little quieter, with the laughter and music softening. Without a word, Noa excused herself, and crossed the room to meet him.

When she reached him, he turned toward her, eyes lit up. Noa stopped just in front of him, closing the distance between them.

Julian stepped closer, his voice low, almost intimate. “Couldn’t resist another moment with me, could you?,” he teased.

Noa smiled, and without thinking, she reached up to stroke the curls of his hair. The act felt familiar, and tender. Then, without missing a beat, she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

The kiss lingered for just a moment, but the intimacy lingered longer. When she pulled away, Julian’s eyes softened, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“Not what I expected,” he said, teasing but appreciative.

“Maybe I like keeping you on your toes,” Noa replied with a sly grin.

Julian watched her as she stepped back, the warmth from the kiss still hanging in the air. 

“I’ll hold you to that too,” he murmured.

With that, Noa gave him a small nod before walking away, leaving Julian staring after her, a content smile on his face, as the music picked up again around them. 

Lovely Day by Bill Withers 

The morning light filtered through the open double windowless french doors, a breeze blew through Amina’s kitchen as she whipped up breakfast for the group. The scent of sizzling potatoes, seasoned with spices and a touch of garlic, filled the air, mingling with the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee, the aroma awaking a sleepy Noa and Selam from their beds and into the kitchen. Lore was already at the table clicking away on her laptop — working before she logged off in search of Parisian adventures. Carmen floated in moments later after a run to the boulangerie for pastries and croissants. The girls sat to eat and map out the day in hopes of meeting Noa at the Louvre for lunch. 

Time raced by and before they knew it Noa was showered, dressed and out the door — heading into the bustling city ready for the first of her Paris work engagements. She found herself quickly wandering the streets of the 8th arrondissement of Paris, in search of La Maison de Lumière, an area defined by its sophistication — located in the central, prestigious part of Paris, close to the Champs-Élysées and the Arc de Triomphe.

L/R by Nilfur Yanya 

La Maison de Lumière

Checking her Google map once more, Noa turned on a busy street, where fancy French people in runway ready clothing rushed by, taxis honked incessantly, and the occasional clink of a bicycle bell sounded in the air. She walked into a modern designed building contrasted with the traditional Haussmannian architecture— the reflective glass panels catching the daylight views of the hustle and bustle of the city streets.  

Inside, Noa was met with an open concept office, polished concrete floors and minimalist furnishing, bursts of orange and yellow chairs and artwork adding a touch of playfulness to the sleek professional vibes. 

Vivian gestured to Noa to join the team in the conference room, she walked by desks with glass tops, ergonomic chairs, and clutter-free workspaces, with glass partition walls allowing for easy flow between the different departments. Her team’s area was filled with fashion magazines, sketch pads, and stylish young professionals clicking away on their laptops.

The team gathered in a small conference room, as tomorrow was the Vogue Paris Foundation Gala, and the stakes had never been higher.

Vivian sat at the head of the rectangular glass table, holding a glass of water. She’d been reviewing the guest list again, her sharp eyes scanning the names like she was searching for a needle in a haystack. 

"Alright," Vivian said, breaking the silence, her tone businesslike but with an edge of excitement. 

"Tomorrow night, we’re not just attending—we're infiltrating. You each know your role, review it for perfection."

Sebastian, clicked through a PowerPoint presentation with the guest list, speaking to the group about designer highlights, and potential power players at the event. Noa half-listened, already thinking about her own strategy. This wasn’t about mingling in the crowd—it was about identifying the behind-the-scenes movers and shakers, the ones who really shaped the industry’s diversity narrative.

"Noa, you’re our eyes and ears," Vivian said, eyes locking with hers. "We need intel, real intel. Who’s behind the scenes making the decisions? Which designers have pushed the diversity conversation forward, and which ones are just playing lip service? You’re not there to smile and nod. I need names, numbers, facts. I need you to use that infamous and illustrious charm to coax people into sharing the “tea” as you young folks say,” Vivian gesturing with her hands. 

Noa nodded, “I’ve got it. I’ll track the models, the designers, the execs. I’ll dig deeper.”

“Good,” Vivian said, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. “And don’t forget—everything is in the details. Who’s sitting where? Who’s getting the exclusive invites? Pay attention to the unspoken politics.”

Georgia-Louise, sat up in her chair, squaring her shoulders, clearing her throat before speaking. 

“Vivian, I’ve got the media list, social engagement metrics, and a rather comprehensive look at the influencer coverage. The PR teams for these designers will be operating at the highest echelon, of course, so it’s imperative we discern who’s merely offering token gestures and who’s genuinely championing diversity. I’ll be primed for that conversation, rest assured.” she said, with an air of authority no one asked for.

Maya-Rose, having just finished her last meeting across the city, arrived just in time to join the strategy session. She quietly slid into the chair closest to the door, careful not to interrupt until Georgia-Louise finished, pulling out a shiny black monogrammed notebook from her bag. 

"I’ve scoped out some of the key fashion editors and photographers who’ll be at the Gala," she immediately chimed in. "They’ll be essential to any follow-up stories. We’ll need to track their influence—who they’re photographing, who they’re spotlighting." she added. 

Vivian’s eyes lit up at the mention of Maya-Rose’s connections. "Perfect," she said, her voice a mix of approval and excitement. 

"I need you to use those connections to get the inside scoop and tag team with Noa every chance you get,” Viv emphasized, looking between the two of them. 

The team’s roles were becoming clearer, each one building on the last. 

Vivian clapped her hands bursting with excitement. "Team, we’re not just going to be at the Gala. We’re going to be of the Gala—so be prepared for anything. We will be a roaring success, I have faith in all of you!"

The room fell into a brief silence, the weight of the gala moving full steam ahead, each member of the group ready to work together and individually prove their value. 

Vivian broke the silence. "Alright, team. Rest up, because tomorrow we work."

As they all began to gather their things and head for the door, Noa took one last look around the room. The team was ready — and tomorrow they would be right where they needed to be.

Coffee by Sylvan Esso

“Maya-Rose, let’s grab lunch,” Noa said, packing up her things to leave the conference room. Georgia-Louise and Sebastian were quietly gathering their things and chatting about where they were going to grab their own lunch, while Viv was yapping away on a phone call in the corner.

“Sure,” Maya-Rose said quickly, gathering her things and following behind. The two stepped out of the office door, scanning the street and admiring the busy afternoon vibes of Paris.

Noa grinned, “So… Lunch at the Louvre—a good meal and art in one go, with my friends. You down?”

Maya-Rose raised an eyebrow but smiled, intrigued. “The Louvre? That tourist trap? You sure about that?”

“Trust me,” Noa said, with a wink.

They walked together, shooting the breeze in conversation toward the museum. Noa had already texted her friends, and when they arrived, they were waiting, sitting at a table outside under the shade of a large canopy.

“Ladies,” Noa greeted, excitement seeping through. “Meet Maya-Rose.”

“Maya-Rose, meet the Patats!” she grinned.

The group stood to greet her, each one bringing their own distinct energy to the greeting.

Amina, with her sharp, assessing eyes, offered a polite but cool handshake. Selam smiled warmly and gave a genuine, “It’s nice to meet you.” Lore, on the other hand, was full of bubbly energy, welcoming Maya-Rose, a new Parisian “friend.” Carmen played it cool but was the most welcoming, opting to embrace Maya-Rose in a warm hug.

“So,” Carmen began as they all settled in, “Maya-Rose, are you into museums?”

“I have a thing for history—and I love art, so, yes,” Maya-Rose chuckled. “How ever did you know?” she teased.

The lunch was laid out before them: pastries, sandwiches, salads, and of course, a basket of buttery croissants. Maya-Rose filled the group in on her life in Paris, exchanging expat stories between her and Amina. Lore updated everyone on her time in Costa Rica, and Carmen kept figuring out ways to nudge the group to stop eating and get ready to go see the Mona Lisa.

"So, Noa," Selam said casually, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What’s the deal with the Dior 100? Can you get us in?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Noa smiled but played it cool. "I think I can pull a few strings. I might have to meet you there though," she said, glancing at her phone for effect. 

"Julian's supposed to be there too, and he asked about meeting up beforehand to check out his outfit, so..." She let the words trail off, letting the hint hang in the air. "Should be a fun evening."

Carmen grinned, leaning in with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Wait a minute, Julian? Canoodling Julian, from last night at Bambini,” she teased, and the girls began to laugh and exchange knowing looks.

Maya-Rose shot a glance at Noa, who was trying to act nonchalant. "Oh, come on, Noa," Maya-Rose teased, her voice light but pointed. "You can't just drop 'Julian' and 'outfit check' in the same sentence without giving us more details. Spill."

Lore chimed in with a smirk. "Yeah, are you planning on showing him how you like your men to dress, or is it more about, you know, the company?"

Noa laughed it off but couldn’t hide the playful gleam in her eyes. "It’s just a quick meet-up. No big deal," she said, but she quickly tried to wipe the grin off of her face before anyone noticed.

Selam clocked it, though.

"Quick meet-up, huh?" Selam teased. "A 'quick meet-up' with Julian Poitier," she gestured in air quotes. "Maybe working your magic for some extra perks at Dior?" she smirked with raised eyebrows.

Noa rolled her eyes, feigning innocence. "You guys have wild imaginations."

Maya-Rose, glued to every word, chimed in with deep curiosity. “Wait, you’re talking about Julian Poitier, the really sexy actor?”

“Yes, girl, that one!” Carmen blurted out. “He is so fine, and clearly, he and Noa—excuse me, I mean Noelle—have a 'thing' going on that she won’t tell us the entire story about.”

Maya-Rose’s smile faltered for a brief moment, just enough for Amina and Selam to notice. Her jaw tightened slightly before it relaxed, and the smile returned, though it seemed... controlled.

“Because there is no story!” Noa cried out, laughing, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

Selam shot Amina a look, both of them communicating in silence. They knew that Noa hadn’t caught the undertone of Maya-Rose's reaction to Julian’s name being brought up, but the change in Maya-Rose’s expression hadn’t escaped them.

“Sounds like we’re gonna have a time, y’all,” Lore chimed in, oblivious, completely absorbed in her excitement for the upcoming event.

Just as she was about to reach for another croissant to devour, Maya-Rose jumped up, shifting gears and ending the conversation in hopes of grabbing the girls' attention to other topics.

“We should head to the Mona Lisa before Noa and I have to head out,” she feigned interest, but Selam and Amina noted the shift in her energy, like she was trying to be polite and get this over with.

“No, but seriously,” Carmen said and stood up, “you’re right, Maya-Rose. If we don’t get there soon, we won’t get that selfie I’ve been dying for us to take.”

Noa also stood up and began to gather her things and clean up. Sighing, she said, “Come on, let’s get to Mona before Carmen disowns us all,” she teased.

Maya-Rose nodded, turning her focus solely to Carmen as the girls all made their descent to the museum. “Is the Mona Lisa really special to you, or is it just a bucket list thing?” she asked Carmen.

“A bit of both, really,” Carmen replied. “But I’m taking an art class, and I want to be able to replicate the essence of her, but with a Latino flair for an upcoming art exhibition, capturing her enigma—Renaissance mystery.”

“And deep history!” Maya-Rose chimed in, before delving into several facts about the Mona Lisa.

Selam raised an eyebrow, glancing at Amina. The two exchanged another knowing look, as the conversation around them continued.

As they walked through the grand halls, the group gathered in front of the famous painting. Carmen was practically jumping with joy, making everyone take five different photos before she approved the group to go and enjoy the rest of the museum.

Selam, walking a bit behind, leaned in toward Amina, her voice low. "What was that about with Maya-Rose back there?"

Amina's gaze flicked over to Maya-Rose, who was quietly observing, her eyes focused on another painting, with a tension that seemed to radiate from her, as though she was still recovering from the earlier conversation.

“I don’t know,” Amina replied, her tone cautious. “But her whole demeanor changed when we mentioned Julian. Did you see it?”

“Yeah, I did,” Selam said.

The moment passed quickly, and the group continued to explore the museum.

Shortly after 1pm, the girls parted ways—saying their goodbyes as Noa and Maya-Rose headed toward the fittings. Maya-Rose remained at Noa’s side, her expression unreadable. The beautiful sights in Paris kept them quiet and lost in their own thoughts as they walked side by side into the heart of the fashion world.

The Vogue Gala: A Parisian Night to Remember

The venue was a shimmering temple of opulence, bathed in soft golden light. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The air filled with the smell of floral perfumes, expensive colognes, and money — big dollars, Benjamins.

Maya-Rose stood, poised at the entrance of the Gala, the world’s fashion elite swirling around her. The red carpet stretched before them, designers in tailored suits, celebrities in couture, showing off their latest fashions and being interviewed — flashes from cameras capturing every moment. Noa was a step ahead, her outfit from a yet to be revealed designer—contemporary, avant-garde, and undeniably fashion forward. As the crowd buzzed, Noa turned to Maya-Rose, the camaraderie grounding her amidst the chaos.

Vivian was to their side, her outfit a showstopper, as expected. Sebastian, tall and impeccably dressed, nervously scanned the crowd, while Georgia-Louise had already found a circle of influential names, ready to drop that Windsor last name the first chance she got.

Champagne flowed freely in crystal flutes, as waiters in sleek black uniforms glided through the crowd, offering an extravagant array of hors d'oeuvre. Models in stunning outfits stood as living art, guests soaking in the enormous amount of creativity unfolding before them.

As Noa and Maya-Rose began to enter further into the gala, they couldn't help but gawk at the work of the evening’s couture designers as a vision descended upon them, with a Schiaparelli sparkling gold-embroidered gown grazing the floor, worn by no other than THEE Noami Campbell.

Then it happened—the look.

Across the room, Julian Poitier entered, dressed in a classic black tuxedo tailored to perfection, the fabric fitting perfectly against his muscular frame. His staple gold glasses caught the light as he surveyed the room, his entrance making everyone pause, just for a moment, to take him in.

The room seemed to fall into slow motion for just a moment. Julian’s gaze, intense. There was no dramatic approach—just a quiet, palpable moment that sizzled between them— deep, yet restrained, each of them knowing how to play the game tonight, even when they didn’t want to.

Maya-Rose immediately caught Noa’s line of eyesight, noticing Julian and the sudden shift in Noa’s energy. It was like watching two magnets being drawn together. But both Noa and Julian—played it cool. 

“Julian,” Noa said, coolly addressing him as he made his way over, his calm demeanor at odds with  the underlying tension between them. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Always a pleasure to see you, Noelle,” Julian replied, his voice a perfect mix of casual and sincere. His eyes flickered to Maya-Rose for just a moment—both of them holding a familiar gaze for just a moment. 

Interrupting the group, Vivian and Georgia-Louise appeared, casually slipping into the conversation Georgia-Louise leaned into Noa, giving her a quick PR update.

“C’est magnifique,” Vivian purred, her eyes twinkling under the lights as she took a tiny sip of champagne while surveying the entirety of the room. 

Reaching out to grab his attention, Vivian quickly embraced Julian like an old friend welcoming and simultaneously thanking him for attending. 

“Should we grab Sebastian and head over to the main stage for the collection preview?” Vivian said, glancing back at the group.

Noa’s smile softened, but there was a hint of hesitation, the pull between her and Julian still alive in the air, despite the distractions surrounding them.

Maya-Rose leaned in slightly to Noa, her voice low but sharp. “Are you really going to make me wait until the Dior 100 to spill?” She raised an eyebrow, just enough to get Noa’s attention, and with a sly grin, Noa shot back.

“We’ll see what the night brings,” she replied, her tone teasing, but her eyes flickering over to Julian—a hint of desire masked by a carefully cultivated composure.

After saying their goodbyes and watching Julian being pulled into several different directions, the group found Sebastian and made their way toward their table — the table where Georgia-Louise won a hard fought battle, getting them even better seats than their original placements. 

They were seated near the main stage where Chanel’s latest collection would be revealed, as they passed by the sounds of a classical version of Thank You, Next from a  small string quartet. As soon as they were seated the lights dimmed for the runway show, the anticipation buzzing through the room. 

As the models began their march down the makeshift runway—each wearing meticulously crafted pieces by Chanel, Dior and Fendi—Noa and Maya-Rose sat side by side, their eyes locked in, excitement bursting through their bones at being able to be invited to attend such an exclusive event. 

The Vogue after-party began immediately after the exclusive showcase. As the final curtains closed, waiters appeared, whirling plates of food amongst guests, topping off drinks as the music changed into a more danceable atmosphere—the debauchery was in full swing.

Noa and Maya-Rose had split from the group, weaving through clusters of over-chatty guests, catching up as they tried to find a private space to relax and debrief the night’s events.

As Noa turned to make a comment about the latest designer collection, Maya-Rose’s gaze snapped across the room, her smile faltering for a brief moment. Noa, still oblivious to the subtle shift, continued her conversation, but Maya-Rose’s attention waned—she had already locked onto someone.

Someone who had just stepped through the crowd.

Julian.

He was at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand, as he spoke to a couple of influential figures, taking the opportunity to present his most charismatic self at the epicenter of this shiny event, acting as though he wouldn’t rather be at home.

Maya-Rose’s posture stiffened, but she recovered quickly, flashing Noa a quick smile.

"Excuse me," she said smoothly, her voice dripping with practiced ease. "I’ll be right back."

Noa, oblivious to the shift, nodded, distracted by the bartender's offer of a fresh cocktail.

Maya-Rose weaved through the crowd—not toward Julian, but away from the momentary lapse in composure.

She spent the next hour seamlessly floating between conversations, trading air kisses and carefully crafted compliments, trying to avoid that gut-wrenching nag in her heart at seeing Julian in the flesh. She’d reached out to see if he were attending the Aldridge-Wells retirement party for Mr. Delroy, but that was before she realized that Noa was Theo’s ex AND now, apparently, she also had a thing with Julian—AND they were coworkers—she couldn’t seem to escape Noa if she tried.

But she didn’t seek Julian out. Didn’t want to. Didn’t have to.

Because fate had other plans.

As Maya-Rose turned the corner near the restrooms, smoothing an invisible crease in her dress, she nearly collided with someone stepping out.

Julian.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them stretched, thick with unsaid things.

“Maya-Rose,” Julian said finally, his voice casual but clearly laced with tension.

“Julian,” Maya-Rose replied, her tone a little colder than she expected.

She extended a hand, but it lingered just a moment too long before pulling back slightly, the gesture carefully measured.

“Didn’t know you and Noa were a thing,” Maya-Rose said, her eyes flicking to Noa, who was now deep in conversation with Vivian a few feet away.

"Some things never change with you, Maya-Rose Harris-Stowe." Julian’s eyes followed her gaze, his expression unreadable, but his voice punctuated every syllable in Maya-Rose’s double-barreled name as his jaw tightened.

“And you? What’s new with you?” he asked, not daring to meet her eyes.

Maya-Rose hesitated. There was something about him—something she couldn’t quite place. They hadn’t seen each other since their last breakup, but he felt like a stranger, and not the once love of her life.

“Busy as always,” Maya-Rose replied, a tight smile on her lips. “You know how it is, Mister Rising Star,” she mocked in slight agitation, trying to capture the gaze he was not trying to meet.

Julian chuckled softly, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “I do. Rising star and all.” This time, he turned and stepped into her space, looming over her, piercing eyes capturing her gaze, challenging her to look away.

It was a jab, though it wasn’t clear if it was aimed at her or someone else. Maya-Rose chose to ignore it, shifting slightly as she leaned in, lowering her voice.

“Is Noa here with you?” she asked, her gaze flickering to Noa again before looking back at Julian.

“Oh, this is what this is about,” Julian replied, his voice level. “Noelle. She’s… someone you’d like, I think.”

Maya-Rose couldn’t help but let out a brief laugh. “I’m sure I would.” Her eyes narrowed just slightly. “Considering I work with her.” The subtlety of her jealousy was not entirely lost on Julian.

There was a long beat of silence, just the two of them standing there in the dim light of the hallway, surrounded by laughter and chatter that seemed to fade out around them.

Finally, Maya-Rose broke the silence. “Well, it was good to see you, Julian,” she said, her voice colder now, more clipped. “I am sure we will be running into each other again and again in the next few days,” she said.

“Take care of yourself, Maya-Rose,” Julian said, his tone shifting slightly, something else in his eyes now. Anger? Regret? It was hard to say.

As she turned to leave, Maya-Rose’s eyes briefly flicked to Noa again. This time, there was no pretense. No mask. Just a brief, hard glance that Noa didn’t see—but Julian did. And in that moment, it was clear: whatever history they had, it was far from over.

Maya-Rose moved back toward Noa, her steps measured, calm, but the simmering jealousy in her chest was harder to contain now. Julian was just one thread in a complicated web, and as she reached Noa’s side again, the mask slid back into place.

Noa looked at her curiously. “Everything okay?”

Maya-Rose’s smile was back, sweet and perfect, but anger simmered beneath the surface that Noa didn’t catch.

“Of course,” she said, brushing it off with a fake laugh. “Just catching up with an old friend.”

But for Maya-Rose, the night was no longer just about the glamour, the guests, or the fashion.

It was about Julian.

And how she wasn’t ready to let go of what they once had.

Not yet.

Paris Nights / New York Mornings by Corrine Bailey Rae 

Morning came quickly to Amina’s apartment, the first rays of sunlight seeping through the curtains of the guest room where Noa and Selam slept. Noa was the first to wake up, sliding quietly out of bed, careful not to wake Selam, who was still wrapped in her blanket, her snoring filling the room.

She tiptoed through the apartment, careful not to wake Amina, whose bedroom door was cracked, sneaking by Carmen and Lore, both cuddled up in the living room on the extremely comfortable fold-out bed.

Noa grabbed her jacket off the chair, slipped into her shoes, and took the building elevator downstairs. She stepped outside taking in the fresh air that carried remnants of damp pavements from the early morning rain, pulling her jacket tighter around her as she made her way toward the neighborhood boulangerie.

The sounds of the city awakening from its slumber grew louder, but it was still peaceful as she walked. The scent of freshly baked bread started to drift toward her, leading her closer to her destination. As she turned the corner, the boulangerie appeared before her, its windows fogged slightly from the heat inside and the morning dew outside. The moment she opened the door, she was greeted by the overwhelming smell of croissants, pain au chocolat, and freshly baked baguettes.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," the friendly baker greeted her. 

Noa smiled back, quickly ordering a baguette, some butter and jam, croissants, pain au chocolat, and a brioche. She also picked up a carton of orange juice and added a café au lait for each girl.

As she stepped back outside, she couldn't resist stopping by the flower market. The vibrant colors of the fresh blooms—deep reds, soft pinks, and purples—called to her. Flowers were her favorite, and they would make a nice breakfast decor, she thought to herself. She picked out a bouquet of delicate pink peonies mixed with sprigs of lavender, the sweet, floral aroma tingling her senses. 

Strolling along with the bouquet in one arm and balancing the tray of café au laits in the other, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced down—Theo. A video message.

She stopped and tapped to play, the screen lighting up with a shaky shot of Basil, her Rottie mix, sprawled across Theo’s lap, his tail wagging furiously.

"Say hi to your mum, mate," Theo’s deep voice rumbled through the speaker. 

He flipped the camera to show himself, stretched out on a picnic blanket in Prospect Park, a lazy Brooklyn afternoon unfolding behind him. The sun hitting his golden brown skin just right, and the faint sounds of laughter and distant music filled the background.

"We’re out here living, Noey. Proper Sunday vibes—Basil’s already had two bites of my sandwich, and honestly, you should be here. But nooo, you had to run off to Paris, leaving us to fend for ourselves." He smirked, brushing a crumb off his hoodie. 

Basil let out a small, impatient bark, prompting Theo to laugh. "Alright, alright—he misses you too. Don’t work too hard, yeah? Chat soon. We miss you, innit."

The video ended, leaving Noa staring at her screen, she wasn’t expecting a video from Theo and the cute gesture made her feel a bit warm and fuzzy inside —and, well, Theo looking that good on a picnic blanket wasn’t exactly helping, it brought back memories of some of their best Brooklyn picnics before Basil. She smiled to herself, tucking the phone away as she continued down the street. The city was waking up, and she had breakfast to eat and work to do—but for a moment, she let herself miss home.

By the time she made it back to the apartment, the girls were gathered around the kitchen table, a mix of sleepy smiles and anticipation as Noa placed the breakfast on the table. Amina pulled open the curtainless double French doors to the patio to allow the full blast of morning light and a slight breeze as they all sat down to eat, sharing bites of croissants, sipping their café au lait, and exchanging plans for the day ahead.

But as much as she wanted to stay in this serene morning haze with her friends, Noa’s thoughts were already drifting forward. She could feel the pull of the clock ticking down toward the day ahead. She had to prepare for the Avant-Garde Noir art show—a reunion with Theresa and Tara Aldridge-Wells, Theo’s older sisters—and the Dior 100 dinner, with her friends joining her, her professional and personal lives combining in one small, celebrity-filled room. Before she could get deeper into her thoughts, she sighed quietly to herself as she finished her coffee, knowing that the peaceful morning wouldn’t last long. She soaked in the beautiful apartment and its soft Parisian charm to ground her day. There was still a train to catch, a day ahead filled with demands, but for now, she allowed herself a moment to enjoy being here, in Paris, with her best friends.

Free Man in Paris by Joni Mitchell

Noa barely had time to let breakfast settle before she was back out on the busy Parisian streets, this time heading to meet Theo’s sisters for lunch. Le Bal Café Otto, tucked away in a narrow alley near Place de Clichy, was one of those hidden gems you’d only know about if someone let you in on the secret, a place that was out of sight but never without a line. A favorite among artsy types, the café was an extension of Le Bal, a contemporary art space that showcased thought-provoking visual storytelling. Now, it served a fusion of Vietnamese and Austrian cuisine.

It was exactly a spot Theresa Aldridge-Wells would pick. Theo’s eldest sister was the epitome of cool—short, dark hair, hazel eyes that changed color in the light, today she was wearing her signature high-waisted pants with a political statement t-shirt that said Fuck The Patriarchy! — typical. Art wasn’t just her job—it was her life. A curator and art dealer, she was internationally known for curating exhibitions that pushed boundaries and gave voices to Black artists. Funny, quick-witted, and charismatic, Theresa could draw you in with those piercing eyes and lock you right back out if you asked too much about things she didn’t want you to know about. Tonight, she’d be moderating a panel on Black artists at Avant-Garde Noir: A Celebration of Black Surrealism & Futurism, where Noa was shadowing a designer.

Tara, the middle sister, was coming too. Where Theresa was reserved and refined, Tara had an ethereal beauty—her long dark hair flowing loosely, dressed in a mix of vintage and boho-chic pieces. She wasn’t just the quiet, intelligent one in the family—she was a surgeon, with a deep commitment and passion for public health. In her spare time, Tara volunteered to help underserved communities, tackling healthcare disparities in South London. She didn’t have to say much; her actions spoke for themselves. Grounded and thoughtful, she was fiercely protective of her family, especially Theo.

April in Paris by Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong 

As Noa stepped into the café, sunlight streamed through the windows, the chalkboard menu, scrawled in beautiful cursive, listed the café’s daily specials, lively conversation and the scent of hibiscus tea in the air. Noa spotted them right away—Theresa, clicking away on her cell phone, and Tara, leaning back in her chair, espresso in hand, sunglasses still sitting on top of her head.They both looked up as she walked toward them, their faces lighting up with identical grins.

“Noey,” Theresa said first, standing to pull her into a hug. “Finally, we get you to ourselves.”

“It’s been too long,” Tara added, squeezing her shoulder. “How are you?”

Noa exhaled, grinning while settling into the seat across from them. “It has been way too long.”

A waiter appeared at their table, out of thin air, weaving through the midday crowd with the French attitude of someone who had worked there for years, setting down a small glass bottle of water and three glasses before flipping open his notepad. 

"Bonjour, mesdames. Ready to order?" he said.

Theresa didn’t bother with the menu. “I’ll have the niçoise salad, extra anchovies, and a glass of white wine, please.”

Tara, still swirling the last of her espresso, glanced up. “The ratatouille with a side of baguette, please. And another espresso.”

Noa scanned the menu, “The croque monsieur, with a side of fries. And do you have hibiscus tea?”

“Bien sûr,” the waiter said with a polite nod, jotting it down. “Anything else?”

“That’s all for now, thanks,” Theresa said, gathering the menus to hand to the waiter. 

As the waiter disappeared toward the kitchen, Noa leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “So, tell me—what’s the latest in the Aldridge-Wells world?”

As Noa poured herself a glass of water, Tara leaned back in her chair, pushing her sunglasses further up into her hair.

“So,” she said, “I finally moved into my new place.”

Noa raised a brow. “Wait—new place?”

Tara smirked, taking a slow sip of her espresso before answering. “Yeah. I have a roommate now.”

“You? A roommate?” Noa tilted her head, amused. “What poor soul signed up to live with Dr. Aldridge-Wells and her 4 a.m. wake-up calls?”

“Archie,” Tara said, smiling behind her cup.

Noa let out a laugh. “Archie? Cousin Archie?”

“Yes, our Archie,” Tara confirmed, referring to their cousin.

 “It actually works. He’s barely home because of his film projects, and when he is, he’s either cooking or sleeping. Honestly, perfect setup.” She paused, then added, “And we have enough space for Wallace if Theo ever lets him visit. He really doesn’t want me to be a dog aunt at all,” she sighed dramatically.

Theresa smirked. “I give it six months before Archie starts making documentaries about the broken healthcare system because of you.”

Tara shrugged. “Would that be the worst thing?”

Noa grinned, leaning in. “Okay, but how’s work? Saving lives, changing the world?”

Tara exhaled, drumming her fingers on the table. “Work is… intense. I’m on a trauma rotation right now. Long hours, high pressure, and some cases really stick with you.” She hesitated for a second before adding, “But I’ve been spending more time in the field, too. I started volunteering at a free clinic a few nights a week in West Croydon, which has been lovely.”

“That’s incredible, Tara.” Noa said, in admiration. 

Just then, the waiter returned with their food, and Noa couldn’t help but wiggle in her seat in excitement —croque monsieur, golden and crisp, oozed with melted cheese, Theresa’s niçoise salad was a perfect arrangement of tuna, olives, and eggs, and Tara’s ratatouille gleamed with slow-cooked vegetables, a fresh baguette on the side — the smells tantalizing all of her senses.

As they began to eat, Theresa glanced at Noa. “Speaking of work—tonight’s going to be a big one for you.”

Noa swallowed a bite. “You mean the show?”

Theresa nodded. “Avant-Garde Noir is already a huge deal, but shadowing Élodie Saint-Martin? That’s next level.”

Tara glanced between them. “Élodie Saint-Martin—why does that name sound familiar?”

“She’s a French-Haitian designer,” Theresa said, “Brilliant. Completely in a league of her own. Her work is this fusion of architectural silhouettes, deconstructed tailoring, and Black storytelling. 

Tara raised a brow. “So, not just fashion for fashion’s sake?”

“Not even close,” Theresa said. “She has hidden messages in everything she creates—Creole proverbs in embroidery, hand-painted fabrics that reflect Black history, sculptural pieces that challenge Eurocentric beauty standards. She doesn’t just design clothes; she builds power.”

“And… she never does interviews,” Noa added, setting down her fork. “She’s so private! My boss, Vivian Marchand, practically had to beg to get me in the room.”

Theresa smirked. “She and I go way back. I helped her secure funding for her first major show. We have a deep mutual respect, though…” She trailed off, taking a sip of wine.

“Though?” Noa pressed.

Theresa sighed. “Let’s just say we don’t always see eye to eye. Élodie values control. She doesn’t let many people in, and she expects total understanding of her work.”

“So, no pressure.” Noa said.

Theresa smirked. “Exactly. You’re going to have to prove you’re not just there to write about aesthetics. She wants people to get it.”

Tara studied Noa. “Are you ready for that?”

Noa thought for a moment, then nodded. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Paris in the Rain by Lauv 

“So…. Noa,” Tara said, attempting to change the subject, a teasing glint in her eyes, “Amsterdam? Theo? Besides work, seems like you’ve been well busy, innit?” 

“Theo told us everything, but your secret’s safe,” Theresa whispered, leaning in. “Wish twist and  all,” she added with a wink.

Noa hesitated, as she reached for her tea, the cup in her hand feeling heavier all of a sudden. 

"Yeah," she said, trying to sound casual, “It’s... complicated.”

"I get that," Theresa said gently, her tone way more understanding than Noa expected. 

“Theo’s not the easiest person, fam,” Tara teased. 

“Not that we don’t love you and want you on Team Aldridge-Wells…” Theresa trailed off.

“We just get it,” Tara finished, grinning.

Noa raised an eyebrow, lookin’ between the two sisters. "So, this is... normal?" she asked, a bit unsure how to phrase it. “For someone to be this confused?” she sighed.

Theresa nodded, but it wasn’t dismissive—it was almost maternal, like she was trying to offer comfort in her own way. 

“Yes and no. Yes, ‘cause I bet you never thought you’d see Theo again,” she said.

“Or for you to still be in loveeeee with Theo,” Tara laughed, rubbing Noa’s arm teasingly.

Noa felt a tight knot form in her stomach again, and she took a quick sip of her drink, trying to clear her thoughts. 

“OOP! You caught me, clocked my tea, and spilled it too.” she laughed.

"Speaking as the married woman here," Theresa said, "take all the time you need, ‘cause when you’re locked in, it’s for life," she chuckled, thinking of her own husband, Big Mike—who isn’t actually Big, just very tall and skinny instead.

“I know Theo might’ve come on strong, but he saw an open window and thinks somehow it’s his last chance, so on behalf of my lovesick brother—I apologise,” Theresa said, raising her hand in fake surrender.

“For what it’s worth, he did try to date other girls…” Tara chimed in.

“That we hated,” Theresa finished. 

“But he wasn’t sittin’ ‘round pining after you as much as he might come across. He’s not that delusional, but he still takes every chance he gets,” Tara said.

Theresa smiled, a knowing, almost amused smile. “You’re important, Noey. But Theo doesn’t know how to tell you that. He’s always second-guessing himself when it comes to you. He just wants you to choose him, with no regrets.”

Tara gave a small laugh, her eyes bright with a little bit of mischief. “Yeah. He’s a stubborn one, that’s for sure.”

Noa exhaled, feeling the knot in her chest begin to unwind. “I think I needed to hear that,” she said quietly, her voice softer now, more at ease. “It’s just hard to know what he’s feeling, you know?”

Theresa nodded thoughtfully. “I know. But I promise you, if Theo’s sticking around, he wants to, even if he isn’t getting what he wants yet.”

Noa met both of their eyes, feeling a sense of understanding she hadn’t had before. “Thanks,” she said, giving them a small smile.

Tara gave a playful wink. “And just so you know, when you do finally give in, he’ll probably act like it was nothing big. But trust me, it’ll be a big deal for him.”

Noa laughed quietly, “Sounds like him.”

Theresa patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Noa. You’re on the right track. Just be patient with yourself, and with him. He’s got a good heart, he’s given it to you. And he understands and loves you. So figure it out.”

Noa laughed, shaking her head as she set down her cup. “Alright, alright. Enough about me.”

Tara smirked. “For now.”

Theresa glanced at her phone, then sighed. “We should probably get going if we want enough time to change. Can’t be late for my own show.”

“And Élodie Saint-Martin,” Noa chimed in. 

Tara groaned, pushing back her chair. “She’s worse than our mother when it comes to punctuality.”

“You love her for it,” Noa teased as they stood, gathering their things.

Theresa quickly squared away the tab, looping her arm through Noa’s as they stepped into the afternoon sun and said their farewells. A few hours from now, she’d be back—this time, with Maya-Rose by her side, to take the Parisian art world by storm. 

Paris, Tokyo by Lupe Fiasco

At exactly 6:30 p.m., the taxi stopped in front of the Fondation Louis Vuitton. Maya-Rose and Noa found themselves raising their umbrellas as they exited the vehicle, and despite the rain drifting into a steady drizzle, the two women dashed toward the building, the slick pavement glistening beneath them.

The museum sat on the edge of the Bois de Boulogne and seemed even more ethereal in the rain. The glass panels of its deconstructivist architecture and its translucent edges reflected back into the rainy night. The building, constructed on the edge of a water garden, had striking curves that looked like sails blowing in the wind, with the rain coloring in the visual for guests as they arrived.

Noa held her umbrella a little higher as they approached the entrance, afraid that the rain mixed with the slight evening breeze would have the structure drenching them in water and ruining her hair.

She was impressed by the stark contrast of the overgrown greenery and the futuristic “I, Robot” feel of the museum. It felt like an intentional statement—one she was sure she would learn about tonight, whether she was interested or not.

The romantic in Maya-Rose couldn’t help but marvel at the contrast, murmuring about how the greenery and the sleek design gave “Bridgerton in space.” Noa laughed, not sure that made any sense to anyone other than Maya-Rose.

They quickly continued together in silence, trying to get to the entrance of the museum as fast as possible to beat the steady rhythm of the rain. Crossing the threshold into the Fondation Louis Vuitton, they were even more in awe of the grandeur of the interior, realizing that the night would be filled with more gawking and fawning than either had anticipated.

Know You Better by Black Pumas 

The low conversational buzz of the art gallery followed Noa and Maya-Rose as they stepped into the exhibition space, greeted by bold event signage:

Avant-Garde Noir: A Celebration of Black Surrealism & FuturismTheme: A fusion of high fashion, surrealist art, and Afrofuturism, showcasing works by contemporary Black artists from around the world, blending fashion, digital media, and sculpture. Featuring: Élodie Saint-Martin (French-Haitian, Avant-Garde Designer)

The soft clink of champagne glasses filled the air as waiters twirled around the room, a handsome one offering Noa and Maya-Rose flutes before another zipped by with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Light indie rock by Black Pumas played in the background.

Noa scanned the crowd, quickly spotting Theresa and Tara deep in conversation by one of the larger canvases. Theresa was in her element, guiding interested parties through each piece with calm confidence, weaving stories that spun them into her web of art intrigue. Her ability to whisper buried secrets of the artwork—secrets only she could interpret—was incredible.

Tara, on the other hand, could’ve probably been anywhere else, but she earned an A for effort. She gave Noa a warm smile as she approached, drink in hand, offering a quick hug before falling back into her role as observer.

“So good to see you!” Tara said, beaming as she greeted Noa.

Tara’s gaze shifted, and she paused mid-sentence. ‘And who might this be?’ she asked, her voice trailing off as she recognized the person.

Maya-Rose, who had been finishing a conversation with a former colleague, turned to see Tara standing there, her deep brown eyes widening in recognition.

“Tara?” Maya-Rose said, her voice filled with surprise. “Tara Aldridge-Wells?”

Tara's eyes widened. “Maya-Rose Harris-Stowe? Well, I’ll be...” She couldn’t help but laugh softly, clearly taken aback by the coincidence.

Maya-Rose grinned. “Small world, huh?”

Maya-Rose, still processing the surprise of seeing Tara here, turned back toward Noa, the unexpected reunion leaving her momentarily stunned.

Tara’s gaze flickered briefly to Noa before returning to Maya-Rose. “It’s been... what, years?” she asked. 

Maya-Rose nodded. “Yeah, a long time. I didn’t know Noa and I would be running into you tonight.”

Tara raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Noa, her expression a mix of curiosity and realization. “You two work together now?”

Noa nodded with a smile. “Yeah, we do.” 

She and Tara locked eyes for a brief minute in an unspoken promise to chat more about this encounter with Maya-Rose when they both were alone. 

Noa and Maya-Rose continued mingling around the art exhibition, Tara in tow, the space swirling with anticipation of the panel event and the promise of Elodie gracing the art world’s presence. 

The venue was modern yet warm and inviting—high ceilings, minimalist decor and industrial features contrasted with very little lighting and an open concept layout that encouraged direct interaction, and allowed the artwork to shine. The women found themselves eavesdropping on various conversations about art, activism, and Black intersectionality.

At exactly 7 o'clock on the dot, Theresa stood at the center of the exhibition, commanding folks to gather for the start of the panel conversation. She was moderating a conversation about How Black Artists Are Shaping the Global Art Landscape, featuring prominent Black artists from around the globe sharing their insights on the impact of their work and their experiences navigating an often exclusionary art world. 

Theresa’s presence alone ensured that the room was packed to capacity, Noa smiled looking around the crowd, knowing that there was no one more equipped to be a force in this space—a bridge between the artists and the patrons, a connector of worlds — than Theresa. 

Once the conversation began, Noa left Maya-Rose and Tara, notebook in hand, to cover the event from a patron and audience perspective, moving between the artworks on display, making mental notes of the key players—artists, curators, critics—and the intersectional dynamics at play. 

Ankhas by Warpaint 

Her focus quickly shifted when she spotted a familiar face: Élodie Saint-Martin. The elusive French-Haitian designer was standing at the edge of the crowd, observing the interactions around her. Her avant-garde style on display—in her daring outfit choice for the evening. Noa had been following Élodie’s work for years, fascinated by the designer’s ability to blend her activism with high fashion, and she knew access to Élodie was a rare and highly coveted opportunity.

Noa wandered through the exhibit captivated by Élodie’s latest designs. As she paused in front of a particularly striking piece—Élodie appeared, her presence, haunting. 

“I see you’ve found my favorite,” Élodie said, her voice as graceful as her strides. “You must be Noa Jameson,” she surmised. 

Noa nodded, “I am… and a huge fan of your work.” 

Élodie’s eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of approval and skepticism. 

“Theresa told me,” she smiled, eyes flickering toward Theresa and the panel conversation at the front of the room. 

Noa’s lips curled into a small, confident smile. “Yes, I told her that I had the golden opportunity to shadow you before your haute couture show.”

There was a moment of silence before Élodie let out a soft, almost indiscernible laugh. 

“Well see….” she said. 

With a last glance at Noa, Élodie turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Noa in awe — she’d experienced Élodie’s ethereal evasiveness first hand. 

For the first time realizing what Viv meant by having to dig deeper. 

Ain’t No Sunshine by Bill Withers 

Noa caught the tail end of the conversation of the panel, feeling inspired by the collective energy and sense of community in the room. It was nearing 8 PM, and it was time to say her goodbyes to her friends before heading to the Dior 100 event. She made her way back to where Maya-Rose and Tara were still standing, deep in conversation. 

“Hey, I hate to cut this short,” Noa said, “but I have to head out soon. Dior 100 event.”

Maya-Rose nodded in agreement, eyes flickering between Noa and Tara, “Yeah I should be heading out too to get dressed. We’ll catch up later, right?”

Tara moved to give Noa a quick hug, a smirk crossing her lips, “Try not to make too many headlines,” she teased. 

Noa laughed, squeezing Tara’s shoulder in farewell. “I’ll try,” she smirked.

She turned to Theresa, who had been busy tying up the panel conversation, and waved as she approached. 

“Theresa, amazing as always,” Noa said, pulling Theresa in for a quick hug, tone filled with admiration. 

Theresa smiled, “Thanks, Noey,” she teased. “Enjoy the Dior event. Don't forget me when you're famous.”

“I’ll try… not too,” Noa teased, “See you at Delroy’s retirement party?,” a smirk on her lips.

“Of course,” Theresa said. 

“Delroy better be “retiring” Delroy after this retirement party,” Tara scoffed, rolling her eyes.  

One quick wave later, and with that, Noa dashed out of the gallery as quickly as she entered.

Lady Marmalade by Christina Aguilera, Lil Kim, Mya and Pink 

As she stepped outside into the chill of the Parisian evening, Noa found an Uber, hopped in and settled into the backseat, texting the girls to let them know she was on her way and only had a few minutes before she had to dash to the next place to prepare for the event.

The car ride was quick, zooming in and out of the Paris roundabouts with ease, cigarette smoke billowing in the air, slightly wafting into the driver’s side window, couples meandering along the streets in search of the perfect café, tourists snapping photos at the major landmarks—Paris was littered with trash and love tonight.

Noa soon arrived at Amina’s apartment, the girls were already gathered in a flurry of laughter and last-minute outfit changes. 

“I swear, if you wear this one more time…” Amina said, holding up Selam’s favorite black dress in disapproval. 

“It is a staple! It is ALSO Dior — which means I spent a grip on it and I’mma wear it til I can’t no more,” Selam shot back. “Give it here…” she said, reaching out to grab the dress before disappearing into the bathroom to change.

Noa couldn’t help but laugh, stepping inside with an air of authority ready to surprise the girls with their coveted Dior 100 tickets. 

She found Lore on the floor rummaging through a pile of clothes, Lady Marmalade blasting from the speakers, while Carmen sat in front of the vanity, singing and dancing to the lyrics, applying her makeup while joking about bringing out her "best dramatic look".

Noa paused for a minute watching the scene play out for a moment before clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. 

“So… I’ve arrived with the best news of the evening” Noa said, her eyes scanning their frantic dressing efforts. 

“You’re coming to Beyonce,” Selam deadpanned, appearing out of nowhere in her black Dior dress.

Noa rolled her eyes. ‘No, Sele, even better… Get ready, we’ve got a night ahead of us,” she said, as she handed out the coveted Dior event tickets to each of them.

The group’s excitement hit a new level, and they immediately began scrambling to get dressed, tossing clothes around like they finally had something to actually live for. Noa stayed with them long enough to make sure everyone was on track, offering a few fashion tips and vetoing others, before giving them a final round of encouragement and instructions. 

She then moved to the room to quickly grab her own outfit—and left the Patats to their chaos, promising to meet them as soon as they arrived at the venue. As much as she loved their energy, it was time for her to focus — the next stop on her Parisian world tour was important, and she was nervous. 

The car ride to Julian’s hotel was filled with anticipation. The thought of getting dressed together—sharing a space alone before the event—felt intimate, almost too intimate, and it made her stomach bubble with nervous energy. Noa couldn’t continue to deny the subtle tension brewing between them lately, and she had no idea what to expect once they were behind closed doors, but she was here — no turning back now. 

As the Uber pulled up to the hotel, she glanced out the window. The hotel was just as luxurious as she expected, quaint but opulent. A bellboy stepped forward as she exited the car, opening the door and welcoming her to the hotel. Noa stepped out, a chill in the air peppering her skin as she made her way toward the entrance, her heart quickening with each step.

The elevator ride felt too short, too cramped, especially with three people in a tiny cable car. She reached the top floor and followed the signs to Julian’s suite. The hallway was quiet, dimly lit sconces lining the walls. When she finally stood in front of the suite’s door, she hesitated for just a moment before knocking.

The door swung open, and there he was.

Julian stood in the doorway, shirtless, towel wrapped loosely around his waist, glistening from a recent shower — his piercing eyes — narrowed in on her face. He looked at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking, his smirk deepening as he took in her reaction — drinking her in, bit by bit. 

“Noelle,” he drawled slowly, his voice low and seductive. “Glad you could make it.”

He stepped aside, lifting his arm and giving her room to enter, before quickly pulling her into a tight bear hug. He peppered her cheek with playful kisses, his skin warm against hers. She laughed, unable to hide how nervously excited she was to see him.

“I wouldn’t miss it, Mr. Poitier,” she teased, “Thank you for the invitation to… get dressed together before we become strangers gazing at each other in the distance for the evening.”

Julian’s grin widened as he let her go, quickly spinning her around to face him.

 “If I asked you to be my plus one, you’d find a way not to be, so low it, Noelle.” he smirked.

Noa couldn’t help but laugh at his playful tone. “Fair,” she said, her eyes scanning the suite as she took a few steps forward.

The suite was even more impressive than she gave it credit for. The walls were lined with rich, dark wood paneling, with modern furnishings and touches of Parisian flair. There were two glasses of champagne on a small gold bar cart, the bubbles slowly rising to the surface. Of course, Marvin crooned through the speakers—always Marvin. 

She glanced over at Julian, who had already returned to his bed, laying out his suit for the evening. His shirt, a sleek black turtleneck, black tailored pants and a pair of Agent Chelsea boots. Noa noticed his favorite gold chain and a pair of black sunglasses on the nightstand.

 

As Noa continued to take in the room, Julian picked up his drink, and casually glanced over at her. 

“Feel free to get comfortable,” he said with a wink, walking over to a set of sliding doors leading to the bathroom. 

“You can shower. Let me sort it for you.” he said.

Noa raised an eyebrow, but didn’t protest. “Okay.” 

Julian disappeared into the bathroom and Noa heard the sounds of water running. Her mind raced, debating whether this was the right move. 

The last time she was in a hotel bathroom… 

She grabbed her clothing and entered the bathroom just as Julian exited, shoving the thoughts of Theo and Amsterdam down as fast as they came, thanking him and giving him one more glance before closing the door. 

Noa undressed and hopped in the shower, and her thoughts immediately drifted to Julian—his body, the way he opened the hotel door in that towel, the mischief always dancing between his eyes, his smirk. 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to settle her nerves, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to breathe again until they were apart and at the event — he was too intoxicating. 

A few minutes later, she stepped out of the shower, returning to the main room wrapped in a plush white towel, where Julian was texting on his phone. He looked up, his eyes slowly trailing down her body, sending goosebumps across her skin. He offered a smile, but the smirk that curled on his lips was enough to deduce the thoughts on his mind. 

Julian met her gaze, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Noa walked toward the empty side of the bed, stopping to grab a glass of champagne, before taking a sip. 

“Do you need help?” Julian asked, his eyes twinkling as he studied Noa, watching her as she drank her champagne. He stood near the bar cart, glass clinking as he poured himself a glass of Whiskey.

Noa chuckled softly, placing her glass down. “I think I’ve got it covered,” she said, “But I wouldn’t mind some help with my jewelry… and my heels… when the time comes.” She winked, reaching for her necklace, and placing it next to her dress on the bed.

Julian stood up straight, smirking as he sauntered over to her, his towel still hanging dangerously low on his hips. He didn’t need to say a word. He moved toward Noa as he always did—like a lion surveying his prey. 

And she liked it. Noa felt as if they were playing a game, a russian roulette of feelings — that she was bound to lose, because Julian’s presence was overwhelming, and magnetic.

Julian picked the necklace up from the bed, moving closer to her, brushing her neck gently with his fingers. The contact was light, but it sent an unexpected shiver through her. She stood still, watching him as he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as he clasped the necklace around her neck. 

Once the necklace was fastened, Julian stepped back, his eyes raking over her. 

“You look… stunning,” he said quietly, admiring his handiwork.

Noa blinked, smiling and taking in the sincerity in the compliment. 

Before she could respond, Julian was already headed back to his side of the bed, grabbing his outfit to begin getting ready. He stealthy pulled on his boxer briefs, Noa trying every attempt to find something in the room to distract herself, as he pulled on a pair of sleek black tailored pants, and slipped into the LV Chic Graphic Damoflage Overshirt—a black turtleneck, graphic print barely visible against the dark material—he looked up at her, catching her gaze again.

Noa couldn’t help but watch the way his hands worked, each movement purposeful and smooth. He quickly slipped on the Agent Chelsea boots before asking Noa to help him put on his own gold chain, his eyes dancing with delight at how flustered she became at his offhand request. 

He noticed her staring and grinned, walking toward her with the ease of someone who knew exactly what effect he had on women — and her, in particular. 

"What?" he teased, his voice a touch more playful now. 

“You can’t decide if I’m gonna keep this on all night or not, can you?” he smirked. 

Noa bit her lip. “Something like that,” she said, her heart racing as she tried to play coy and keep things light.

With an almost predatory stride, Julian thanked her and walked away to grab his sunglasses from the nightstand, his eyes never leaving hers, "You look like you want to say something, Noelle."

Noa swallowed, and picked up her own outfit, “Someone is really trying to make an impression, and it isn’t me,” she teased.

Julian chuckled, adjusting his chain once more, before sipping his whiskey. “Is it working?”

She shook her head, smiling, watching him as he took a sip, “Maybe.” 

Attempting to regain her focus and control of the evening, Noa grabbed her dress, slowly sliding it  over her smooth brown skin and black lingerie. When she turned to face Julian again, his eyes were lasered in on her, filled with lust. Her face went warm realizing that he was watching her the entire time. 

“Noelle, are you just going to keep looking at me, or are you going to help me figure out what’s next?” he slyly asked, acknowledging the shamelessness in his behavior.

She took a step forward, her heart racing with uncertainty and excitement. “I’m trying to decide, Julian,” she murmured. "What are we doing here?"

He didn’t answer right away, just moved to adjust his turtleneck before he finally spoke again.

“Whatever it is, Noelle… We’re doing it together,” he whispered.

Noa just stood there. Something was about to shift between them—she could feel it, he could feel it—and she wasn’t sure if she was ready. But that was irrelevant. For once, she didn’t want to be the one who stepped back. Not like at the bakery.

The real question was: would they be able to keep their composure for the entirety of this public event—as strangers—who just got dressed together?

Her thoughts were quickly interrupted by a small clicking sound, Julian adjusted his cufflinks, and Noa found herself watching him as he turned to look in the mirror. 

He caught her gaze in the mirror, daring her to break it. 

Noa finally relented, but only because she needed to put on her heels. Time was of the essence and they were stretching all of it.

Her heels sat at the end of the bed,  and she slowly moved to grab them. 

Julian, however, wasn’t quite finished getting ready. He reached for his watch, as she bent down, picking up her first heel. 

Just as she bent down to try and clasp the strap around her ankle, trying not to sit down, she heard a deep baritone bellow out from behind her. 

“Need a hand?” Julian said. 

Noa glanced over her shoulder, meeting his eyes, "I think I can manage, but thank you." she said, wobbling over before she could compose herself.

Julian moved closer, his tall frame towering over her, his eyes never left hers as he gently reached for her heel, his fingertips brushing against her wrist.

"Let me," he said. 

Noa didn't resist. She slowly lifted her foot, and placed her hand on his broad shoulder for balance. Julian leaned in slightly, his hand on her waist, steadying her. 

Julian moved slowly and deliberately, lifting her foot gently and placing it onto the heel, his touch never leaving her skin. She could feel the slight pressure of his fingers on her leg, gripping just tightly enough for her to notice. His concentration reverberated through the room. 

Then, without warning, Julian pressed a soft kiss to her calf, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than she expected.

A small imperceptible gasp left Noa’s lips, frozen in place as she looked down at him. The kiss was tender, but the intent was clear. 

He repeated the gesture a second time with the next heel, finally pulling back slowly, his hazel eyes laser focused on Noa, after the tinged moments between them. 

"You're gorgeous, don’t you know that," he chuckled, a hint of shyness creeping on his face, as he met her gaze. 

However, before  Noa could respond, Julian’s phone rang. 

BZZZTTTTT. 

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, clearly not pleased with the interruption. He reluctantly stood up, giving her leg one last lingering touch before he stepped away, pulling the phone from his pocket and glancing at the screen— the intimate moment ruined. 

"We should go," he lamented, clearly not wanting to leave the room.

He reached out, giving her a slight push toward the mirror. 

"Finish up. I’ll wait by the door." he said. 

Noa nodded, she couldn’t trust herself to speak. She gave herself a once over in the mirror, taking one long last glance at Julian, standing in the doorway. He was watching her — desire in his eyes. 

The shift between them, whatever it was, would happen soon enough. 

Dior 100 Event: Masquerade Party – A Night of Elegance and Mystery

The Orangerie at the Château de Versailles was the ultimate setting for Dior 100 — the history, grandeur, and exclusivity—the perfect backdrop for a masquerade event attended by the world's elite.

Versailles, synonymous with luxury, fashion, and opulence—Dior couldn’t have chosen a better place. 

The Patats arrived right at 10pm waltzing into The Orangerie’s vast, elegant hall with soaring ceilings and deep golden light. A waiter carrying a tray of escargot in one hand and champagne flutes in the other greeted them, handing them each a glass and directing them to receive a mask for tonight’s festivities in the corner by the purple table.

Noa arrived a few moments later, trekking across The Château's sprawling gardens, she walked along its hidden corridors, and ended up in a large ballroom, immediately ushered in with a glass of champagne and an unanticipated mask for tonight’s event. 

Bonjour and Beinvenue a Vogue Noir — the Dior 100,  a large sign in purple lettering stood by the grand staircase.

Julian, who promised to meet Noa later, arrived publicly solo, through the palace gates, chandeliers shining amongst gold antique mirrors, guests adorned in elaborate masks covertly conversing in candlelit corners. 

A string quartet played while champagne poured from a grand centerpiece. A waiter whisked by handing Julian his own mask for the night. 

Outside, the moonlight shone over the fountains of Versailles, promising a night of intoxication and seduction, a night where time stands still.

The air was thick brimming with anticipation, a buzz of excitement building as chauffeured cars rolled up one by one to the entrance of the grand château.

Large wrought-iron gates towered ahead, lush gardens, trimmed to absolute perfection, lined the cobblestone drive, while the distant sounds of the string quartet whistled through the night air.

Inside, there was a neverending grand staircase in opposing directions leading to the mezzanine that overlooked the ballroom below, where guests in the finest haute couture and masks moved like wealthy ancient vampires in the roaring 1920’s from your favorite television episode.

A sea of faces, each covered in disguises, made it impossible to distinguish friend from foe. Noa gave up trying to find her friends, colleagues or Julian. She decided to take Viv’s professional advice and use this as the perfect opportunity to play a game of mystery and illusion. It was perfect for a night where secrets were revealed in the dimly lit corners, where every glance held a hidden meaning, and every encounter carried unspoken intel.

And tonight, the game was just beginning.

Maya-Rose moved gracefully through the crowd, her mask catching the light as it twinkled beneath the soft chandeliers. Her floor-length gown trailed behind her like liquid, twirling with each step. She’d arrived late, and the addition of the masked evening meant she would definitely be on her own tonight—personally and professionally.

Or so she thought. 

The string quartet played an acoustic version of a jazz song she didn’t recognize. Maya-Rose shifted on her feet, watching couples glide across the ballroom floor. She took slow sips of her champagne, scanning the crowd for any familiar faces—Noa, Viv, Georgia-Louise, hell, even Sebastian’s annoying company at this point—at least he knew his way around the level of stature and prestige in this type of room. 

But just as a waiter appeared with a new tray of hor d'oeuvres, she spotted him.  

Their eyes met across the room, though neither of them made a show of it. 

Julian. 

Her heart twisted with the familiar ache, but she quickly masked it, forcing her gaze away. He wasn’t her problem anymore.

Their last encounter felt bitter and emotionally charged, and Maya-Rose, she was the epitome of grace and cool under pressure, she could not have that be the most recent and last memory Julian Poitier had of her – she refused. 

So she did what any self-respecting ex (who also wanted to catch up with their ex—not that she cared about him or what he did—she did, but she wouldn't admit that to anyone else alive) would do. She gussied up her nerve, downed her champagne, set the glass down, and then slowly but deliberately charged across the room to approach him.

As she approached, Julian stood taller, shifting his posture to appear more domineering. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he knew one thing for sure: he didn’t want Maya-Rose to think their last encounter had rattled him. It had, just a little, but she’d never know that.

When she reached him, Maya-Rose noticed Julian's posture shift slightly, his stance had grown more rigid, like a reflex. It was subtle, but she caught it.

They stood there for a moment, neither speaking, just observing the other as if deciding how to play this out.

Instead, they did what they did best—masked.

Maya-Rose broke the silence. “Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” Her voice was light, but there was a slight edge to it, as though she were testing the waters.

Julian’s gaze lingered, his mask concealing just enough to make their interaction feel like a dance of secrecy. He smiled slightly but didn’t immediately respond, as if weighing something in his mind. 

They both knew what this was. A battle of wills. May the best person win. 

“It is a masquerade ball, innit,” he said, finally. 

“Mm.” Maya-Rose nodded, annoyed that Julian was being so coy, like they were strangers. 

She tried again, to ease into conversation what did she have to lose,“I didn’t take you for someone who would enjoy all of this.” she teased.

Julian raised an eyebrow, “Why?” he replied.

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I was thinking more along the lines of... you’d never be caught dead at an event like this,” she teased.

Julian didn’t respond, instead choosing this as an opportune time to take a sip of his drink.

“I’m sorry,” Maya-Rose added after a pause, her voice lowering ever so slightly, as though it had slipped out against her will. “I just know you’d rather be home, that's all.”

Julian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted, glancing over his shoulder as though he were distracted. But Maya-Rose noticed the way his jaw tightened just a little. He wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that, because deep down, he knew what she meant.

“You’ve always been... observant,” he said, eventually. 

Maya-Rose caught the shift in his tone and almost regretted asking, but then again, she couldn’t help herself. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”

The moment stretched. Maya-Rose glanced over at the dancers on the floor—almost as though looking for an excuse to break the silence.

“You know,” she said finally, her voice casual, “We should start over, it is a masquerade ball after all… I can barely see your eyes,” she teased, outstretching her hand for Julian to take, hoping he’d take this truce and ease the tension. She wasn’t sure she could stand looking into his blue eyes one more time tonight without giving into something dangerous.

Julian paused, and for a fleeting moment, something passed between them—he felt it too, the pull. But he knew better.

His gaze softened, just a touch, but that was enough to send an undeniable signal to Maya-Rose. He was still tempted. He wanted her. And it pissed him off that he could still feel that after everything.

Pleasure by Feist 

“Maya-Rose Harris-Stowe,” he said, his voice sliding into a forced, polite tone. “Lovely to see you. Been a while, innit?” he smirked, and took a sip of his drink.

Maya-Rose knew—he wasn’t fooling anyone. She wasn’t fooled either. She smiled with a smug satisfaction that came with pulling him in, if only for a second. 

“Better,” she said, her tone a little lighter than before.

It was a dangerous game. She knew it. He knew it. And yet, they continued to play.

Without thinking, Maya-Rose stepped just a little closer, her fingers touched the edge of his mask. Julian’s breath hitched, her unexpected touch shocked him, in more ways than one. She could feel the way his body tensed, but there was something else, too—a vulnerability he couldn’t entirely hide. Her fingers lingered for a moment longer than they should have, and it felt like time itself paused.

She tilted her head, daring him with her eyes as her fingertips brushed across the mask, to remove it. For a brief, dizzying second, Julian leaned in closer, to let her. 

But then, Carmen appeared, her laughter ringing through the air as she swept past them dragging Selam to the dance floor, oblivious to what was happening around her. 

Maya-Rose quickly stepped back and regained her graceful stoic composure, her touch immediately falling away from Julian’s mask.

The moment shattered. 

Everything back in focus. 

The reality hitting them — they were in a public venue. 

She was working. 

He was working. 

Julian straightened, his mask firmly in place now, his expression neutral, though his eyes lingered on Maya-Rose a little longer than necessary. There was a brief flicker of something—before he quickly masked it, and returned to his professional persona.

Carmen, still laughing with a drink in hand, paused momentarily as she glanced at them. Her gaze flickered from Maya-Rose to Julian, Selam following Carmen’s gaze, her smile faltering as if sensing a subtle change in the atmosphere, though neither Maya-Rose nor Julian gave anything away. 

Carmen gave a playful, careless smile, and turned to drag Selam through the crowd to meet up with the rest of the group to continue their amazing night. 

“I think I’ll go find Noa,” Maya-Rose said after a second, her voice flat, trying to regain some control.

Julian didn’t stop her as she turned away.

But as she walked off, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if, despite everything, a part of him might still be watching her back.

Alaska by Maggie Rogers 

Turning on her heel, Maya-Rose scanned the crowd for Noa, eager for space from Julian. She caught sight of Viv and Georgia-Louise, deep in conversation, making their way to the dance floor. Sebastian was nearby, a mischievous grin on his face as he tried to catch her attention. Maya-Rose swerved his gaze, doing her best to avoid his invitation to chat, or worse, dance.

She let her feet guide her, the pulse of the music surrounding her. She knew Noa would be somewhere nearby, easily blending into the crowd. Sure enough, she found her, animatedly chatting with a group, her bright smile captivating everyone she spoke to.

"Noa," Maya-Rose called out.

Noa turned, her expression softening instantly. "Hey," she said warmly, slipping her arm through Maya-Rose’s. "Having fun? Apparently, we missed the masquerade memo," she joked, tapping the edges of her mask.

Maya-Rose gave a small smile. "As much fun as one can have pretending to be someone else."

Noa laughed. "Fair enough. Let’s make the most of it," she said, grabbing Maya-Rose’s hand. 

"Let’s dance."

They made their way to the center of the ballroom, where Viv, Georgia-Louise, and Sebastian were already laughing and dancing—none of them quite believing that Vivian Marchand was letting loose with her staff. The music swirled around them, and soon, Maya-Rose found herself swept into the rhythm of the beat and the joy of the crowd, letting herself lose track of time, if only for a moment. She allowed herself to be carried away, her worries about Julian and the mess of emotions he stirred pushed aside for now.

The Dior 100 event came to a close, the last of the guests making their way to the doors of the venue. Noa stepped outside, waiting for her girls to come out, the cool air hitting her skin, the energy of the night still buzzing in her veins. It was such an amazing night — an amazing fashion week, really.

“What a party!” Selam yelled out, the rest of the girls laughing and shushing her, alcohol alive and well in her system.

“You really did it, Noa, it was such a time tonight,” Amina said, giving Noa a squeeze from behind.

“I am so glad y’all could come,” Noa grinned, showing every single one of her teeth.

“Well, baby needs a rest and by baby I mean my baby toes,” Lore interjected, hobbling around the cobblestone in feigned pain.

“Should we head out?” Carmen asked. 

And at that exact moment, Noa’s phone buzzed — her night was far from over.

As she checked her phone, her eyes lit up when she saw a message from  

Julian: Meet me at the side entrance.

Curiosity piqued, Noa alerted the girls to her message from Julian, much to her chagrin, the oohs and ahhs not even bothering her this time. She shooed and shoved them into an Uber and headed toward the side entrance of the venue to meet him.

Paris by Friendly Fires 

There, Julian was waiting, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Julian?” Noa raised an eyebrow, a smile already forming on her lips. “What’s all this about?”

He didn’t answer right away, his grin widening instead. “Come with me,” he said, offering his hand with a kind of imploring, unspoken promise. “Rendezvous.”

Without waiting for her answer, Julian grabbed her hand and led her to a sleek, black moped — like something straight out of a Bond movie. Julian slid on his helmet (where’d he managed to find a moped and a helmet that fit, she’d never know), then handed Noa the spare, an eyebrow arched in challenge.

“A moped?” she asked, her voice teasing but intrigued.

“Do you trust me?” he grinned, his eyes—blue, green, hazel—twinkling and dancing with mischief, hoping that she’d say yes.

Noa rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but laugh. She put on the helmet, her fingers brushing against his as she settled behind him. “This is going to be a disaster,” she muttered, though her heart raced with a nervous excitement she’d never felt before — the mischievous spark in his eyes was infectious — she couldn’t help herself.

Julian revved the engine, and with a playful grin, quick glance over his shoulder, they shot into the night.

They were off!

The streets of Paris unfolded before them—dimly lit cobbled streets, hidden alleyways. Julian maneuvered the moped through the city like he knew it, like the back of his hand, weaving between cars and laughing as Noa held on to his back for dear life. They raced past cafes, famous landmarks that Noa hadn’t had time to visit, past street performers still playing in the square. The night felt forever young.

Julian glanced over his shoulder, his grin mischievous. "First stop," he called. "The Louvre."

Before Noa could even process what was happening, the moped screeched to a halt. Julian hopped off and grabbed her hand, pulling her with him as they dashed across the street.

"No time to waste," he smirked. "Are you ready for this?" teased. 

"Ready for what?" Noa laughed, her heart racing with excitement.

He didn’t answer, just led her into the Louvre, where he had arranged for a locked box to be hidden in plain sight—right next to Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss. The box was filled with written clues on an ancient map of Paris, the start of an impromptu scavenger hunt.

"This is insane!" Noa grinned, catching her breath. “One, how did you manage to get us in here after hours? Two, hiding in plain sight next to Cupid’s Kiss?... way to be subtle,” she teased, a smirk playing on her lips. 

"A gentleman never tells his secrets, Noelle," Julian smirked, grabbing the box and sharing the first clue. “Alright, let’s ‘ave it!”

And with that, the hunt began—a spontaneous adventure across the heart of Paris with a man she barely knew. She could hear her mother in her ear scolding her as landmarks whizzed by in a blur.

"The Arc de Triomphe," Julian called, nodding toward the iconic monument as they zoomed past.

Noa raised an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling. "Wait, stop! We need to recreate the baguette scene from Passport to Paris!"

Julian pulled to a stop, both of them hopping off the moped. Noa immediately raised an imaginary baguette, wielding it like a sword. "Take that, Julian Poitier. Pow pow pow!" she shouted dramatically, swinging it in the air toward Julian.

Julian laughed, playing along. "En garde!"

But then Noa froze. "Wait, no, we need to save this for the Eiffel Tower. I got my movie scenes mixed up!" she said, laughing at herself.

"Classic," Julian grinned. "Alright, next stop then, yeah?"

They sped off again, heading for Notre-Dame. At each location, Julian handed Noa a cryptic clue, leading them to hidden gems and tourist attractions in the city where they solved riddles and dodged imaginary enemies.

When they reached Montmartre, Noa pulled Julian aside, her voice lowering with excitement. "Okay, so since we are in Paris, and this feels very 007, I should be James Bond. But reimagined as a woman," she grinned. "And you—you have to be the villain."

Julian raised an eyebrow, an exaggerated look of disgust on his face. "I’m not some generic Bond villain, Noelle. You can’t just make me Max Zorkin."

Noa laughed. "Why not? Actually, that’s perfect," she mused aloud, loud enough for Julian to hear. "Max is in A Time to Kill, which is the Bond movie in Paris."

"No, no, no," he shook his head, giving her a pointed look. "If it’s A Time to Kill, I’m Bond, and you’re Grace Jones as May Day. Solves your 'reimagination,'" he teased.

She smirked. "Deal. But what about Max Zorkin?"

"’Low it," Julian said, "Max Zorkin doesn’t belong in this story."

Lost in Paris by Tom Misch ft. GoldLink

They made their way through the streets, laughing and dodging imaginary enemies — each stop as if they were in a different chapter of a spy thriller, or like a team on the Amazing Race — the city of Paris their playground. 

It seemed Julian’s challenges were each more ridiculous than the last. Noa found herself laughing more than she had in days, her nerves forgotten, replaced by the simple joy of being swept up in his spontaneity. At the Pont Alexandre III, Julian handed her a rose he stole from a nearby vendor who left his shop window cracked, to commemorate their journey.

He led her through secret corners of Montmartre, and she took him on a quick tour of Little Africa, where she was staying before they hopped back on the moped and sped away. The scavenger hunt felt like they were in their own cinematic masterpiece, and Noa felt like a biking pro — her deep fear of mopeds gone because of Julian’s confidence and superb driving skills. 

Noa laughed uncontrollably as they reached their next destination—the Champs-Élysées, the towering trees above billowing in the wind. Julian paid off a street performer, borrowing an antique key that unlocked a hidden compartment in a nearby café for a silly dare. 

"We’re in the belly of the beast now," Julian whispered as they leaned against the moped, the noise of Paris fading into the background.

As the night drew to a close, Julian had one final surprise. He led Noa to the edge of the Seine, where an old boat was docked, waiting for them. Julian made a quick deal with the boat owner to meet him tonight and ferry them across the river. The Eiffel Tower shimmered in the distance, its lights casting a small glow over the water.

Noa looked at Julian, grinning with admiration. "Impressive. You really are, you know."

"You leave quite the impression yourself, mademoiselle," Julian teased, as he reached for her hand and ushered her into the small boat.

Rendezvous by Craig David 

The boat drifted under the bridges, the sound of the water quietly splashing against the sides. Noa leaned back, closed her eyes and ran her hands in the water, soaking in the moment. She had been to Paris countless times. She had just been on a boat with her girls riding down the Seine. But never had it felt so intimate, so personal.

“The city of love,” she thought to herself in awe of the last few hours, smiling to herself.

When she opened her eyes, she caught Julian staring at her, silently studying her.

The Eiffel Tower came closer, its iconic iron frame illuminated in the dark sky. As the boat drifted beneath one of the bridges, Julian leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek. Without a word, he kissed her—soft at first, then with a heat that seemed to pull them both deeper into the moment.

Noa’s heart raced, her thoughts spinning, her body naturally sinking deeper into the kiss. The feeling of his lips on hers and the quiet whirs of the boat as it carried them down the river were the only things on her mind.

As the boat passed under the next bridge, Noa leaned back into Julian, feeling the warmth of his presence, letting the night embrace them both. Julian’s fingers brushing hers as they cruised along the river. 

As they passed under another bridge, Julian leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke softly, "This is the part where the hero gets the girl," he said, kissing the top of her head as he looked out into the river.

Noa could feel the weight of the unspoken words between them, the tension that had been building since they first met. She knew Julian—knew his type. And she was afraid of getting too close. Dating an actor, a Hollywood heartthrob at that, wouldn’t end well. It couldn’t. But tonight, she wouldn’t let that ruin her perfect time in the city of love, with Julian Poitier.

Neither of them spoke for a while, both of them lost in the city around them. As they drifted past the Eiffel Tower, the night sky above them, they both knew that whatever came next, tonight would be a moment neither of them would ever forget.

The sound of the moped’s engine quietly stalled as Julian pulled up outside Amina’s apartment. Noa’s heart was still pumping with the adrenaline from the amazing night zipping through the city. She sucked in one final whiff of Julian’s signature scent before taking off her helmet.

Julian turned off the engine, removed his helmet, and stepped off the moped, before turning to face Noa.

"Well, that was..." he slowly began.

“The best night ever!” Noa blurted, grinning from ear to ear before going into complete excitement mode. 

“I cannot believe I let you whip me around the city on a moped! For fuck's sake,” she said, lightly slapping the helmet on his arm, her laugh reverberating through the quiet street.

Julian stepped closer, his eyes catching hers, reflecting a sense of longing and intrigue. “You proper fancied it and you know it,” he teased before lowering his voice and zoning his gaze into Noa’s line of sight. 

“You’re sure you’re okay getting inside? I could walk you up…”

Noa shook her head, trying to suppress the butterflies in her stomach. “No, I’m good. Really. Thanks for the ride and the evening.” She smiled, stepping forward to kiss his cheek as he helped her step down from the moped and took the helmet from her hand.

“Alright. Well… I’ll see you soon.” He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Take care, Noelle.”

He watched her inside before hopping back on the moped and revving the engine. She waved, watching him disappear into the distance, the sound of the moped fading into the Parisian streets.

Breezeblocks by alt-J

The door to Amina’s apartment felt like a reprieve from the onslaught of emotions she was feeling as she walked up the steps and unlocked it.

The apartment was silent as she stepped inside, the only sound being the soft click of the door behind her. She kicked off her shoes and took a moment to collect herself.

BZZZTTT.

The sound of her phone pulled her out of her thoughts.

“You don’t know the full story, Noa. You might want to ask Julian about Maya-Rose.”

A photo from the Dior 100 masquerade ball: Maya-Rose, head tilted, eyes locked in a gaze, fingertips removing Julian’s mask as he leaned in closer to let her.

NEXT EPISODE

[marymack1]

Shoulder Taps done! #strongat56 #teamjulian #elgallos #streetparking #streetparkingmembers (at Fall Creek, Troy) https://www.instagram.com/p/B1jaf5bArpdYj7BWwNgHc66lZUalLfxM76IVGQ0/?igshid=1etdvpl2jt45o

[transgirltumbling]

Out here sports Moming like a champ! #MemorialJaguars #TeamJulian #sportsmomlife https://www.instagram.com/p/BmoPjXoAO-z/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1bthij5eajpkm

[theartofmovingseries]

The Art of Amsterdam

Summary: A family emergency in Amsterdam. An ex offers to help. One city. 24 hours.

Masterlist

Full Episode Soundtrack

A/N: This chapter is 18+ MDNI! SMUT.

BREAKING NEWS 

PRESENT: Julian's Perspective

Julian had stopped by his grandmother’s house for some fried dumplings, running into his mother and sister, all three women sitting in the kitchen drinking tea. He greeted them one by one with a hug, already knowing that his mom was planning to pester him about not answering her text about attending Mr. Aldridge-Wells' retirement party, and whether or not he was bringing his shortbread to Tariq and Keisha’s baby shower next Sunday.

As soon as he went to open his grandmother’s refrigerator, his phone pinged.

Julian’s ex: “Heard you’ll be at Mr. Aldridge-Wells’ retirement party. Small world, looks like I’ll be there too! Looks like we’ll finally get round to having that chat [wink emoji, red heart emoji]’ 

Julian frowned, setting the phone down for a second, drowning out the sounds of his family chatting, trying to figure out how everyone in South London seemed to know each other and ended up at the same events because their parents were so involved in the community. 

But before Julian could process it, his phone buzzed again—an Apple alert. His eyes darted to the screen: “Breaking News.” The headline read: “Spotted: Theo Aldridge-Wells and long-time love Noelle Jameson Reignite Romance in Amsterdam – Back Together?”

Rise & Fall 

REWIND: An Unexpected Phone Call

Sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows of Harper and Jack’s flat, bringing a much-needed burst of warmth after weeks of relentless rain. The window was cracked open just enough for a light breeze to drift in, carrying the sweet scent of Mrs. Everett’s blooming magnolias from next door. Noa sat at the counter, cradling her mug of tea, still emotionally hungover from the night before. Her baking date with Julian had turned into something much deeper than she’d expected. The chemistry between them had caught her off guard, leaving her with a bunch of emotions she couldn’t quite explain.

Harper stumbled into the kitchen, still half-dazed from a string of long NHS shifts, wearing an oversized hoodie and Peanuts pajamas that Noa had sent her two Christmases ago. She flicked the coffee pot on without turning around. “Alright, spill. What happened with Julian last night?”

“Damn, waking up on smoke, Harp,” Noa laughed, sipping her tea. “Okay, fine. Get your coffee and your bagel, make me one too, and then sit down,” she pointed to the table, “so we can begin our Dateline 20/20 debrief.”

Jack, standing by the door with his football bag slung over his shoulder, jumped in before Noa could respond.

“Hold on, hold on,” he interjected, “Debriefing Julian already? What’s this bloke got on you, Noe?” he laughed.

Harper arched an eyebrow. “First of all, this is women’s business,” she said, motioning between herself and Noa.

“Just because I’m married now and sometimes let you join in doesn’t mean you get a say all the time,” she shot back teasingly.

Harper turned back to Noa, her expression growing more serious.

“Besides, you only love Theo because you know him more than Julian. Of course, you think he’s supposed to be your guy.” She paused, letting the words hang for a beat. “I like him, but let’s be real—Noa has been through A LOT with Theo. He knows her… maybe way too much, honestly.” She glanced over at Noa, her eyes now mischievous.

“Julian? Now Julian's very cute, very available, and very interested. Isn’t that what you want?” she said.

Jack shook his head. “Okay, so?” he huffed. “We’ve known Theo forever,” gesturing between the three of them. “You two have history,” he gestured to Noa. “Plus, let’s not pretend you don’t still feel something for him.”

Harper cut in, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Jack?” She gestured toward the door. “Go, go, go to football training before you make me mad... make us mad,” she added, nodding to Noa with a grin.

Jack sighed but smiled at both of them. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave. But Noe, you know who I’m rooting for.” He winked and moved toward Harper to give her a kiss before heading out.

Harper playfully shooed him away but whispered, “I’ll tell you the gossip later.”

Noa laughed, calling out, “I heard that!” as Jack slipped out the door, leaving her and Harper alone to continue their chat.

Noa sighed, sinking deeper into her chair. “You guys are making this harder.” She swirled the tea in her mug. “I don’t even know what I want right now.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to have it all figured out. What did Theo say?” Harper said.

Noa hesitated, her gaze drifting to the window. “He wants to do brunch,” she admitted, trying to sound casual. “But it’s... it’s not as simple as he wants it to be. We’ve got history, right? And history isn’t always a good thing.”

Harper nodded, understanding. “But there’s still something there, right?”

Noa let out a breath, holding her mug in both hands. “Yeah. I think there is. But it’s messy, Harper. It’s complicated.” she said.

Before either of them could respond, Noa’s phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at the screen to see an incoming call from Lieve van der Meer, her godsister.

“Noa,” Lieve’s voice cracked as she picked up. “Het is Papa—Pieter. Hij heeft een ernstig ongeluk gehad. Het is slecht, Noa. Je moet komen.” [It’s Dad—Pieter. He’s had a serious accident. It’s bad, Noa. You need to come.]

Noa’s heart raced, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. Pieter van der Meer, her godfather, had always been there for her. She’d lived with him and Anke, his wife, and their children, Lieve and Lucas during her time abroad and had been their surrogate daughter for as long as she could remember. She even became fluent in Dutch to better communicate with him and she couldn’t bear the thought of something bad happening to him. 

“Wat gaat het? Gaat hij het maken?” Noa’s voice was tight, laced with concern. [What’s going on? Is he going to make it?]

“Het is serieus. Hij is nu in de operatie,”  Lieve said quickly. [It’s serious. He’s in surgery now.]

Noa's carefree mood evaporated in an instant, worry overtaking her.

There was no time for explanations or thinking; she needed to get to Amsterdam, now.

Her mind raced through the memories—Pieter teaching her how to bake traditional Dutch bread, his quiet wisdom in moments of crisis, the way he’d always known exactly what to say when she was uncertain. The fear of losing that steady presence in her life, scared her.

“Onderweg. Tot snel,”  [On the way. See you soon!] Noa said, quickly ending the call and rushing to book the next flight to Amsterdam.

Don’t Worry 

Onderweg,Amsterdam

“Is everything okay?” Harper asked, her voice laced with concern as Noa shot up from the table, her panic setting in.

“Papa Piet had an accident and is in surgery. I need to get to Amsterdam, now,” Noa said, racing toward the spare bedroom to grab an overnight bag.

Her thoughts raced, but she moved quickly to pack. There was no room for panic, she told herself. She had to focus. She needed to pack, book a flight, and get to the airport as fast as possible. Harper stood nearby, her concern evident but silent. The phone call with Lieve had clearly shaken Noa, and Harper knew she needed to help her regroup quickly.

Noa didn’t realize she’d left Harper standing in the kitchen, still confused, until Harper called out to her.

“Hey,” Harper said gently, stepping forward and placing a hand on Noa’s arm. “Just breathe for a second. You can’t rush off without getting your head on straight. What do you need?” Her voice was firm but warm, her tone shifting into action mode.

Before Noa could respond, her phone buzzed again. She glanced down, still in the middle of packing, and saw Theo’s name flash across the screen. For a brief moment, she just stared at it, forgetting they had brunch plans.

“Hey,” she answered, her voice curt and distracted.

“Noey?” Theo’s voice came through, smooth and warm as always, but with a hint of concern. “We still on for brunch, yeah?”

“Theo, I—” She stopped herself. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Something’s come up. I have to go to Amsterdam. My godfather, Pieter—he had an accident, and I need to be there,” she quickly rushed out.

Theo’s response was instant, calm, and direct. “I’m on my way.”

Before Noa could even protest or ask how or why, the call was disconnected.

Noa opened her mouth to say something—but she didn’t know what. “Theo, you don’t have to—”

“Did he just hang up on you?” Harper asked, amused and a little confused.

“Yeah. He said he’s on his way,” Noa whispered.

“Of course he is,” Harper grinned, walking out of the room where she was helping Noa pack, heading into the bathroom to grab toiletries for the trip.

As soon as Harper left, Noa’s phone pinged. A text from Theo with private jet details for a flight for… two.

She wouldn’t tell Harper that. If she did, she’d never hear the end of it, Noa thought to herself. Instead, she yelled out to Harper, “Definitely not like that, Harp!”

“Oh, sure… my rich ex-almost fiancé isn’t racing to my aid with no questions asked,” Harper teases, popping back into the room with a bag of travel essentials for Noa. “Here,” she says, handing Noa the bag.

“Thanks,” Noa replies, taking the bag from her.

“So… hypothetically, because… I know Theo… Is he deciding that he’s coming, or is he just your airport knight in shining armor?” Harper chides with a grin.

“He sent me private jet directions…” Noa starts.

“Get out! No way!” Harper leaps onto the bed in glee.

“For… two,” Noa spills out.

“Get the fuck out of here. I knew it!” Harper shrieked. “Theo to the rescue. Theo to the rescue!” She started mockingly chanting.

Just as Harper flopped on the bed ending her chant, Noa felt a weight settle in her chest, the urgency of the situation with Pieter pulling her back to reality.

Just then, Noa got a text from Theo: “I’m outside.”

Noa glanced at her phone, then at Harper, who was still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “He’s not my knight in shining armor, Harp. But... I guess I can’t say no to a private jet.”

Noa stood in the hallway, lacing up her shoes. “Alright, I’m off,” she said, turning to Harper, who followed behind her to usher her to the door. 

“Go,” Harper urged. “But listen to me—you tell me everything. I mean everything when you come back.” She grinned again before the door clicked shut behind Noa.

As Noa stepped outside, she spotted Theo’s sleek black car parked by the curb. The sunshine not quite soothing the mix of nerves and knots in her stomach. Her thoughts lingering on the plane ride and what might await in Amsterdam.

Theo, Always Waiting 

Theo was leaning casually against the passenger-side hood, his usual quiet confidence on full display. Dressed in a cream-colored Essentials short set, Gucci Rhyton sneakers, and sporting a fresh trim, he looked delicious.

Waiting. 

Theo always made sure Noa knew nothing between them ever happened without her consent. He never moved until she did. And she hated that. It forced her to lean into a side of herself she wasn’t used to—one that felt vulnerable, unsure. Yet, Theo never made her feel wrong for it. He simply waited.

With a deep breath, Noa closed her eyes, gathering herself. She slowly crossed the street to the sleek black car and the handsome young man waiting for her.

“Ciao, bella,” Theo greeted her, his voice smooth, warm, and just the right amount of teasing. He reached out, taking her hand gently in his, his thumb running along her wrist. “I see you’ve dressed for the occasion,” he continued, his smile cocky, but there was something softer in the way his eyes traced her features.

“Did you not expect me to come dressed in sweats? I am taking an airplane, no?” Noa laughed lightly, her mind still reeling from news about Papa Piet and how quickly her day had taken a turn.

He opened the door for her with a quiet smile, his gaze lingering on her.

“Well, we are taking a private jet, yeah?” Theo grins, raising an eyebrow. “The Noey I know would be fully in glam mode ‘cause, and I quote,” he air-quotes dramatically, “‘she doesn’t want to be papped and roasted on the internet as Theo’s girlfriend, looking a mess.’” He teases.

“Well, you aren’t coming with me,” she shot back. “I saw the two tickets. I appreciate the support and the ‘rich’ gesture,” she said with a smirk. “But I’m good.”

“I’m coming with you,” Theo cut her off, his tone leaving no room for debate. “No matter what, you’re not going through this alone.”

She felt a knot form in her stomach. She wasn’t sure what to think—was he really coming along, or was this just his way of making sure she wasn’t overwhelmed? But then again, he knew Papa Piet too. So maybe this was just Theo being Theo. No need to overthink it.

I Did It For You

An Invitation You Can’t Refuse 

Noa slid into the car, closing the door behind her as Theo walked around to the driver's side. Within moments, he was in the seat, adjusting his posture and leaning back in the plush leather, his jawline could cut glass—whew. She needed to focus! Now was not the time to be this close to this man and cracking under pressure. She would take his help, and that would be it. And brunch. When they could reschedule. Boundaries. 

The city outside whizzed by as the car rode through the streets of London. Noa stared out the window, the world slipping away as she lost herself in thought. Her mind kept circling back to Papa Piet—his accident, the looming surgery, the fear that maybe this was more severe than Lieve let on. Maybe her Dutch wasn’t as strong as she thought, and she had missed some crucial detail in that frantic phone call. What if she hadn’t fully understood? It was all too much to process at once.

They made their way out of the city, the traffic thinning as they approached the outskirts of London, heading toward a private airstrip. Theo glanced at her from time to time, aware of her distracted silence. He didn’t press her for conversation; he knew Noa well enough to let her think – and for that she was grateful.  As the city skyline receded behind them, they veered off onto quieter roads, the landscape becoming more open and sparse.

“It’s not far now,” he said, voice smooth. Noa nodded, her mind still not fully present.

She glanced out the window, but all she saw were a few cars passing by. One of them was a dark SUV, a little further back in traffic. A moment later, it was gone, swallowed by the distance between them.

The airstrip came into view. quiet, isolated—a perfect place for a private jet to land without attracting attention. Just as expected. Theo pulled the car up to the hangar, the gates opening smoothly before them. A few staff members stood near the jet, but other than that, the area was calm. No crowds, no cameras.

Theo unbuckled, glancing at her for a beat. “You alright?”

She nodded, “Just a lot on my mind.” 

Before Noa could even unbuckle her seatbelt, Theo was already out of the car, walking around to her side.

He opened the door, his hands reaching in with a grin. “C’mon, let’s get you outta here,” he said, his voice light but warm.

Before Noa could protest, Theo scooped her up, lifting her out of the car and pulling her close in a quick, warm hug. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck—he smelled so good, like the rich warmth of mahogany and teakwood. He kissed the top of her head gently before he set her back on her feet.

Theo’s grin deepened as he kept her close, his hand resting on her waist as he guided her toward the plane. “Right, let’s get you on this PJ—just like a proper rich person,” he murmured, his voice soft but teasing.

With a playful flick of his wrist, he spun her around in a light, carefree motion, making her laugh. Together, they made their way toward the steps of the plane.

Theo leaned in, his voice dropping to a soft whisper in her ear. “I’ve got you, yeah. No word of a lie.”

“I know,” she said, softly. 

They reached the plane door, Theo still keeping her close. For that brief moment, it was just the two of them, too caught up in the moment to care about anything else.

Theo’s Private Jet 

As Noa stepped inside, she felt a strange comfort in Theo’s hand on her back, guiding her through the cabin doorway. The fact that he’d arranged for her to fly on a private jet to Amsterdam—something many could only dream of, even for such a short trip—was already more than enough. She felt grateful, though the gesture seemed almost excessive for a woman who had only just waltzed back into his life less than a week ago.

The interior was understated, tastefully finished, and undeniably luxurious. Soft, creamy leather seats curved around sleek wooden panels, and slight touches of gold were scattered throughout the cabin. The subtle scent of rich wood and a faint trace of lavender in the air.

Theo’s hand didn’t leave her back as they moved deeper into the cabin, and Noa found herself leaning more into him with every step. The flight attendants—Lucille, an older woman with silver hair, and Jessica, the younger one with a bright red bob—couldn’t stop staring. Their eyes flicked from Theo to Noa like heads on a swivel, trying to put pieces together in a puzzle.

It wasn’t just about polite greetings anymore. No, they were sizing up the situation. They knew the name Aldridge-Wells, especially when it came to Rosseneri Milano FC and England International—Theo Aldridge-Wells, the man who had everything. And Noa? The tabloids had long since painted her as his ex-girlfriend from years ago—an ancient story of a long-lost relationship. So what was she doing here now, traveling with Theo to Amsterdam?

Unspoken questions lingered in the air, creating a palpable tension. Noa could feel their curiosity bursting at the seams, though neither Theo nor herself seemed interested in providing any answers.

Lucille, ever the professional, spoke first, her voice smooth and practiced as though she had said these words a thousand times before. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Aldridge-Wells. We’re here to ensure your flight is as smooth as possible. My name is Lucille, and this is Jessica, who will be assisting you throughout the journey.”

Theo gave a polite nod, his face neutral, but his hand brushed against Noa’s back as he guided her into the cabin seat. A small, subtle gesture, but one that grounded her, even if just a little.

But as the flight attendants turned their attention to them, he instinctively pulled back, letting his hand fall away, even though he wanted to keep it there. He knew the eyes of the attendants would be on them, and despite everything, he couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking. The press already had their theories—he wasn’t about to give them more fuel to their fire.

Jessica’s gaze flicked between him and Noa, lingering a bit longer on Noa’s face, like she was searching for something. Instead, his focus remained on the here and now, keeping things light. He could feel Noa’s presence beside him, her energy pulling him closer, but the hesitation that had settled in his chest kept him at a distance, even if only physically.

Noa didn’t miss it. She could feel the shift. She had spent enough time around Theo to know when something wasn’t quite right, but she didn’t press it. He hadn’t said anything, and she wasn’t about to ask. He wasn’t the type to lay all his cards on the table. 

Not yet.

“Would you like a drink before we take off?” Lucille asked, her tone polite, yet curious. Theo, ever the gentleman, gave Lucille a small smile. “Champagne, please. For both of us.” Noa nodded, but she wasn’t really focused on the drink. Her mind was still working over the quick shift in Theo’s mood, the subtle way he’d pulled back, once they stepped foot on the plane.

Lucille returned shortly with the champagne. She handed one glass to Theo, then passed the other to him to give to Noa. As Theo’s fingers brushed against hers while handing her the glass—just the briefest of touches—Noa tensed for a split second. It was subtle, almost unnoticeable to anyone else, but not to Jessica. The younger attendant’s eyes flicked to the exchange, narrowing slightly, as if everything had suddenly fallen into place. The pieces of the story they’d been trying to assemble clicked together, and she could practically hear the gears turning in her mind.

Theo, oblivious to the flight attendants’ whispers, took a long sip of his drink. But Noa noticed the way his fingers lingered on the stem of the glass—there was something about the way he held it, almost like he was trying to steady himself. Was he nervous? He didn’t seem to be behaving like earlier.

"We'll be up in no time," Lucille said with a practiced smile, her eyes flicking between Theo and Noa, as she slipped toward the back. Noa felt Theo’s hands near hers, but he didn’t touch her again—not like he had on the tarmac.

However, eyes never left her. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, leaning in just enough for her to hear him above the hum of the plane.

Noa hesitated, feeling the weight of the question more than she let on. She wasn’t entirely sure if he was asking about the flight, or about the tension that you could cut like a knife between them right now. She wanted to tell him everything, but she didn’t know what to say.

Instead, she simply nodded, offering a quiet, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Theo watched her carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he could sense she was holding back. He didn’t push, though. He wasn’t sure where she stood, and that made him cautious. The last thing he wanted to do was misread the situation or come on too strong when she wasn’t ready for it—or didn’t want it at all.

Noa, meanwhile, felt the silence stretch between them. It felt like missing someone who was right next to you, and she just didn’t know what to do with all of these feelings!

Theo reached for the remote, quickly selecting a movie, but his touch lingered on Noa’s hand as he reached over to her. The brief connection sent a ripple through Noa, but she didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t.

They both settled in, shoulder-to-shoulder, the soft glow of the screen casting light on their faces. Noa leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder as the movie began to play. She could feel the tension building again, but this time it wasn’t just the flight attendants watching—they were both silently fighting something bigger.

Theo’s thumb gently brushed over her knuckles. He was holding back, but why?

Noa glanced up at him, meeting his eyes for a fleeting second. “You’re not acting like yourself,” she said softly, almost as an afterthought.

Theo’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t look away. “I’m just tryin’ to keep it simple, yeah? Calm, steady,” he said, his voice low, like he was still weighing the words. “Don’t know where your head’s at, Noey. I ain’t tryin’ to make it harder than it is.”

Noa’s heart skipped, but she didn’t say anything. She understood. She didn’t know where they stood either.

Without thinking, Noa leaned in—her lips pressing lightly to his jaw. Theo froze for a second, before his hand moved to her waist, pulling her a little closer. He exhaled softly, and for the briefest moment, their faces were so close it felt like they might finally give in to everything they’d been avoiding.

But Theo pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. “You’re not wrong,” he said quietly, his voice low and raw. “I’ve been keeping things too close to my chest. But Noey... I don’t know how you feel. And I’m not gonna push you into something you don’t want.”

Noa looked into his eyes, searching for some answer there. Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure how she felt either.

“You’re not alone, Theo,” she whispered, the words soft but sure. “I’m here.”

Lucille and Jessica retreated to the back, their conversation muffled, but Noa could hear the faint musings of gossip. To them, the tension between Theo and Noa must’ve been a mystery—they were dying to solve it. They saw the touches, the subtle exchanges, but not the wariness, not the unspoken fear of what happened if things went wrong. The fact that less than a week ago they hadn’t spoken in upwards of two years.

On the outside, it felt like Theo really was just helping her out to not be alone in Amsterdam—and that he didn’t seem to care. But deep down, Theo cared way too deeply, and it was impossible to name right now—so he tried hard not to. But for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel so hard to admit. He pulled Noa closer and snuggled into her.

A split second later, Noa swore she heard the unmistakable click of a camera flash.

Welcome to Amsterdam

The jet touched down in Amsterdam, the cool breeze, wrapped in sunshine immediately filling the cabin as the door opened. Noa stood up slowly, stretching her legs after the long flight. She hadn't realized how stiff she was until she stood. Theo was just behind her, his hand resting lightly on her lower back, guiding her down the steps of the jet. The sunlight hit her face and it felt like a welcome home from her favorite city. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a brief flash of light—just a glint, something metallic reflecting the sunlight. 

But before she could dwell too much on it, Theo’s voice broke the silence.

“How’s it feel to be rich people, Noey?” His tone was playful, his smirk cheeky as he nudged her lightly with his elbow.

Noa laughed, “Yeah, I feel so glamorous,” she teased, raising an eyebrow, “You know, champagne at 30,000 feet in a private jet with a handsome young man by my side.”

Theo chuckled at the compliment, his smile genuine and a little warmer than she expected, but his eyes lingered on her a moment too long, softening with a quiet longing that she caught out of the corner of her eye.

The hired car, sleek and black, quietly pulled up whisking Theo and Noa away from the airstrip in record time. Through the tinted windows, the city of Amsterdam blurred by like a postcard—narrow houses and narrow streets, canals lined with bikes and tourists alike, cheese, wooden clogs, and tulips by the dozen. 

Noa texted Lieve to let her know she had landed. Papa Pieter had successful surgery and was now resting and recovering, so Lieve told Noa that they had received special permission to have the usual family dinner at 7 p.m. but at the hospital, while he continued to recover and await discharge.

Theo glanced at Noa. “Should be plenty of time to check in, grab a shower, maybe even see the sights a bit, yeah? You can show me around your city.” His suggestion hung in the air, the invitation of exploring the city almost too tempting to ignore, but there was still a quiet hesitation to his voice, as if he wasn't entirely sure if he should be pushing her toward anything beyond the necessary.

Noa gave a small nod, then glanced out the window again, watching the city unfold as they drove through the busy streets. 

Theo had wanted to make this trip feel light, to make it feel like any other, but the weight of what they were really doing here, what they hadn’t fully acknowledged yet, made it hard to stay in the moment.

The Canals of Amsterdam  

Shared Spaces 

The hired car turned down a very narrow street, the wheels clicking on the cobblestone roads as it made its way toward the hotel. The building came into view—a luxurious, modern hotel nestled beside one of Amsterdam’s many canals, the shimmering water reflecting the elegance of the exterior. The valet stood waiting as the car pulled up, his uniform sharp and crisp as he opened the door for them.

Theo stepped out first, extending a hand to help Noa from the car. His fingers brushed her wrist as she accepted his offer, a fleeting touch that sent a small jolt of electricity through her body. It was brief—barely enough to make anyone else notice—but they both felt it. 

They moved inside the lobby together, the scent of fresh flowers and polished wood enveloping the space. The marble floors shined, guests chatter blending into the background. Theo made quick work of checking them in. Noa didn’t realize that they were sharing a suite, until this exact moment. She didn’t want to bring it up, but she wasn’t also not sure she minded. 

As the elevator doors closed, they stood in silence for the short ride up to their floor. Noa didn't know what to expect when they made it to the suite, but she knew they would eventually have to talk — they had 24 hours alone.

Black Tin Box 

Penthouse at The Langston 

The hotel suite door opened with a soft click, and they stepped inside. The space was nothing short of breathtaking—simple yet elegant. Soft, ambient lighting bathed the room, highlighting sleek, modern furnishings that exuded quiet opulence. Every detail, from the carefully chosen art on the walls to the plush textures of the velvet throw pillows, spoke of refinement and taste.

Noa entered first, her gaze sweeping over the luxury that awaited them. Before they fully stepped in, both removed their shoes at the door.

The penthouse at The Langston gave rich and wealthy. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed panoramic views of the city, allowing endless amounts of sunlight to pour in. The walls were a soft beige, while the floor was rich, dark oak, and polished to perfection.

The living area was open, airy. A large, plush sectional sofa in muted greys and beiges, its cushions inviting and carefully arranged. Above it, a statement chandelier hung from the high ceiling, its crystals catching the light making the room sparkle.

A grand fireplace in black marble sat against one wall, the mantel lined with tasteful art pieces and fresh flowers. A few steps away, a large dining table with pendant lights hung low over it. 

In the far corner, the kitchen—sleek, minimal, with high-end appliances hidden behind dark cabinetry. But it was the adjoining bar area with its mirrored backsplash and polished stone counters, lit by soft, backlighting every type of liquor imaginable. 

The master bedroom was incredible. The king-sized bed sat beneath a soft linen canopy, and soft lighting from bedside lamps, giving the room a serene glow. The balcony, just off the bedroom, offered an endless view of Amsterdam’s canals. 

The en-suite bathroom was like a spa, with a freestanding tub that looked out over the city, framed by tall, lush greenery. The marble surfaces, the seamless glass shower enclosure, and the rainfall showerhead with sleek chrome fixtures added to the elegance. 

Yes, Noa felt that rainfall showerheads were uniquely and specifically anti-Black, but she couldn’t deny how aesthetically pleasing they were, and the lovergirl in her died a little inside at not being able to use them to their full potential.

“Nice place,” she murmured, her voice low as she took it all in, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Theo stepped in after her, locking the door behind them. He didn’t speak right away, but his gaze lingered on her, as though he were testing her—waiting for something.

Noa felt it, the quiet scrutiny, and she raised an eyebrow. She knew exactly what he was doing. It was the unspoken question, the one that was hanging in the air between them: Are we really sharing this room?

Her lips quirked into a half-smile as she looked around the suite, feeling the weight of his gaze still on her. “Nice of you to get us a place like this,” she said, her voice lightly teasing but laced with a hint of something else. “I guess it’s a little much for just one night, huh?”

Theo’s lips twitched in a smile that barely touched his eyes. He knew exactly what she was implying. But instead of answering, he let the silence settle, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

With a shrug, he casually added, “Heard good things about this place. Thought it’d be nice to relax a bit before we head to the hospital.”

Noa stayed quiet, her smile still in place, but her eyes sharp, knowing he was waiting for her to ask. She wasn’t going to. She wouldn’t. 

She glanced at him, a brief flicker of something in her gaze—amusement, challenge, maybe even a touch of curiosity—but she didn’t say anything more. Noa wasn’t about to make the first move.

Theo watched her, as if he understood exactly what was happening. The moment stretched out, just enough to let her know he wasn’t going to entertain it unless she explicitly asked.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice light. “Well, if you're up for it, we've got time to shower and maybe even take a look around the city before we head to hospital.”

Noa didn’t flinch at his words. She didn’t move to change the situation. She simply nodded, a small, private smile pulling at her lips. “Sounds good.”

Showered in Silence 

The air between them was thick. They stood there, quiet, their eyes occasionally meeting. The room felt too small for two people who weren’t quite ready to share everything, but it was also exactly where they were.

Theo was the first to move, pulling off his shirt with deliberate slowness, giving himself a moment to breathe, but also to stretch out the silence, his gaze holding hers for just a second longer than necessary.

Waiting.

"So, the shower, yeah?" His voice was light, almost too casual, but Noa caught the subtle tension in his words. "You go first."

She tilted her head, a small furrow between her brows. Was he trying to keep it casual? To make it seem like everything was fine? Or was it something else? His tone was so offhand, but she could feel the weight of his eyes, pressing into her like he was waiting for something.

“I’ll go first,” she replied quietly, half to break the tension, half because she didn’t know how else to navigate this, and needed to escape for a second. “Don’t wanna hog the hot water.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the right choice, but she stepped into the bathroom, closing the door just slightly behind her, hoping the space between them would give her a moment to breathe.

Theo gave her a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fair enough,” he murmured, giving her the space she needed.

Noa went into the bathroom, undressed and stepped into the shower, the door clicking softly as she entered. Stepping into the stream of hot water, she tried to clear her head. Noa kept hearing Theo’s words in her mind, his voice lingering. “You go first.” It wasn’t just a comment. It felt like a challenge. Like he was daring her to be the one to set the tone, to see how much she was willing to let him in.

Out in the main room, Theo’s movements were quiet, measured, as though he were giving himself permission to breathe, but also to keep control of the moment. He glanced at the bathroom door once, as if gauging when to follow, when to step inside.

Noa couldn’t help it — her pulse quickened as she thought about him standing just outside the door. Was he watching her? Was he waiting for something? She pressed her palms against the cool tile, trying to focus on the feel of the water running over her body, but all she could think about was how close he was, how too close this all was.

A moment later, the sound of his footsteps reached her ears, followed by the soft creak of the door opening. Theo’s figure was framed in the doorway, his presence filling the space. She didn’t turn. Not yet. But she could feel him.

Theo went to step into the bathroom as soon as Noa went to step out of the shower, her skin still glistening from the water. She didn’t look up, instead she chose to focus on grabbing her towel and wrapping it around her body, walking to secure her clothes draped across the counter. She was trying to keep it together, and quickly exit the bathroom, but it was harder than she’d thought.

Theo leaned against the wall, his eyes lingering, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips. There was something dangerous in the way he watched her, as if he knew just how to make her feel exposed without ever touching her. His words came quietly, like a challenge.

“You’re taking your time,” he said, his voice low, smooth, almost a whisper. “Thought you’d be out by now.”

Noa’s heart raced. He wasn’t rushing her. He was letting her feel it. He was making her feel every second, every inch of the space between them. She pressed her lips together, not daring to look at him. 

Since Theo wasn’t going to move, she would. Noa decided that she would just get ready in the bathroom. She had planned on leaving and giving him space, but since Theo didn’t seem to want space, she wouldn’t give it to him. Noa put her clothes back on the counter, fixed her towel and proceeded to pull out her toiletries and skin care products. 

Theo realized that she accepted his silent challenge, so he decided to up the ante. 

“Excuse me he said,” as he finally moved from the wall and fully into the bathroom space. Looking directly at her, he placed his towel down on the counter next to her, waiting to catch and hold her gaze in the mirror. Theo reached down to remove his shorts, pausing again to catch her gaze.  Once he knew he had her, he removed his black briefs, taunting her with every deliberate move, until he heard that hitch in her breath that she thought he wouldn’t notice. 

Theo waited. 

Once he felt that Noa was regaining her focus, he leaned over in her space, close enough to whisper in her ear, "You really think you can play games with someone who’s used to winning, Noey?" The words dripped from his mouth like a caress, sending a shiver down her spine. Noa quickly turned away, pretending to focus on tightening her towel around her. Breath a little too sharp — her skin tingled under the weight of his attention. 

Noa could feel Theo go to move behind her, his presence so close that she could feel the heat of his skin. He reached out to turn on the shower, the soft scrape of his hand against the faucet a sharp reminder of how little space separated them. 

As he leaned in, his body brushed against hers, just enough to send a quick jolt through her body, but not enough to make her look. She didn’t dare. 

Not yet.

The space was unbearable, and for a second, she let herself wonder — Is he waiting for me to make a move? Or is he waiting for me to crack?

Her fingers brushed against his skin, and she hesitated for just a moment — was she ready for this? But the air between them was too thick, and before she could think again, she pulled him closer.

In a sudden, impulsive move, Noa grabbed his hand, her body freezing at the sensation. She felt the warmth of his skin, and before she could second-guess herself, she pulled him closer. Her breath caught as her hand slid up to his jaw, fingers trembling as she beckoned him. There was a flicker of hesitation, a beat that hung in the air, and then — she kissed him.

His lips met hers with a slow, deliberate pressure. He leaned in, just a fraction, his breath warm against her skin, deepening the kiss, shower water still running while everything else in the room disappeared. And then —

Nightingale 

DING DING DING.

The sharp sound of the doorbell sliced through the air, pulling them both back to reality. Noa’s heart leapt into her throat. 

They were so close. So close, she could taste it, but the moment was gone. 

Theo’s gaze flickered toward the door for a brief second before he let out a low, frustrated breath.

“Of course,” he muttered, though there was a bitterness to his voice. He didn’t need to say it, but the doorbell interruption had cut through the moment in a way neither of them had been prepared for. His body full with tension, his thoughts scrambled, trying to process the abrupt interruption.

Noa swallowed, turning away, quickly grabbed her clothes, trying to calm her racing heart.

Theo sighed, his shoulders visibly tense as he reached for the door, a regretful smile crossed his lips. He didn’t need to say anything. The moment was gone, and neither of them was willing to admit how much they both wanted it.

The bathroom door clicked open. Noa took a breath, trying to shake off the feeling of his eyes still on her, trying not to let the wave of frustration swallow her whole.

As Theo stepped away from the bathroom door to answer the knock, Noa stayed still for a moment, her fingers gripping the counter. 

Not yet.

Theo cleared his throat, shaking off the last remnants of tension as he turned toward the door, leaving Noa to pull herself together in the bathroom. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself — the heavy feeling in her chest was something she didn’t know how to name yet, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face him again. It was like everything had teetered on the edge of something she wasn’t prepared for, and now she had to pretend it hadn’t happened at all.

She quickly grabbed a handful of her things and returned to the bedroom, throwing on her clothes. When she emerged, Theo was on the phone with someone, standing by the door with a furrowed brow.

She caught his eye and noticed the faint hint of something behind his gaze — was it disappointment? Relief? Whatever it was, it made her chest tighten.

"Everything okay?" she asked softly, unsure of how to break the silence that hung between them.

He glanced at her, looking as though he hadn’t expected her question. His voice was tight when he spoke. ""Yeah, all good. Just... work, you know?"

Noa nodded, not pushing any further. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to avoid the tension between them or if he really just didn’t want to talk about it. Either way, the moment had passed, and that was something neither of them knew how to handle.

Could Well Be In 

The Full Dutch Experience

They left the hotel and walked down the very tourist-filled streets of Amsterdam. The canals sparkled in the late afternoon light, and the scent of fresh poffertjes and patats (french fries lingered in the air, making Theo’s stomach growl.

"So," Theo began, trying to get them back on even footing, "where to first?"

"How about I show you around?" Noa said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Let’s go to The Pancake Club, a little café by the canal that makes the best poffertjes—mini Dutch pancakes."

"Lead the way," he said quietly, still taking in the sights.

Noa guided Theo through the winding streets with ease. After exploring the Nine Streets and sharing the history of the canals, she turned to him with a smile.

"Alright, time for a little treat," she said, glancing at him mischievously. "You’re in for something sweet."

"Sweet? I’m all for it," Theo replied, raising an eyebrow.

Soon, they were standing in front of a quaint, unassuming café with a small sign hanging above it that read: The Pancake Club.

"Trust me, you’ll want to try the poffertjes here," Noa said with a grin. "They’re tiny Dutch pancakes, but way fluffier than anything you’ve had before."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Tiny pancakes? Shocking, that."

Noa teased. "Wait for it."

They stepped inside, the warm smell of fresh batter greeting them. The café was small but cozy, with wooden tables lined up next to the window. Noa led Theo to a seat by the window, and they quickly ordered a large plate of poffertjes. Noa was practically glowing as she watched Theo take his first bite.

His eyes widened. "Alright, I’ll give it to you. I like them."

Noa laughed, feeling a sense of satisfaction at his reaction. "Told you."

Little Bit 

After a great time at The Pancake Club, the afternoon unfolded in a blur of museums and history. Noa took Theo to the Rembrandtplein, where they wandered through the museum district. They marveled at the Rembrandt House. Next was Noa’s favorite, the Van Gogh Museum, where they spent a few hours immersing themselves in the world of vivid brushstrokes and turbulent genius. Noa insisted they take photos in every exhibit.

"I need you to care about the aesthetic, Theo," she whined, rolling her eyes. "Look at how these couples are posing, finding the best angles," she added, her tone firm. "We need to do that too."

They made their way just outside of the Jordaan neighborhood to the Anne Frank House. The perks of traveling with a famous footballer meant cutting the world’s longest line. Tourists were upset, but it was nothing that a few photos and autographs from Theo, the footballer, couldn’t solve.

From there, they rented bikes and cycled through Vondelpark, Noa showing Theo a bit of the Oud West (Old West), where her family lived. They made their way to the Blue Theehuis, an iconic tea house that overlooked a small pond. Noa ordered them a pot of Earl Grey and some scones.

Theo took a sip of his tea, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, you’re proper showing me everything today, then?"

Noa grinned. "I said I was going to give you the full experience. Plus, you need to see all the best spots in the city. We have a bit of time, that’s all."

After tea, they returned their bikes and strolled down P.C. Hooftstraat, Amsterdam’s very own Rodeo Drive. The street was lined with luxury shops—designer boutiques and the occasional celebrity ducking in and out. Noa led the way into a few stores, nudging Theo to try on some things just for a laugh.

"You know, you’d actually look good in that," she said, pointing to a black jacket in the window of one boutique.

"Yeah?" Theo raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Maybe I should get it, just to blend in with all the Dutch millionaires."

Noa rolled her eyes. "Don’t get too carried away. We’re not here for a shopping spree, mate."

As they stepped out of one store, Noa caught a quick flash of light. At first, she thought it was just a tourist snapping a pic, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had come.

Theo noticed it too. He barely flinched, but his lips tightened just a bit.

"You’ve got fans everywhere, haven’t you?" Noa grinned, teasing. "How will we ever survive?"

Theo adjusted his sunglasses, his voice a bit lower. "Always a bit too close for comfort, innit?"

Noa shrugged, trying to brush it off. "Eh, that’s the price you pay for being in the rich people club, right?" she teased, though she couldn’t help but glance around a bit more. She didn’t want to be papped by the paparazzi, but she also knew there was no escaping it when she was with Theo.

They both laughed, the moment light and easy, but Theo kept his sunglasses on a little longer, just in case.

Tekken 2  

A Taste of Home

They made their way to the hospital soon after. When they walked in, Noa’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the familiar faces of her family. They were chatting and laughing in a small hospital room, and Papa Piet, with his bright, wide grin, waved them in eagerly.

"Mijn Liefde, en Theo!" Hij zei: 'Kijk eens! Terug bij Theo, begrijp ik?' ["My love, and Theo!" he called out, "Look at you!" Back with Theo, I see?"]

Noa froze for a second, caught off guard. Theo’s hand brushed against her back, but he didn’t say anything. Papa Piet didn’t seem to notice the awkwardness in the air, or maybe he was too focused on the happiness of having them both back to notice.

Noa smiled awkwardly, not sure how to respond, but then felt her shoulders relax when Lieve, always the calming presence, waved them over with a smile.

“Come, sit,” Lieve said, switching to English to accommodate Theo, her voice soft and inviting. “We’re just about to eat.”

Theo glanced at Noa with a raised brow, but Noa just shrugged, gesturing for him to join them.

The room was small but filled with the comforting smells of Dutch food. Bitterballen (crispy, fried meatballs with meat), Kibbeling (battered and fried pieces of fish), Herring, and Pannenkoeken (crepes). Plates of warm, crusty bread with butter and kaas (Dutch cheese) lay scattered on a small table beside Papa Piet’s hospital bed.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Lieve said, offering Theo a bowl of the rich soup. “Papa insists on having a proper meal even when he’s not feeling well.”

“It’s all about the hearty stuff,” Lucas said, helping himself to more bread. “We like things that fill you up and make you feel at home.” He turned to Noa. “Isn’t that right?”

Noa gave a small smile, meeting Theo’s gaze. “Exactly. It's all about comfort.”

Papa Piet, with his wide grin, added with a wink, “I’m just happy to have the family back together again. And Theo, of course!” He took a slow bite of his soup, clearly enjoying the moment.

Noa pointed to the Kibbeling. “You’ve got to try this, too. Battered and fried fish. It’s like the Dutch version of fish and chips.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. He grabbed a piece of Kibbeling and took a bite. “It’s alright, innit,” he said, clearly impressed.

“You see?” Anke said with a proud smirk. “No one ever leaves disappointed. Now, don’t forget the Herring.” She picked up a small portion of the raw fish, holding it out to Theo with a teasing glint in her eye. “You can’t have a proper Dutch meal without this.”

Theo hesitated for a moment, glancing at Noa. “Raw fish?”

Noa gave him an encouraging nod. “It’s a classic. You might be surprised.”

Theo took a deep breath, picked up a piece of Herring, and placed it in his mouth. The room fell quiet for a moment as he chewed slowly.

“Well?” Noa asked, her eyes dancing with amusement.

Theo swallowed and raised his eyebrows. “Alright, it’s... not as bad as I thought. Bit salty, but actually proper good.” He shrugged, a little surprised.

Papa Piet clapped his hands together from his bed. “That’s the spirit, lad! You’re practically Dutch now!”

Theo grinned, nodding to Papa Piet. “Guess I’m one of you lot now,” he said with a wink.

After a bit of laughing and catching up, it was getting late and the visitor's time had come to an end.

Noa stood up from her chair, moving  over to Papa Piet’s bedside, giving him a warm hug. “It was so lovely to see you Papa P, and I am so glad that you are on the mend. I’ll be back soon, Papa. You get some rest, alright?”

Papa Piet squeezed Noa tight, his voice soft but full of affection. “Take care, mijn Liefde [my love]. And Theo, you’re honorary Dutch now.”

Noa laughed, pulling Theo into a side hug. Theo raised an eyebrow, grinning as he responded to Papa Piet. “Alright, still, still full English, though.”

Lieve and Lucas waved them off as they made their way to the door, with Anke enveloping them each in a motherly hug. “Take care, both of you! Tot ziens! [Goodbye!]” 

Noa opened the door, but before stepping through, she pulled Theo in for a quick, tight hug. “Thanks for coming today. It meant a lot.”

Theo gave her a soft smile, his arms wrapping around her. “Anytime, Noey. Let’s get out of here.”

They pulled away, and with one last glance at the room, they stepped out into the hallway, the door gently closing behind them. As they walked down the corridor, Theo let out a quiet sigh.

“Alright, where to next?” he asked, his tone light, ready for whatever came next.

“Back to the city,” Noa said, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve got some more sights to show you.”

Later, as the night began to settle over Amsterdam, Theo suggested they take a walk. Noa agreed, hoping the quiet would help clear her head— regroup after time with her family.

They walked side by side down the cobbled streets, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the emptying city. 

After a few blocks of silence, Theo spoke up. "I was thinking," he started, his voice quieter now, "My dad’s retirement party is coming up, this weekend actually."

Noa raised an eyebrow. 

Theo hesitated, looking a bit unsure of how to say what was on his mind. “I dunno. It’s kinda a big deal, innit? I was wonderin’... if you’d come with me. Not like that, I mean, you could come as my date or just as a mate, or whatever. But my family’d love to have you there. I’d like it too,” he murmured.

She didn’t answer immediately, her mind racing through every possibility. She could feel Theo's gaze on her. 

Waiting. 

After a long pause, she finally nodded, her voice soft. "I’ll come."

The Space In Between

When they finally made it back to their hotel room, they didn’t speak much. The night had worn on, and Noa was so exhausted, but her mind was on overdrive.

The door clicked shut behind them, the quietness of the room a welcome reprieve from today’s busy schedule—her gaze flickered toward the bed.

It was huge—an overwhelming expanse of white sheets that seemed to stretch out endlessly, too big for just two people.

She stood there for a moment, unsure if they were really going to take this next step—even if they were only sleeping together—as in sleep. Her fingers brushed the edge of the comforter, but before she could dwell on the thought, she glanced at Theo.

He was already moving, slipping off his shoes and shrugging out of his shirt with a tired sigh. He didn’t speak, just went to the bathroom to change, the sound of the water running a soft background noise.

Noa stood there for a long second, trying to steady her breath. She pulled off her outfit and slipped into a soft cotton hotel robe, waiting for Theo to exit the shower so she could quickly shower and change. Swapping their places in the bathroom so that Noa could shower, she quickly changed into her pajamas and raced through her night routine, ready to jump in the bed.

When she stepped out into the room, she saw Theo, in only his briefs, their eyes met briefly. She knew he only slept in briefs but did he purposely not bring sleepwear, she wondered to herself.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he climbed into the bed, his back turned toward her. He settled in with a sigh, pulling the covers up to his chest.

Noa stood by the edge of the bed for a moment, biting her lip. She wanted to ask—was this okay? Was this what it was supposed to be? But the words didn’t come.

Theo, his back to her, chuckled softly. “Oi, I’m not gonna bite, you know,” he teased, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk.

Noa didn’t respond, choosing instead to roll her eyes and climb into bed beside him, the mattress dipping under her weight. The silence between them felt thick, as though it could fill a hot air balloon, while she stared up at the ceiling. She tried to relax, but she couldn’t—her mind racing between emotions, exhaustion, and Theo’s body heat radiating across the mattress. Oh, and he was basically in nothing, next to her.

Theo shifted slightly, turning onto his back to stare at the ceiling as well. As he turned, Noa felt the brush of his arm against hers. The smallest contact—just enough to send a jolt of electricity through her and make her wonder: was it friendly, or something more?

Noa shifted, unable to bring herself to speak. Slowly, without fully thinking about it, she inched closer, her hand brushing against his arm as she did. Theo shifted too, moving to meet her, as though sensing the change.

With a quiet sigh, Noa moved closer, positioning herself so that she rested on his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady beneath her. She could feel his warmth spread across her skin, the rise and fall of his breath against her cheek.

Theo let her make these moves toward him — her choice — and didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand came to rest gently on her arm, pulling her even closer and curling into her. 

His voice was soft. “So… what’s on your mind?”

Noa closed her eyes for a moment, the proximity both comforting and dizzying. "I don’t know," she murmured, her voice barely audible against the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“It has been so long…” Noa quietly thought to herself, being this close to Theo. Her mind was swirling with a mix of emotions and — sinful thoughts — he was just too hard to resist.

“Can’t sleep.” Theo whispered.

“No,” Noa shifted her body to look up at him, soaking in every part of his gorgeous face.

Theo propped himself so that he could lean on his elbow above her, giving Noa a look that sent shivers down her spine — and other places. 

With one hand, Theo leaned on to trace her bottom lip with his thumb. Neither of them said anything — before he leaned in to envelope her in a kiss. 

This time, Theo promised himself that he would not let any interruptions ruin the moment. Noa wanted him, she came to him, he waited for her to make the move. He wasn’t going to squander it. 

Noa raced to deepen the kiss, grabbing Theo in reckless abandon until she found her legs around his waist, Theo pressing his entire lower half into her pajama bottom. Noa couldn’t get enough, she pulled Theo as close as she could, gripping her hands around his neck until she could reach him and place kisses down his neck. Theo buried himself into her neck, slowly nibbling, kissing, and sucking until he found her spot – their spot – the spot that he dreamed about being able to find his way back to over and over. 

“Fuck, Theo,” Noa moaned. “I need you.” 

“You got me, you got me,” Theo whispered, stopping to force them to look at each other. 

His dick throbbing to the point he wanted to take his hand around her throat and have his way with her. He needed to focus. He needed her to stop looking at him this way with her eyes glazed over in a haze. He needed her to stop wriggling her body underneath him so he could think about something other than the way her pussy was pulsating under him. 

“Noelle, stop. Please stop moving.” he begged her. 

“I can’t…. I can’t….” Noa whined, continuing to clutch him for dear life, grinding her pussy on his boxer briefs.

 “I need you,” she moaned. Still pushing herself closer and closer to him testing his resolve. 

Theo took his right hand and held her waist in place to stop her movement. 

“Do you want this? I am asking you, Noelle. Do you want this?” Theo’s eyes fiercely gazing into hers awaiting a response. 

“Yes.” Noa quickly responded, resolute.

“Yes.” That was all Theo needed to hear. The one word that would have him on his knees, at her mercy, every time. He raced to drag his left hand down Noa’s body, forcing her gaze as he slowly leaned in to kiss her, slowly, passionately, deliberately.

His fingers expertly worked to unbutton and remove her pajama top, briefly interrupting to force Noa to sit up and remove it, so that he could see her all in her nakedness.

Noa didn’t waste time stripping the rest of her clothing, pulling at Theo’s briefs to get him to remove them before he changed his mind — before he decided that he didn’t want her.

Raising and lowering his body over her, Theo’s eyes raked over her entire body, eyes hooded and full of lust. “Damn, Noelle. Damn. I fucking dreamed about this moment, to be here again.” he whispered.

It was like he was in a trance, speaking to her body, mind and soul — beyond Noa’s physical presence. 

Noa absolutely missed the way that he called her by her full name. Theo only called her that in an intimate setting when he wanted to emphasize how much he wanted to possess her, while she only used his full name, Theodore, when she was upset with him in public. She didn’t realize how much she needed him. How much she wanted him to possess her — in every single way. 

Goosebumps began to pepper her skin as Theo praised and ravished her body — licking and sucking on her neck as he took his fingers and pumped in and out of her, stroking between her inner folds, his finger swiping over her clit, Noa hips jerking in response, body humming with pleasure. 

“Theoooooooooooo. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck,” Noa panted. 

“I’m here. I’m here.” Theo cooed, smirking at the way her body responded to him, even after all this time. He began to pump harder and faster, biting down on her neck until he felt her on the verge of exploding. 

Noa began to grab his arm, speaking gibberish as she tried to get him to stop. Her belly tightened and she knew that she was close to cumming all over Theo’s fingers and soaking bed. 

“Theo, Theo, you gotta — please — fuck fuck — I’m gonna….” Noa screamed into the void thrashing across the mattress.

Seeing Noa’s body flipping across the bed in pleasure made his dick jump. He couldn’t wait to be inside her. He leaned in as he continued to pump in and out of her, “Noelle, I’m here, go ahead baby, cum for me. You deserve this, come on, give it to me,” he whispered into her ear. 

That was all it took for Noa’s pussy to clench around his fingers reacting to his words. She screamed in pleasure thanking the heavens for the heights that Theo brought her just with his fingers. She hadn’t had an orgasm this good in time and she needed more — now. 

Theo didn’t let up, latching on to each of her nipples in succession, biting, licking and teasing them as Noa cried out. “Baby this is what you wanted, I know. You look so good right now,” he whispered.

He went lower, kissing her stomach, continuing to play inside of her— strumming her like a guitar, as he made his way down her body to give her a few more of those orgasms she was desperate for.

“I. Missed. You.” Theo said, as he marked each part of her body. 

“FUCKKKKKKKKKKKK. FUCK FUCK FUCK.” Noa moaned. She was in a haze, her body was no longer hers and she was surrendering to the pleasure. 

Theo studied her face, committing every subtle change to memory, like he knew this might be the last time he’d see it. He knew how Noa worked, he knew her like the back of his hand.  In the bed she was a completely different woman, surrendering to pleasure, but outside of the bed, she had so many emotions and the ability to compartmentalize her feelings. 

Noa loved to distance herself from anything but the pursuit of her goals. She was relentless in that and Theo loved that about her, he just wished that she could be as relentless about him — about understanding that you didn’t have to have one or the other, love or career, that there was a way to have both. 

Theo shifted his body between her legs and started the slow descent into her pussy. Noa spread herself so wide, pussy pink, throbbing and dripping, eager to have his tongue deep inside of her.  

Theo wrapped his arms around her thighs gripping them to eat her pussy like it was his last meal on earth.

Noa couldn’t control herself. The visual of Theo in between her legs mixed with the sounds of kissing, licking and slurping had her seeing stars. She began to grind her hips against his tongue, dragging her fingers across his head, praising him while simultaneously begging for release. 

When the intense wave of euphoria washed across her she couldn’t make a sound, barely registering Theo’s “There’s my girl,” — going in and out of consciousness. She didn’t think she could take anymore tonight. 

But Theo wasn’t finished.

Yours 

He abruptly sat up, purposeful in his wants and needs, ready to fully give in to what the night had in store. “I don’t have a condom, I am clean, and I want to come inside of you.” he said, undaunted in his pursuit. 

Noa didn’t respond with words, instead she pulled Theo to her, placing her hand on his very large and very erect dick, guiding it inside of her. 

She loudly gasped at the sensation, not believing that she was the one calling the shots tonight, guiding Theo into her siren call with every move. 

“Fuck,” was all Theo could muster right now. Noa was so fucking wet, so fucking tight, she was panting and moaning and grabbing all over him, telling him how good he felt, how much she missed him, how much she needed him to fuck her senseless. And he snapped. 

It’s like she was calling him from deep within her soul to punish her, and so he did. He put his hand around Noa’s neck not enough to hurt her, but just enough and just the way she liked.

“Yes. Choke me, please,” Noa screamed as Theo started thrusting in and out with a force that threatened to break the bed in half. Thank goodness this was the penthouse suite, Noa thought to herself.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” she screamed. Noa didn’t know how much more she could take. 

Theo moaned, cursing under his breath, and continued to dig deep into Noa as if he was trying to mark her for life. 

“Look at me, Noelle,” he said. 

Noa didn’t want to look, she knew if she did, it was over, she was never coming back from this— from loving him. 

“Look. At. Me.” he demanded, thrusting into her with each word.

Noa opened her eyes, shaking, unable to speak. She stared back at him and she felt the knot in her stomach tightening, knowing that he knew she was almost there. Theo rubbed her clit furiously, as he continued to hit deep within her pussy. 

Noa locked eyes with him one more time, before she said, “Come. Inside. Please.” And that was all it took, together Theo and Noa came in succession — hard. Noa soaking every part of Theo’s lower half, the sheets, piercing the air with her screams.

“Fuuuck,” Noa twitched on his throbbing dick as she came down from her orgasmic high. Theo groaned as he recovered from his own orgasm, pulling out to watch himself leak out of Noa. 

They both stared at each other for a moment before collapsing on the bed, Theo pulling Noa into his arms and Noa pulling the covers over them, their sweaty, heated bodies lulling them into a deep slumber.

Charlene 

Morning came too soon.

Noa woke first, the first light of early morning creeping in through the blinds. 

She lay there, her head still resting on Theo’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat keeping her into a comfortable haze. She tried not to think about how things had changed so quickly between them, how the lines she had once carefully drawn had blurred overnight. Her breath was slow, her mind quiet, just a whisper away from sleep.

Then her phone buzzed, shattering the stillness.

She pulled it from the bedside table, her heart giving a strange, unbidden flutter when she saw the message. Julian’s name. She hadn’t expected to hear from him so soon after their baking date, especially after the night with Theo. But there it was.

Julian: “I had a really great time and I’d love to see you again soon [heart emoji].”

Noa stared at the screen, the words swimming in front of her eyes, each letter a reminder of the flirtation, the spark between them just 24 hours ago. She hadn’t thought about Julian since… well, since she’d woken up beside Theo…

She glanced up at Theo, his features relaxed in sleep, he looked so peacefully content after how emotionally raw and vulnerable he was last night. She wished she could capture his expression and bottle it up. 

The buzzing of the phone broke through again, pulling her back to the text. Her thumb hovered over the screen. She immediately wanted to say yes, even though she clearly was lying here with Theo. This was crazy. But she knew that after last night she and Theo — were friends. That’s what he wanted— what he asked for. And that is what she agreed to.  

Just as she hit send, she received a notification from her guilty-pleasure gossip blog on secret Instagram page  

Breaking News

She immediately clicked it, her stomach sinking as the words appeared.

“Spotted: Theo Aldridge-Wells and long-time love Noelle Jameson Reignite Romance in Amsterdam – Back Together?”

A photo from yesterday was attached—Theo and her, walking together in the city, laughing, his arm casually draped over her shoulders. 

Wasn’t Looking for Love 

Noa’s heart skipped a beat. This was not happening.

“No. No. Theo! Theo, wake up!” she hissed, immediately sitting up in bed, eyes wide with panic.

Theo rolled over, sleep still stuck in his eyes, dazed and confused as to why Noa was urgently waking him when they didn’t have to return to London until later that evening. 

He rubbed his eyes and squinted at her. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

She shoved her phone in his face. “Look at this!”

Theo’s eyes focused on the screen, and the corner of his mouth twitched as he saw the photo. It was a good shot, clearly taken in the moment, but now it felt like Noa was about to panic and retreat like a turtle after everything that happened between them last night. 

“Here we go again,” he thought to himself. 

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, letting out a slow, resigned exhale.

Noa’s phone buzzed again. And then again. And again.

She groaned, sinking back into the pillow as her friends began texting her one by one:

Harper: “Noa!!!!”

Keziah (Kez): “Wait, hold up. This article says you and Theo are back together?! IKYFL!!!! Call me, because… yessss, Twin!”

Group Chat: Patats (French Fries) Selam: “Is this what we’re doing now?! Theo?! It’s been almost three years!” Amina: “Saw the pics, girl. What’s going on?” Carmen: “Get it, gurlllllll. Theo is so fine. I knew y’all would find your way back to each other. [heart emoji]” Selam: “Lore is going to respond in 3-5 business days…” Amina: “She’s in Costa Rica.” Carmen: “Doing what?” Lorraine (Lore): “I’m here, bitches. Noa, what is happening??”

Her phone buzzed again. 

She barely had time to process the mountain of notifications from her friends when another message popped up. 

Noa’s heart sank.

It was from Julian….

Julian: [article link] “Saw the article, Noelle. Is this true? Gotta say, I’m a bit confused.”

Her head started spinning as she read the message. Julian had sent a link to the paparazzi article. Damn. Damn. Damn. 

Theo sat up, swinging his long legs on the side of the bed to get up and sighed, clearly feeling the weight of the situation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know this would happen.”

Noa looked over at him and bit her lip, trying to keep her cool, “You didn’t know?” she asked, her voice tight with frustration, “Theo, you are a celebrity!” 

Noa dramatically grabbed the white bed sheet to cover herself as she rose from the bed.

“Okay,” she said, clutching her phone so tight it might break, “I’m going to shower. I need breakfast, and then I need us on a flight out of here. Preferably without paparazzi,” she snapped. 

Theo nodded, the seriousness in his eyes matching hers. But he wasn’t going to let her think that any of this was his fault— she said yes — over and over again. 

“Yes, Noey. I’m the celebrity, and I will clean up the mess we made together,” he gestured between them, locking eyes with her across the room. “Because that is what mature people do,” he smirked.

Noa rolled her eyes and yelled across the room, “Theodore James Aldridge-Wells, allow it!” She then sauntered into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

“It's ‘low it, and you know that!” he yelled back. 

Theo stood, his gaze lingering on the closed door with a mix of frustration and regret, “I didn’t want any of this either” he whispered, more to himself than anything. 

Noa gripped the sink, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She knew this wasn’t just about the article or the pictures; it was about everything that had been happening between her and Theo. The ebbs and flows of their relationship, years of togetherness, the few years of silence, and now, this—only after a few days of seeing each other for the first time in years. It was like a trainwreck waiting to happen and she was in the front cable car. Fuck. 

She agreed to take things further last night, she agreed to let him accompany her on the trip, she agreed to take his private jet, she agreed to show him around her city and spend time with her family. Theo never asked anything of her, but, to be honest with herself — and him too — and she wasn’t ready for that, yet. So, the paparazzi pictures — she would have to eat that.

She had let herself get swept up in it all. It was hard not to—Noa had a talent for compartmentalizing her feelings. But her love for Theo? It was all-encompassing, overwhelming. The more she tried to suppress it, the deeper it rooted itself within her.

Dr. Gee would have a field day with this one. Fear of engulfment. Avoidant tendencies, she’d say. “We will conquer these fears!” she’d make Noa chant over and over.

She’d spent years in therapy trying to untangle this very thing—her fear of being consumed by love, of losing herself in someone else’s orbit. She had convinced herself that one day, she’d be ready. Maybe.

But the truth was, she didn’t want anyone to have that kind of power over her. That level of vulnerability felt like drowning. She wasn’t ready for it. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be.

And yet, here she was, tangled in it anyway.

Noa turned the shower on, the steam quickly filling the space. Her hair was going to get ruined, shower cap or not, but she stood there, frozen. 

After at least 15 minutes of silence, Noa finally decided it was time to exit and face the music. She grabbed a towel, wrapped it around herself, inhaled deeply, slowly, before walking out of the bathroom. 

Theo was sitting on the edge of the bed, his phone still in his hand. He looked up when she came out, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Noa could feel the weight of his eyes on her, but she kept her head down, trying to gather the courage to address everything at once.

“Flights booked,” Theo said quietly, standing up. “Breakfast, hospital to see Papa Piet, and car to the airport ready. I need to shower,” he added as he quickly got up and brushed past her.

Noa nodded, she really didn’t mean to lash out at Theo, but she also couldn’t control herself. She should apologize. She would — later, once things calmed down. 

Just as she was about to spiral again, her phone buzzed again. 

Boss: “Noa, I need you to stay in Europe for another week or two. A few major assignments that require immediate attention. Let’s chat when you get a moment? -Viv.”

Noa cursed under her breath, tossing the phone onto the bed. “What the fuck?” she yelled, her frustration finally spilling out.

Theo emerged from the shower, a bit hesitant before he spoke, “Breakfast and then we leave. I found a nice place on the canals. We’ve already been spotted. Might as well eat at a nice place before we go.”

For a brief moment, Noa let herself relax, just a little. She wasn’t sure if it was his words or just the fact that he was there, but something in her chest eased, if only slightly.

“Okay,” she said quietly, taking a deep breath. She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Let’s go.”

Only Love Can Break Your Heart 

Brunch at Greenwoods

July, Keizersgracht, Amsterdam

The street was quiet, sun still rising, cobblestones damp from an early morning mist, the warmth in the air reflecting over the canal, as Theo and Noa sat down at Greenwoods Keizersgracht. Theo, looking like he’d hardly slept, sat across from Noa, his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. He seemed lost in thought for a moment before looking up, his gaze trying to find Noa’s. 

Noa stirred her tea, eyes down, trying to calm her nerves. Her phone buzzed every few seconds, and she could barely think — she knew she had to deal with everything else, but right now, she wanted to pause and process the last 24 hours, with Theo.

Theo took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Noey, I need to tell you something,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.

Noa looked up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “What is it?” She wasn't sure she was ready to hear it, but his expression told her it was important.

“The call I got yesterday,” Theo continued, his voice low but steady. “I’ve been called up for the national team. I have to fly out to America, New York, actually, in a few days.”

She blinked at him, trying to process what he was saying. 

This was big—huge—but she hadn’t expected him to lay this on her right now.

You know I’m from New York, right?” she said, her tone teasing but layered with surprise.

He nodded, and for a moment, the look in his eyes softened. “Yeah, obviously,” he smirked, taking a quick pause to look out into the distance at the crowds passing by before setting his gaze back on Noa. “It’s for a friendly—England vs. USA—but it’s a huge opportunity, a chance to get on the shortlist for the World Cup qualifiers and potentially the World Cup.”

Noa watched him carefully, trying to read his face, the weight of the situation settling in. “I… I don’t know what to say,” she murmured, as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. 

“Congratulations, I guess,” she added, her fingers picking at her nails.

“It would’ve been nice to know this…. Yesterday,” she quipped, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her. She wasn’t even sure of what she was feeling right now.

Theo leaned in, voice low, a little uncertain. 

“You don’t have to say anything right now. I know things between us are complicated, and I don’t expect anything from you. I just want you to know... I get it." he said. 

This... everything that’s happened between us...” He gestured between them. “It came out of nowhere. We hadn’t talked in years. It’s a lot for both of us.”

“Theo, I...” she began, but she wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted to tell him she was sorry for everything, that she didn’t know how to navigate all this, but the words wouldn’t come.

Theo continued, his eyes steady, but a softness in his voice. “I’m not blaming you. I’ve had my fun, too. I mean, I was on Raya… technically still am,” he joked.

Noa raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. Her expression was a mix of fake disbelief and irritation. “Really, Theodore James?” she laughed.

Theo chuckled. “When we first broke up, I did a lot of things I shouldn’t have. Trying to get over you.” His eyes flicked away, like the words left a bad taste. "But I don’t regret it.”

The words stung more than she expected, and Noa flinched. She wanted to look away but couldn’t tear her eyes from his.

“But... I want you to have the same,” Theo continued, softer now, leaning back in his seat. “I want you to have space to do whatever you need, without pressure from me.”

Noa stayed silent, her fingers gripping her cup, not trusting herself to speak.

His tone softened. “Our lives have always been different, innit—I had a safe, stable home, then the opportunities came, and with them, the celebrity. But I had the luxury of easing into success, of making mistakes without it costing me everything. You didn’t. I know the sacrifices you had to make, the graft you put in to get where you are today. And I respect it.”

Theo smirked. “But you? I’m not sure you’ve ever had a ‘Raya phase.’ Your ‘reckless, bad decisions’ era, innit?” He laughed softly.

Noa couldn’t help but laugh. They shared a quick, easy moment.

Theo's expression turned serious again. His voice dropped, almost to a whisper, “Maybe you should. Maybe that’s how we find our way back to each other,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Noa swallowed hard, her chest tight. “You’ve seemed to put a lot of thought into this.”

Theo didn’t answer right away. He just stared at her, and for a moment, Noa felt herself suffocating under the weight of his attention. 

“One of us had to,” he finally shot back, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Noa could feel the sincerity in his words, and it was almost too much. He was giving her the space she needed, even if she didn’t deserve it. But that wasn’t the issue, was it? She wasn’t sure what she wanted, and it terrified her.

Theo took a breath before continuing. “I’ll be in New York for a bit, but I want you to be at my dad’s retirement party. I’ll be back for it. You and I... we’re family, Noey,” he gestured between them, “No matter what happens between us, that doesn’t change.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both unsure of what to say next, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

Noa’s mouth parted slightly, but she couldn’t find the words. 

She sat quietly for a moment. 

She should have been thrilled for him—hell, she was thrilled for him—but right now, she just wasn’t. Even if just less than an hour ago she was raging at him for getting them caught up in a paparazzi scandal because of his celebrity. She didn’t want to see him go, even if it only was for a little while.

“You’re leaving,” she said finally, her voice quieter than she intended, a mix of resignation and daresay, sadness?

Theo studied her, as if trying to figure out what she wasn’t saying. 

“Not long, innit” he laughed. 

“Just for training camp. A couple of weeks, maybe more, depending on how things go. And I’ll be back for the retirement party. And you are also coming back to New York, unless you’re not” he teased, trying to lighten the mood, but it fell flat.

A couple of weeks. That wasn’t long, and yet, it felt like everything between them was happening so quickly, and she felt like quicksand — even if, again, this was all unexpected. 

Can you feel bad for falling for something for a moment you weren't even sure you wanted?

Her phone buzzed again. Julian.

She ignored it, deciding to glance over to the canal and watch the birds instead.

Theo watched her carefully. “I didn’t want to tell you like this. But after everything that happened last night… and now this article—” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t want to leave with things unclear between us.”

Noa let out a small, dry laugh. “Unclear? You just fucked me and friend-zoned me in 24 hours. That was clear.”

Theo flinched. Just barely.

But she caught it—the pain in his eyes reflecting the pain in her heart.

He set his cup down, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “I thought that's what you wanted?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more careful. “For us to just be… friends?”

The air between them tightened. Noa couldn’t find the words, her throat feeling tighter than ever.

She should say yes. It would be easier that way. Logical. Sensible.

But nothing about this—about Theo—had ever been easy.

Her phone buzzed again. Julian, again.

She inhaled sharply, fingers tightening around her teacup. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Theo nodded slowly, as if he expected that answer.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. The café moved around them—cups clinking, laughter, the occasional order being called out loud.

“Then we leave it, as friends, calm, steady… for now.”

Noa looked at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation.

There was none.

Her phone buzzed again.

And this time, she sighed heavily, and quickly turned it off.

Breakfast arrived, and for a brief moment, they settled into eating their meals, the silence between them no longer uncomfortable but filled with lingering emotional undercurrents. There was a lot more to figure out, but for now, they had each other—no pressure, no expectations, for now, just… friends. 

Break My Love 

After breakfast, Noa and Theo walked back to the hotel, their shoulders brushing every now and then. The city was awake now, tourists and locals zooming in and out of their thoughts and view. 

They quickly went to the hospital to say their goodbyes to Papa Piet and the rest of the family. It was emotional, but Noa was grateful to be there for her family and knew she’d be back soon enough—she was never away from Amsterdam for too long.

The car ride to the jet was quiet, but filled with a heavy thickness — so many things, so little time. Noa barely looked up as she tapped furiously on her phone, trying to put out the fires one by one.

First, her friends.

Noa: I promise I will explain everything when I get back. Pinky swear. Harper: Uhm, OBVIOUSLY! Jack says he knew it!

Noa laughed, picturing Harper and Jack bickering about who was the winner of the unspoken bet to be Team Theo or Team Julian. 

Noa: It’s complicated. I promise I will explain everything soon.  Just… not right now. Kez: Is it tho? It’s Theo! I knew I should’ve bet Kayo that y’all would be back together one day. He couldn’t wait to text me about them photos and I ain’t spoken to him in YEARSSSS, chileeeee. 

"It wouldn’t be Kez if she didn’t have Kayo texting her years later, still hoping for a chance she was never going to give again," Noa smiled as she thought to herself.

Group Chat: Patats (French Fries) Noa: Y’all, I promise I will spill it, but not right now. Busy. Selam: Is that or is that not your baby?! That’s all I need to know! Amina: Come to Paris. I'm the closest, and we can group chat everyone LOL. Lore: If you need to escape to Costa Rica, let me know. Carmen: I mean… As I said before, GET. IT.

Noa laughed, the Patats would never let her live this down she thought, shaking her head before moving to the next thing.

Her boss.

She scrolled back to the email, rereading the words. “Noa, I need you to stay in Europe for another week or two. A few major assignments that require immediate attention. Let’s chat when you get a moment? -Viv.”

Noa exhaled sharply and dialed her number. “Hey, Viv. Just saw your email.”

Her boss answered immediately. “Noa, hey. How are you? I know this is last minute, but I really need you to cover a few cities in the next week or two — Paris, Monaco, Barcelona, and Copenhagen. You’re already in Europe, so it made the most sense.”

Paris. Monaco. Barcelona. Copenhagen. In a week—or two?! 

Normally, she’d jump at the opportunity, but with everything happening, Noa wasn’t sure she had the bandwidth to pull it off. She rubbed the back of her neck and sighed.

"You didn’t lie when you said major assignments,” Noa jokes. What’s the breakdown?" she asked, hoping the assignments would sound like something she could power through.

Viv’s voice softened, hearing Noa’s hesitancy.

“I know this is a lot, Noa,” Viv said, her tone softening. “But I’ve seen you handle much higher stakes before and sail through them with ease. You’ve earned this. And you’ll have my support and guidance along the way, always.” Viv reiterated. 

“Okay….,” Noa said, patiently waiting to hear what Viv needed from her. 

“So let me run them down to you…. Paris is a fashion gala with a major designer—exclusive, high-profile. I need you there as our rep, examining how designers are truly committing to inclusion—or not."

"Monaco for the Grand Prix." Viv let the words settle, giving Noa a moment to absorb them. "It’s more than just the race. We need coverage of an elite sponsor event—with some of the most influential figures in sports and business. Your focus? Gender equity, on and off the track. I need you to chaperone Virgil van Dijk and a few other Anfield Red players at a Lewis Hamilton Ferrari event. That crossover between sport and luxury could open up a deeper conversation about access and representation."

"Barcelona? It’s a luxury event—an invite-only tasting hosted by a global distributor of rare wines and spirits. You’ll need to cover the highlights, but even in this space, there’s a story. Who’s being elevated in the industry? Who’s still excluded?" Viv said. 

"And Copenhagen? It’s for Design Week. We’re featuring a Danish-Japanese designer who’s shaking up the scene. It’s a chance to explore how intersectionality shapes innovation, whose voices are amplified in global design, and who still struggles to break through."

Viv paused, then said, "I wouldn’t be asking you to cover all of these events in such a limited timeframe with such short notice if it weren’t important."

Noa bit her lip, contemplating the whirlwind schedule. Paris would be exciting. A fashion gala was right up her alley, and Julian would definitely be there—he always showed up at those types of events. She made a mental note to ask him about it later. 

If he actually would return her messages — if she ever sat down to respond to his messages first.

"Okay, Paris, I’m in. Monaco is going to be fun. And Barcelona…what exactly is happening there?" Noa asked, already intrigued by the mention of the exclusive event.

Viv replied, “It’s hosted by Christopher Aguilar-Zoraida. He’s a name you’ll want to remember. He’s been making waves in the luxury alcohol scene, but his events have always been hush-hush. This one’s no different—high-profile guests, limited access. It’s a rare opportunity, Noa. The kind of thing you won’t get again. You’ll need to get the full scoop.”

Christopher. Noa heard of him—rumors about his rise in the luxury spirits industry. She’d heard whispers—rumors about his quick industry rise. Some said his booming business was a front for his cartel family, with Christopher pulling the strings from behind the scenes. But they hadn’t met yet. Noa couldn’t help but feel a little curious.

"And Copenhagen? What is specifically happening there with the designer?" Noa asked, hoping to get a clearer picture of that assignment.

“Copenhagen Design Week,” Viv replied, “You’ll be covering Niko Nozuka-Lindberg, a Danish-Japanese designer who’s making waves in the industry. He is known for blending minimalist design with cutting-edge innovation. I want you to attend his exclusive runway presentation and then interview him for a feature that’ll spotlight how his designs challenge traditional norms and create space for marginalized voices.”

Noa nodded, her mind racing with all of the possibilities to bring these opportunities to life. Four major assignments, in the world’s shortest timeline?! But a chance to experience some of Europe’s most exclusive, high-end events. It wasn’t a bad way to spend the next few weeks.

"Got it," she replied. "I’ll get to work on my itinerary."

Viv’s voice brightened. "Perfect. Paris first, quick stop to Monaco, and then Barcelona a couple of days later. You’ll have time to settle in before the main event. Copenhagen’s the last stop, so you’ll have some downtime between assignments to catch your breath."

Noa leaned back in her seat, taking a breath before responding. Four cities, four major assignments. She wasn’t even back in London and would be immediately back out of the door and on the road. It seemed like a lot for the next week or two, but these assignments—Paris, Monaco, Barcelona, Copenhagen—were dream locations with dream assignments. Getting paid to travel and exclusive events — check please! 

"Thanks, Viv. I’ll check in when I’m in Paris."

As she ended the call, Noa couldn’t shake her excitement. Her career was finally in full swing, even if her love life wasn’t quite there yet.

Shadows 

As soon as she hung up, Noa switched gears again, immediately dialing her mom. She hadn’t called as much as she should, and with everything happening at once, now was as good a time as any.

Her mom answered on the second ring. “Well, well, well…. If it isn’t my daughter who disappears when Europe is near,” she teased. 

Noa laughed, not realizing how much she missed being able to joke with her mom all the time, “Yeah, just… work is keeping me busier and here longer than expected. Do you think you can keep Basil for another week?”

“Of course,” her mom replied, no hesitation. “I knew one week in Europe meant at least three. You owe me— I intend to collect,” she joked, before getting serious, “But you sound stressed. What’s going on?”

Noa hesitated, glancing at Theo beside her. He was staring out the window, phone in hand, lost in whatever messages he was sending. She didn’t want to unload everything onto her mom right now.

“Lots of exciting and nerve wracking things all at once, but nothing I can’t handle,” she said finally. 

Her mom made a small noise, the kind that meant she wasn’t convinced, but she let it go—for now. “Alright. Just make sure you're safe and….

“Stay in groups,” Noa finished. “Just like Grams said.” 

They both laughed.

Her mom’s voice softened for a moment.

"I told you, you never leave Europe on schedule. But Basil is thriving here with his grandpupmom, just so you know. We are eating lots of snacks, he is doing well at his daycare club, and we’ve moved on to watching Midsomer Murders in addition to Murder, She Wrote."

Noa couldn’t help but laugh. "Sounds like him. You’re never going to let my dog not be a little Wishbone in the making, are you?" 

"Never! He’s living his best life, you hear me. Don’t worry about him." her mom said.

There was a brief pause, and then her mom added, "But listen, give me the rundown on this new schedule. Paris, Monaco, Barcelona, and Copenhagen? This 'staying for an extra week' feels a little fugazi — four cities in a week or two seems…. Hmm." She teased, "But tell me everything, I need the details. Are you going to update the Google Doc?"

Noa sighed, rolling her eyes but feeling a bit lighter already. Her mom always knew how to make things feel more manageable.

"Alright. Paris is for a fashion gala—big names, lots of high-end interviews. I’ll be in and out quickly. Monaco — Virgil van Dijk, Lewis Hamilton, Ferrari—enough said."

Noa squealed with excitement.

"Then, Barcelona’s an invite-only wine tasting event, hosted by some global distributor—exclusive stuff. Heard a lot about the guy behind it but haven’t met him yet."

"And Copenhagen?" her mom asked.

"It’s Design Week. A Danish-Japanese designer is showcasing some wild concepts. Should be fun."

Her mom hummed in approval. "Sounds exciting."

Then, her voice shifted to playful suspicion. "But what’s this about Theo — in Amsterdam? I saw the photos! You thought you could get off the phone without me mentioning, huh?"

Noa could almost hear the raised eyebrow through the phone.

Her mom’s tone became mockingly dramatic. "How is it that my almost son-in-law, who I haven’t seen in years, was, as the press said, ‘canoodling and consoling’ you during a visit with a sick Papa Piet?"

Her mom continued, teasing with a hint of exasperation. "Who you didn’t even tell me was sick! I had to hear it from Anke on WhatsApp. Really leaving me in the lurch for all I am doing for you over here?" her mom dramatically scolded. 

Noa could practically hear her mom shaking her head. Despite the playful teasing, she knew that her mom was really concerned and trying to pry for as much information as she could on this phone call. 

Noa laughed, shaking her head. “Mom….. okay, fair points are being made. A lot has been happening and I be trying not to bother you too much with the time difference.” she said. 

Noa sighed, guilt settling in. “But I know, I should’ve called,” she admitted. “It all happened so fast. Anke reached out while I was already on my way, and by the time I got there everything was already in motion.”

Her mom exhaled,  “How’s Papa Piet now?”

“He’s… better,” Noa said carefully. “Stubborn as ever, talking about how he’s ready to be back in his garden and fixing electronics at the shop, like nothing happened.” She tried to keep her tone light, but the thought of him being in hospital in the first place still weighed on her.

Her mom made a small sound of understanding. “That sounds like him.” A pause. Then, softer, “And you? How are you with all this?”

Noa hesitated. She hadn’t really let herself process it yet—what it meant to see someone she’d known forever laid up like that, how strange it had been to navigate it all with Theo so close again. “I’m okay,” she said finally. “Just trying to keep up.”

“Tuh,” Noa’s mom said, kissing her teeth. 

There was a brief silence on the line, and Noa felt a sudden shift in the air, like her mom was processing something.

“Well, isn’t this call so convenient? Basil’s been asking for Theo. I think he misses him.” mom said.

“Well…Theo’s actually right here….” She glanced at Theo, and he finally looked up from his phone, brow raised in question. 

Noa mouthed, "It’s my mom," and he smirked.

Her mom’s voice rose, a mix of surprise and playful accusation. "He is there? As in next to you? Well, why didn’t you say so!"

Noa could almost picture her mom’s exaggerated look of mock disbelief.

Then, the teasing continued, a little more dramatic. "Your brother said he saw y’all on the internet, but I ain’t got time to be downloading an app just to zoom in on a picture."

Noa couldn’t help but laugh at her mom’s stubbornness in deciding what technology she wanted to engage with.

Noa groaned. “Mom.”

Theo chuckled, then leaned in, voice warm and teasing, “Hey, Mumz, I’m going to be in New York for a couple days next week—can I come see you? It’s been too long! I’ll take Basil for a walk, too.”

His breath brushed her shoulder, and a shiver skated down her spine. Why does it always seem like he’s doing this on purpose?

Her mom perked up instantly. “Theo! My love. Not you coming to the rescue again? Of course, baby, come on over—I’ll make your favorites. Noe, tell him I said that. Matter of fact, let’s make this a full family affair.”

Noa shook her head, laughing. “He heard you, Mom. He’s literally right here. Between you and Theo, Basil definitely won’t miss me.”

“Good, good. Safe travels, y’all,” her mom said, amusement in her voice. “And Noa— don’t be doing too much and don’t stress so much. You’ve got this. I Love you!”

“I Love you too.” Noa said. 

As Noa hung up, she turned to Theo, raising a brow. “Looks like you’re officially on Basil and Mom duty.”

Theo grinned, holding her gaze like he had all the time in the world. “‘Low it, Noey. You know dem my people dem. Safe hands, they’ll be in, yeah.”

Noa rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the butterflies in her stomach. She was thankful for the solid support—both professional and personal. Somehow, Theo always made things feel easier.

From Amsterdam to London

It’s Not Over Yet 

Last thing.

Julian.

Noa stared at his name in her messages, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She typed and deleted several versions of a message before finally settling on something straight to the point. He either wanted to talk, or he didn’t, she thought to herself.

Finally, she typed:

Noa: Julian, Can we meet? I want to explain in person.

Delivered.

She let the phone fall into her lap, pressing her fingers to her temple.

Next to her, Theo finally spoke. “Everything sorted?”

Noa let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Not even close.”

Theo smirked slightly, but his eyes gave nothing away.

The car slowed as they approached the jet, and Noa exhaled, ready— or at least trying to be— for whatever came next.

The car rolled smoothly to a stop at the private terminal, its low buzz the only sound cutting through the early evening air. Noa exhaled deeply, glancing over at Theo, who was already unbuckling his seatbelt, locking eyes with her.

“Well, looks like we’re heading back to London,” he said, voice light, but Noa could sense the underlying edge beneath it. The trip didn’t go exactly as they might have planned, but it was up to them to keep it moving. 

Noa opened her car door, adjusting the strap of her bag. “See you soon, Amsterdam,” she said, apprehension and sadness lingering in her tone.

Theo gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable as they made their way toward the entrance of the private terminal. There were a few flashes from the paps, waiting in the wings to capture their moment, and it made Noa keep her head down, moving quickly to the jet. 

The two were greeted by the familiar faces of the crew from their previous flight — Lucille, the older flight attendant with silver hair, and Jessica, the nosy younger flight attendant with the red bob.

“Welcome back,” Lucille said, her voice a little too sweet. “Anything I can get you both?”

Theo flashed her a quick smile. “Just water, thanks.”

Noa followed his lead, taking her seat beside him as they settled into the plush leather chairs. Lucille disappeared into the back, while Jessica hovered a little longer, her gaze flicking between them, clearly enjoying the ability to observe the two of them without supervision. 

“Amsterdam’s beautiful this time of year,” Jessica remarked casually, her tone light but curious. “I’m sure you both enjoyed the scenery.”

Noa stiffened slightly, glancing at Theo, who was staring out the window, his posture relaxed but his jaw set. “Yeah, it’s... picturesque,” Noa replied, keeping her tone neutral.

Jessica’s eyes sparkled with a hint of knowing. “Lots of photo ops, I imagine,” she added, before offering a gentle smile. “Well, let me know if you need anything.”

With a wink, she disappeared into the back, leaving Noa and Theo alone in the cabin. Noa exhaled a sharp breath, half-relieved and half-annoyed.

“Bitch,” she muttered, slumping back into her seat.

Theo laughed, "You'll get used to it. Trust me."

Theo secretly loved seeing Noa lose her shit and get snarky with people—slipping, just a little, out of her polished, controlled self.

Noa shot him a look, “Oh, please. Don’t start,” but he was already looking out the window, lost in thought.

Theo smirked. “I saw that.”

Noa met his gaze, unflinching. “I wanted you to.”

Theo's smirk deepened. "You really still think you can play games with someone who’s used to winning, Noey? I never lose." he said, shaking his head.

Crossroads at 8

The jet descended smoothly, the familiar hum of the engines shifting to the gentle whirr of a smooth landing. Noa glanced at Theo as the plane began to taxi, her thoughts still caught between their time in Amsterdam and the unsettling reality that this might be the last time they would be this close, both physically and emotionally.

As the wheels touched down, she heard her phone buzzing in her bag. Once they were parked on the tarmac and the seatbelt signs flickered off, Noa pulled her phone out, unlocking it. The first text that caught her attention was from Julian.

Julian: Meet me at 8. Location pin below.

Noa tapped the link, and a map of an unknown warehouse location popped up. She hadn’t seen Julian since their baking date, but his messages always had a way of making everything feel so intriguing — like a sensual challenge. She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips — Julian knew how to make an impression, that’s for sure. Noa let the moment linger for a second before realizing where she was, her mind quickly shifting back to Theo. 

She glanced over at Theo, still lost in whatever he was reading on his phone. He didn’t seem to notice the subtle change in her behavior.

Noa quickly typed back to Julian: See you at 8.

She locked her phone and tucked it back into her bag. The jet had finally come to a stop, and the flight attendants were already making their way down the aisle, preparing for exit. Noa took a deep breath, standing up and stretching her legs.

“You alright?” Theo asked, his eyes scanning her face for a sign — any sign.

“Yeah,” she said with a small smile. “Just… preparing for the evening, ya know.”

"Ah," Theo grinned. "Don't tell me you're already leaving me for more 'business.'" His eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Not leaving you. Just... meeting Julian at 8.” She didn’t make eye contact, afraid of giving too much away.

Theo hesitated, just for a second, before his usual teasing grin returned. “Well, don’t stay out too late.”

Noa nodded. She didn’t know how to fix this moment, so she let the silence settle between them. Julian would definitely want to talk about the paparazzi photos and everything that had happened in Amsterdam—with Theo. And she was sure that conversation would have her rethinking her next steps.

As the jet doors opened, Noa stepped into the cool London air, her mind racing—a mix of trepidation and excitement.

"Let's go, Noey," Theo said, hurrying to open the car door for her. The sooner he got her home to Harper and Jake’s, the sooner he could escape—pack up his clothes, shove down his feelings, and get back to football.

 

The London streets blurred by as Theo piloted them from central to south. Weaving in and out of taxis, buses, and bikes, passing pub crawls and tourists alike, Noa watched from the window but her head was in the clouds, the headrest serving as the world’s best mobile pillow. 

Theo pulled up in front of Harper and Jake's flat, the car slowing to a stop in the quiet cul de sac. He turned to Noa, his smile softening as he glanced over her.

"Here we are, m’lady," he said, his voice carrying that familiar teasing tone—though beneath it lingered a gentleness she had always loved.

Noa nodded, grabbing her bag and unbuckling her seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride, Theodore James,” she teased, glancing over at him. Even in silence, Theo made Noa feel caught between two worlds—one easy, one impossible.

Theo held her gaze for a second longer, making Noa wonder what he was thinking. But before she could ask, he shifted in the car, pressing the moment forward for the both of them — he didn’t want any grand gestures, or goodbyes, they’d already said enough. 

Noa hopped out of the car and leaned in the passenger door to say her goodbyes. 

“Text me when you're done, alright? Have fun with Harper and Jake…. and Julian, innit.” His eyes gleamed as if there was more to the “fun” he was referring to. 

She smirked. “I will. Youuuuuu text me when you get to New York, alright? Have fun with the team and tell everyone I said hi, well the ones I like.” she teased, before shutting the door. 

Theo chuckled softly, giving her a nod before pulling away, the purr of his engine fading into the distance as Noa made her way up to the front door. 

Noa watched as Theo’s car disappeared into the night, a lingering unease settling over her. Taking a breath, she rang the bell to Harper and Jake’s flat.

Harper answered almost immediately,“Noa! You’re back!” pulling her in for a hug, the scent of garlic hitting Noa’s senses immediately. “Dinner’s almost ready, but we’ve got so much to catch up on!”

“Tell us everything!” Jake’s voice came from behind Harper, his grin wide as he stood in the doorway, clearly eager for the gossip. 

Noa couldn’t help but laugh, being with these two clowns always felt like home to her.

“Hold up, hold up,” Noa said, pushing past them both into the flat. “Let me get settled, and then I’ll tell you all about it. But I need to shower first. It’s been a long day.”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “I mean, we know you’ve been busy, but a shower? Rawwwrr.”

Noa rolled her eyes with a playful smile. “Oh, please! Mind out of the gutter, now! Now, Harper Hazel Hollis!” She gave Jake a quick look, which made him snicker.

“Well, we’re all dying to hear the details,” Jake teased, and Harper swatted him away.

“Don’t worry,” Noa said, walking toward the bathroom. “I’ll give you the full rundown over dinner.”

Noa let the water run hot, steam curling around her as she pressed her palms to the sink. Julian at 8. Theo’s quest to just be “friends.” Was she even still in control of the ping-pong game of boys in her life?

Noa quickly rinsed off, wrapped herself in a towel, and picked up her phone as it buzzed, all before getting dressed.

Julian: Wear workout clothes. 

She frowned at the message, unsure what to make of it. Workout clothes? She glanced at the clock—7:30 PM. This strange warehouse location, and now workout clothes? She had thought tonight would be more talking over a drink, maybe even dinner, if she wasn’t already about to eat with Harper and Jake — but this was weird. She quickly replied with a short Okay and set her phone down.

When she emerged, Harper and Jake were sitting at the small dining table, already eyeing the food on their plates. The conversation paused when Noa walked in, but only for a second before they began bombarding her with questions again.

"So, spill. Wait, sit down and grab a plate," Harper said between bites of pasta. "Did you and Theo...?"

Noa raised her hand. “Harper! Anyway, I’m starving. What’s this?”

“So that’s a yes,” she smirked, placing her hand out to Jake, “Needs my twenty pounds please and thanks.” 

“You guys BET on me?” Noa shrieked. 

"Yes," Jake grinned, saying matter-of-factly as he handed her the pasta, then changing course. "It's a secret family recipe. You'll love it."

Noa huffed in fake annoyance and quickly sat down to eat while they continued to pester her with questions—about her trip, her meetings, and anything they could think of. But Noa had learned the art of answering just enough to keep them satisfied without giving away too much.

When dinner finally ended, Noa leaned back in her chair and glanced at the clock. “Alright, I have to head out before I am late.”

Harper immediately raised her eyebrows. “Where are YOU going?”

Noa smiled. “A meeting. Don’t wait up.” She kissed both of their cheeks in farewell, heading toward the door.

“Wait!” Jake called after her. “Give us the juicy details when you’re back!”

“Sure thing,” Noa said, giving them both a playful wave.

Between Julian & A Boxing Place

Jit Juisu & Julian

Noa wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be excited or uneasy. The entire Uber ride over to whatever this clandestine rendezvous was with Julian gave her more stomach knots than butterflies. When Julian  dropped the pin and told her to be there at 8 in workout clothes, nonetheless to a nondescript warehouse in a random part of South London, Noa felt like this was the beginning of a Dateline 20/20 episode — and she probably should’ve texted her group chat the location, or at least been less coy with Harper.

Twenty minutes later, she was pulling up to an industrial area on the edge of South London. The streets here were desolate, the usual city noise replaced by an eerie stillness. No signs, just a large black door with a discreet number above it.

She texted Julian, asking for clarification, but no response came. Noa exhaled, unsure whether to be intrigued or annoyed. This was definitely not what she had imagined. She was not trying to be killed in a back alley in South London and Julian was making that more difficult with each passing second. 

The press would have a field day, and she wasn’t even famous, she thought to herself.

Noa walked up to the door, debating whether to stay or go. Suck it up, she told herself and rang the doorbell.

The door creaked open, revealing a tall man wearing black athletic gear. His face was unreadable.

“Noelle?” he asked in a clipped tone.

“Yeah, it’s me.” she said.

Julian nodded and stepped aside to let her in. She blinked at the interior of the space. It wasn’t a gym in the way she expected. The high-ceilinged room was barren, almost sterile, with minimal equipment scattered about—a few boxing rings, some speed bags, punching bags hanging from the ceiling, and a large mirror on the wall, running the expanse of the space. It had the feel of a private, underground operation, very much Fight Club. 

Taking in the space, Noa turned to see Julian, leaning against one of the rings, arms crossed, his eyes dark and indecipherable.

“Glad you could make it,” he said, his voice low, like he was holding back.  

“Make it to where, exactly?” Noa asked, confused, glancing at the boxing equipment. “What are we doing?”

Julian grinned. “We’re going to have a scrap.”

“A what? We?,” Noa’s voice was almost a laugh, gesturing between the two of them, as her eyes flickered between the ring and the gloves hanging on the wall.

“Why not?” Julian raised an eyebrow, eyes glinting with challenge. 

“Of all the things we could be doing right now, you want us to box.” Noa deadpanned. 

Julian smirked, choosing to ignore Noa — instead he began to circle her, like a lion surveying its prey, eyes focused, posture resolute, and movements calculated.

Noa bit her lip, obviously feeling the growing tension in the air, trying not to let Julian’s movements throw her off her game. 

She shrugged. “Alright, fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

If he wasn’t going to start the conversation to address the multitude of elephants in the room, she wouldn’t either. 

Julian’s grin widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "You're gonna regret sayin' that.”

Julian was already tying his gloves, his focus sharp, as if he was mentally preparing for something more than just a sparring match.

“Come here,” he motioned, his voice firm.

Noa walked toward him, her heart racing. She could tell Julian was upset, his jaw tight, his body language stiff, but his overall behavior was odd. It was as if they were both pretending everything was fine while filled with a sizzling undercurrent of jealousy and rage — Noa, at Julian’s “spar” tactics instead of conversing like adults, and Julian at Noa’s nonchalance at running to Amsterdam with Theo after their amazing baking date that was more than just a date, or so he thought.

“Alright,” he said, tossing her a pair of gloves. “Let’s ‘ave it.”

Noa caught them with a quick reflex, then hesitated, looking at him for a moment, wondering how he could be so casual about this whole thing. She didn’t know how to box, didn’t know anything about it other than what she had seen in movies. She could barely remember the first rule of Fight Club and she only watched Creed for the plot…. Michael B. Jordan and Jonathan Majors — duh. And maybeeee she watched one pay-per-view fight with her family when Anthony Joshua was fighting — but that was IT! 

Julian, reading her hesitation, smirked. "Oh, don’t watch that, I ain't expecting you to be a pro, Noelle. Just follow my lead."

Noa threw him a look. “You think you can teach me in five minutes?”

Julian shrugged, tossing his head. “We’ll see. Ready?”

Before Noa could even respond, Julian lunged forward with a fast jab aimed at her midsection. She barely had time to react, stumbling back as she raised her arms defensively.

“That’s it. You’re already a step behind, innit,” he taunted, his voice teasing, yet there was something cold beneath it. “Come on. Again.”

Noa wiped her hand across her forehead, gathering herself. She had no idea what she was doing, but she wasn’t going to back down. She clenched her fists and swung wildly at him, missing entirely.

Julian laughed, a sound that was too sharp, too knowing. “Noelle, you’re miles off it,”he said, stepping back shaking his head. “Tell you what, yeah? I’ll ask you questions, you throw a punch. 21 questions. One punch per answer, innit.”

“Fine,” Noa said, narrowing her eyes at him. “But I’m not going easy on you.”

“Alright…. there she is!,” Julian smirked, a gleam of approval in his eye, throwing Noa another jab to get her attention.

The intensity of his gaze made her second-guess everything. Was she really here, in this ring, instead of sorting things out with words? But they weren’t talking, were they?

And just like that, they were in it. Noa started throwing punches, trying to land a blow—any blow— while Julian seemed to dodge every one. She knew he liked martial arts and boxing from interviews, but sheesh, he seemed to be a professional.

Noa gave it her best college try, trying to land a punch while awaiting a question— which was proving more difficult by the second. 

"How long have you been with Theo?" Julian's voice was clipped, sharp, as he dodged another punch.

Noa flinched at the mention of Theo, but she didn’t let it show. She threw another jab. "What are you, my nosy aunt during Thanksgiving?"

Julian's eyes narrowed. "You’re not answering the question."

Noa didn’t answer, she was hot, her mind was racing, and she was annoyed that she couldn’t land the types of punches she wanted to hit his ass back. The accusatory tone, the way he was looking at her like she had something to prove—it was pissing her off.

“How long have you been with Theo?” Julian repeated, his voice still clipped. “An old friend versus an old long-time love—two VERY different things.”

And just like that, Noa realized how upset Julian really was. It wasn’t just the paparazzi photos—he’d clearly seen them, just like everyone else. It was the fact that Noa’s description of her relationship with Theo at Wimbledon felt like a SparkNotes version, leaving out the depth and history Julian thought should’ve been there.

Noa listened closely, her gaze steady on his face, trying to figure out the best way to respond.  

“So, you saw the paparazzi photos from Amsterdam?” she asked, her voice softening a little, as she went to throw another punch.

“Yes, I saw the photos.” Julian’s jaw tightened, his eyes briefly flicking away, as though the images still stung, as he ducked from the punch Noa attempted to land.

Noa’s voice softened. “It wasn’t about you, Julian. My godfather was really sick. Theo just... stepped in. It was all so sudden,” she said, landing a jab to his right side.

Noa continued her attack.

“I won’t make excuses, nor apologies. Theo and I have history—more than I’ve shared with you.” Punch. Punch. Punch. “It’s complicated. Punch. And I didn’t think it was relevant. Punch. But I realize now I should’ve been more open about it, considering how short a time we’ve known each other.”

Noa kept attempting to land blows, left, right, left, right—Julian stopping to process what she was saying.

“Fight back,” she yelled as she threw another punch, “I thought we’d get there eventually, to all of the ex-related conversations,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I still hope we do.” She stopped and paused.

Julian took this as his window to swoop in with a few punches of his own. Not meeting her gaze and not responding.

Noa exhaled slowly, feeling the frustration in her chest start to boil, “Theo and I are friends, and I think we will always be…. I hope that for us, and I hope that you can understand that.” she said.

Julian stopped mid-punch, storming out of the ring. He found one of the black punching bags and started pounding it, his frustration clear — leaving Noa standing in the ring looking silly. 

“We’d only been on one real date… yeah?” Julian growls, his fists thudding into the bag with a heavy beat. “But finding out the girl I thought I was seeing was out here seeing someone else.” He punches harder, his face twisted in frustration. “Someone she’s clearly known long before me and got mad history with.”

Noa stood there for a moment, trying to read him. Then, for the first time that night, she hopped out of the ring and went to him.

Julian threw another punch, his jaw clenched, his anger evident in the force with which he hit the bag. His eyes stayed locked on the target, but when he finished, he noticed Noa standing there. For a moment, he didn’t move, as if the anger in him had momentarily frozen. 

Last 100

Then, as if something beyond his control urged him forward, he closed the distance between them. Stepping closer, he asked in a low, dangerous whisper, “So? Are you here to get over him by being under me?”

Before she could answer, Julian pulled her in. The space between them disappeared, their energy shifting. She felt the heat of his body against hers, his breath coming fast against her ear.

Noa’s chest beat quickly as she looked at him, meeting his gaze. 

"21 questions, over," she said, stepping back momentarily to take off her gloves, then grabbing his hands to help remove his, locking eyes as she did.

For a long moment, they just stood there in silence, the gym echoing around them.

Noa opened her mouth to fill the silence, but Julian’s lips claimed hers before she could say a word.

Their lips met in an urgent kiss—surprising both of them. 

Noa’s body felt like it was going to melt into him, her hands moving instinctively to his chest as the kiss deepened, wrapping her body close to his.

“Julian…” she whispered softly.

Julian didn’t respond with words, he only moved to pull Noa closer. 

There was no time for more arguing. 

They were done fighting for the night.

Julian deepened the kiss — it was raw, desperate—an unspoken confession. 

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was the release they both needed—of all the pent-up energy and the unfounded conclusions they’d drawn and carried about each other since the first time they met. Noa’s hands fisted in his shirt. They were both breathing hard, their bodies pressed together, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were sweaty and spent, hearts racing, minds spinning, bodies still buzzing from the dramatic change of events this evening. 

Julian stared at her, eyes filled with a mixture of desire and something deeper—something more vulnerable. “You don’t get to walk away after that,” he whispered.

NEXT EPISODE

[theartofmovingseries]

The Art of Kneading Love [London]

Summary:  In a cozy South London bakery, Noa and Julian find themselves mixing more than just ingredients as they bond over flour, butter, and spices. With every touch and shared smile, their playful connection deepens, proving that sometimes the sweetest recipes are the ones that stir the heart.

Word Count: 4,500k

Face Claim: Aaron Pierre

Full Episode Soundtrack

Master List

The cool evening air breezed across Harper and Jack’s cul-de-sac, the street still except for the sound of Julian’s car approaching. Noa stood on the front steps, trying to steady her nerves as she waited.

By the time Julian’s car pulled up, she had pulled herself in a chic yet understated outfit. Julian stepped out, his eyes immediately finding hers. He paused for a moment, taking a slow, deliberate look up and down before a wide smile spread across his face. He walked around to the passenger side and met her at the door, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“How are you doing?” Noa asked, grinning as she shyly stepped forward to meet him.

“I’m doing phenomenal, all the better now that you’re here,” Julian said, his face lighting up into a gigantic smile as he handed her the bouquet. “Can’t lie, though, you’ve got me thinking I should’ve dressed up more.”

“Didn’t they tell you not to come here looking better than me? Did you not get the memo?” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Noa felt a heat rising in her cheeks, quickly glancing down at the flowers in her hands. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice softening. 

You don’t look too shabby yourself. Very demure, very cutesy, very... deliciously handsome,” she teased back, her smile lighting up her entire face, despite her best efforts to play it cool.

Julian chuckled, holding her gaze.  “Well, if you’re gonna keep gassin’ me up like that, I might start gettin’ all shy, you know?”

“Is that so? I didn’t realize I had such an effect on you,” she teased. 

Julian closed the gap between them, taking the flowers from her hand, pulling Noa into a bear hug. “It’s good to see you again, Noelle,” he said. 

His arms were strong and warm, and he rocked her gently, holding her close before finally letting go and opening the passenger side door. 

Carpool Karaoke

Noa slid into the car, the leather seat cool against her legs, feeling a buzz of excitement as he got in next to her. The car started up with a soft rumble, and soon, 50 Cent’s "21 Questions" filled the air, the beat smooth and steady.

You drive me crazy, shorty, I Need to see you and feel you next to me I provide everything you need and I Like your smile I don't wanna see you cry Got some questions that I got to ask and I Hope you can come up with the answers babe 

The lyrics echoed around them, the rhythm heavy and familiar. 

Noa smiled, glancing at Julian. His fingers tapped the steering wheel, nodding along to the beat. "This tune's a proper classic, still," he said, a smirk spreading across his face as he cranked up the volume. His eyes flicked to her for a second, then he leaned toward the passenger seat, holding his hand up like a mic. 

If I fell off tomorrow would you still love me? If I didn't smell so good would you still hug me? If I got locked up and sentenced to a quarter century Could I count on you to be there to support me mentally? If I went back to a hoopty from a Benz, would you poof and disappear Like some of my friends?

He sang a little louder, and laughed, raising a fake mic to her. "What you saying, Noelle?"

Do you believe me when I tell you, you the one I'm loving? Are you mad 'cause I'm asking you twenty-one questions? Are you my soulmate? 'Cause if so, girl you a blessing Do you trust me enough to tell me your dreams?

Noa laughed, shaking her head, but then playfully leaned into his invisible mic and sang back. Her voice is light, teasing, matching the rhythm.

I love you like a fat kid love cake You know my style I say anything to make you smile

She laughed, raising an eyebrow. "21 Questions?"

Julian shot her a grin. "What’s your go-to karaoke song?" He caught the hint without her saying a word, turning down the music to kick the game off.

Noa laughed softly, leaning her shoulder against the car door. “It’s not my favorite, but I always end up doing ‘Independent Women’ by Destiny’s Child.”

Julian chuckled along with her, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. “You shouldn’t have told me. I clocked it, but I wasn’t gonna be like…”

Noa raised an eyebrow, laughing. “You clocked what?”

“Your whole vibe,” Julian said, with a cheeky grin. “Independent woman, innit?”

Julian leaned forward, tapping a button on the dashboard. Instantly, Destiny's Child's "Independent Women" blasted through the speakers. Noa shot him a playful grin, then leaned in and started the verse with a mischievous smile. She started to sing, throwing her hands up

Question, tell me what you think about me? I buy my own diamonds and I buy my own rings Only ring your celly when I'm feelin' lonely When it's all over please get up and leave Question, tell me how you feel about this? Try to control me boy, you get dismissed Pay my own fun, oh and I pay my own bills Always 50/50 in relationships

Julian laughed, caught off guard but loving it. He quickly grabbed the imaginary mic and joined in, his voice low but playful. "All the women who are independent, throw your hands up at me..." He raised his hand dramatically, eyes locked on hers as he kept going, "I said, all the honeys who making money, throw your hands up at me..."

Noa burst out laughing, wiping a tear from her eye. "Okay, okay, fair play," she said, breathless from the laughter.

Julian leaned back in mock seriousness, still humming the tune. "I’ve got moves you haven’t seen yet," he said, making a show of his moves.

Noa was still laughing, leaning back in her seat. “Alright then, let’s see what you’ve got. What’s your go-to karaoke song?”

Julian paused for a moment, then smirked. “Don’t You Know,” by Luther Vandross.

Noa raised an eyebrow, giving him a teasing look. “Of course it is,” she said, “Setting the mood already.”

Julian glanced at her, his eyes twinkling. “You respect it, though,” he teased, his grin widening.

He leaned forward, tapping the button on the dashboard to switch songs. A smooth beat filled the car, and Julian settled into the groove, his voice dropping into that familiar, sultry tone.

“I got your love. You need to look no further. (Don't you know that?) he sang, looking directly at Noa. He reached over, making a show of adjusting the volume and leaning into his performance. "You’ll never need another."

Noa couldn’t help but laugh, her heart racing a little at how effortlessly he turned the moment into something playful, something personal. Julian shot her a grin, completely in the zone, and added, "Don't you know that."

Noa rolled her eyes, still smiling. “Okay, okay, you win, you win,” she said, clearly impressed. “You really know how to set the mood.”

Julian flashed a grin, still humming along to the melody. “You ain't seen nothing yet,” he teased, tapping his fingers against the wheel.

The drive was quick, but it felt like time stretched on, the karaoke jam session making every second count. The city lights cast long shadows over bits of south London, as the evening turned to night. Sounds of jazz emanated from a little dive bar on the corner, lovers held hands as they walked down cobblestone roads, friends sharing drinks and laughter on the rooftops of the latest trendy pub. The mood was set long before the night began.

By the time Julian’s car pulled up to the restaurant, the last chords of I Want You fading into the background, the energy between them had shifted, the playful back-and-forth still buzzing in their veins.

Julian parked with a soft thud, cutting the engine. He turned to her, eyes warm. "You ready for this?" he asked.

Noa’s heart gave a little skip. She nodded, her smile matching his. “Definitely.”

Welcome to The Sweet Spot 

Noa stepped out of the car, her senses immediately enveloped by the warm, intoxicating scent of vanilla and butter wafting from The Sweet Spot bakery’s open door. The world outside felt quieter, softer. Noa inhaled, lips parted, feeling her anticipation rise like the scent itself — thoughts of Julian activating all of her senses — with the shortbread, obviously. 

Inside, the bakery had transformed. The usual noise of machines and chatter had been replaced with calm, a serene ambiance just for them. The soft flicker of candlelight reflected off the wooden beams of the ceiling, shadows dancing across the counters. A long wooden table sat at the center of the room, perfectly curated for tonight’s baking escapades.

Julian moved quickly, setting the tone for the evening. With one smooth motion, he flicked a switch, and a deep green vinyl record player began spinning Marvin Gaye. The familiar warmth of the music filled the space, picking up right where they left off.

Ingredients were stationed for a night they wouldn’t forget: bowls of golden butter, jars of caramel, chocolate shavings—all the essentials for a night that would hit that sweet spot.

Noa stepped toward the table, her gaze following him as he took his place opposite her.

Julian leaned against the edge of the table, his silhouette framed by the light. His eyes softened as they met hers, a playful glint dancing in them.

“I figured we’d try my favourite dessert tonight,” he said, his voice deep and sensual, filled with a double innuendo, as he gestured to the setup. “Chocolate caramel shortbread. A little something sweet to balance the evening.”

He paused for a moment, then asked, “Fancy a drink before we start?”

Reaching for a bottle of red wine, the soft glow of the candles caught the edge of the glass as he poured a deep red liquid into two glasses, handing one to Noa.

As she took the glass from him, Julian stepped closer, his hands brushing the flour-dusted table as he moved toward her. He picked up an apron, tying it around his waist before grabbing another and holding it out to Noa with a silent invitation.

The moment felt suspended, charged. Slowly, he turned her, slipping the apron over her head before turning her back again. He handed her a small bowl with a grin, his voice low and teasing.

“You ready to get your hands dirty?” he asked, his voice a teasing mix of challenge and amusement, as he leaned in, eyes sparkling.

Noa grinned, her heart kicking up a notch. She met his gaze and, despite the heat between them, couldn’t resist breaking the moment. “Well, before we get all serious and messy... how about we play my favorite song?” She raised an eyebrow, playful mischief in her voice. 

“And that would be…”

“Move On Up, Curtis Mayfield” she says confidently. “If it’s really about to be a bake off, I think we need to set the official mood.  

Julian laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Move On Up?” he smirked, amused. “It is a proper good tune, yeah.  I’m at your service. I’ll answer your call.” He slowly drawled out. 

“Exactly,” she said, lifting the bowl like a prize. “If we're making dessert, we gotta have the right soundtrack for every mood tonight, she emphasized.”

Julian chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Who am I to argue?” He stepped over to the record player and hit play.

As the upbeat, funky horns of Move On Up kicked in, the whole room seemed to come alive: 

Hush now child And don't you cry Your folks might understand you  By and by Just move on up  Towards your destination Though you may find, from time to time Complication

Noa grinned, her body already moving to the beat. Without missing a step, she started to sway her hips, her feet tapping, her movements flowing with the rhythm. She threw a playful glance at Julian, her eyes twinkling.

“See?” she laughed, swaying a little more. “Much better.”

Then, as if the music had completely taken over, Noa stepped toward him, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to dance with her. “Come on!” she laughed.

They both started moving to the beat, their bodies naturally syncing with the rhythm of the song. Julian, slightly surprised but clearly amused, followed Noa’s lead, his hand finding her waist. They danced around the table, laughing and singing along, the kitchen now feeling like their own private stage.

So hush now, child  And don't you cry Your folks might understand you  By and by Move on up  And keep on wishin' Remember your dream is your only scheme So keep on pushin'

As the song wound down, Julian pulled back, casually leaning against the table to face Noa.  His hands brushed the flour-dusted table area. “Alright then,” he said, voice low, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You ready to get your hands real dirty, yeah?”

Noa flashed him a sly grin, still catching her breath from their impromptu dance. "Oh, I’ve been ready," she teased, voice low and playful. "But I’ll let you take charge... this time."

Julian smiled, a little shy now, stepping closer. He slid behind her, his hands brushing hers as he scooped up a handful of flour, sprinkling it over her hands with a playful grin. "Come here," he said, guiding her in. "Let’s get started."

His body was close—just enough to make her pulse race, but not close enough to touch. She could feel the heat of him, his breath ghosting over her neck as he leaned in, his voice a low murmur. "Don’t worry, I can handle a bit of mess... especially when it’s with you."

Her breath hitched, a shiver running down her spine at his words. She tried to keep her cool, but the tension between them was electric. “We’ll see about that,” she shot back, a laugh escaping her lips, light and teasing.

“You know,” Julian said casually, reaching over for a small jar, “my grandmother used to make this with me when I was little. She’d always say that if you could make a good loaf of bread, you could make anything.”

He grabbed a few different jars from the counter, each one labeled with a different spice. He opened the first one, letting the warm, earthy scent of cinnamon fill the air. “Here, try this,” he said, handing her a pinch of cinnamon to taste. “You know what I love about it? It’s so rich and flavorful, you don’t need a lot of it to make a difference. Some other spices, you have to pour them on, but this…..”

Next, he reached for a jar of cardamom, opening it with a little dramatic flair, letting the sharp, almost citrusy aroma swirl around them. “And this one,” he said with a smile, “This one’s like the secret weapon. It’s intense, but it gives everything a kick.”

As Noa tasted the spices, her eyes brightened. “You weren’t kidding. These are incredible,” she said, her voice warm with genuine surprise.

“Yeah?” Julian raised an eyebrow. “I know, innit? That’s why I love them. They make things a little... unforgettable.”

Noa watched him as he spoke, his hands moving easily, as though he'd been in this space a thousand times, yet there was a softness about him now, a warmth that made both her hearts flutter. She found herself leaning in, captivated not just by the flour on the table, but by the story unfolding in front of her.

Julian moved back toward the table, setting down the spice jars. “Alright,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Right, let’s get this butter sorted.”

He turned toward the bowl of softened butter, taking a few steps to guide the next part of the process. Noa stayed close, hands ready to assist, feeling the warmth of him just inches away. The way he moved, his steady focus, the casual touch of his hand on the counter, it made it feel like everything around them was falling into sync.

Julian paused for a moment, then leaned in closer, his grin widening as he slid a hand through the flour-dusted counter. “You look proper fit,” he said, his voice low, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “But you’ll look even better once we’ve got this dough sorted, yeah? Can’t have you looking too good while we make a right mess, can we?”

Noa laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

As they finished up the last of their dough, Noa glanced at Julian, half-smiling as the memory of their awkward run-in at Wimbledon flickered through her mind. She’d caught that nervous energy in him too, but neither of them seemed ready to dive into it. Instead, she playfully nudged his elbow.

"You know," she said with a sly grin, "we were a bit, uh... weird at Wimbledon, huh?"

Julian chuckled, locking eyes with her. "Oh, you mean when you practically legged it from me? Yeah, that was... something else."

Noa raised an eyebrow. "I wasn’t gonna say it like that," she teased, "but sure, that works."

Julian shrugged, “Guess we’re both better at handling dough than, you know, having a proper chat.”

Noa grinned, her tone playful. “Guess so. Let’s just call it a warm-up to this moment. You know, the one where we make a proper mess together.”

Julian's grin widened at the word proper, and he couldn’t resist teasing her a little. “Oh, so now you’re using proper, yeah? Think you’ve got the hang of it already?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, then. Let’s make this mess proper, shall we?”

The tension lifted, and they both fell into an easy rhythm again, their earlier awkwardness forgotten in the shared silence. The air between them felt different now—lighter, less guarded.

Without a word, Julian moved to stand behind her, sliding closer, his hands guiding hers as they worked the butter together. His body is close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him. Every movement, synchronized, his fingers brushing hers as he directed her with a subtle touch. She could feel the tension between them, building with every gentle press, every soft nudge.

In the background, the sounds of "oohs" and "lalalas" erupted from the record player, as Marvin Gaye began to croon out his heart on his famous I Want You:

I want you The right way I want you But I want you to want me too

The rhythm of the music seemed to mirror the growing connection between them. Noa felt it in the air, this moment, the softness of it, the way everything seemed to fall into place just right. She couldn’t help but smile, wanting to stretch the seconds into hours. The simple closeness between them was enough to make her pulse quicken.

Want you to want me, baby And I want you to do me right, baby Just like I want you...

Julian’s voice cut through the soft melody of Marvin Gaye, low and tender, making her heart race. "So, tell me..." His lips grazed the delicate skin of her neck. Caught up in the moment Julian, went all in — giving her slow deliberate kisses, each one sending a shiver down her spine as he guided her hands over the dough. "What’s something no one knows about you?"

Oh, I give you all the love I want in return, sweet darling But half a love is all I feel

Noa’s breath hitched, the words falling from her lips without thought. The heat between them was undeniable, but in this space, she felt a quiet urgency to share, to let him in. The world outside seemed miles away, and for a brief moment, it was just them, raw, unguarded, and real.

Oh, I give you all the love I want in return, sweet darling But half a love is all I feel

“I’ve always wanted to bake,” she confessed, looking up at him, her voice soft. “But I was never good with my hands.”

Julian’s eyes softened, “You know,” he said, his breath barely grazing her ear, “sometimes the best things happen when you step outside your comfort zone.”

Ooh, it's too bad, it's just too sad You don't want me now But I’m gonna change your mind Someway, somehow, oh baby

His fingers brushed against hers as he took the dough from her, smoothing it out. “I think... that’s the beauty of it, innit? The opportunity to take those steps, make the mess, make the mistakes... you gain the strength and the ability to move forward, yeah? It builds your capacity and gives you the courage to keep going on your journey.”

I want you The right way I want you But I want you to want me too

Julian was saying a bunch of everything and nothing, if she were being honest, but it didn’t stop her heart from beating in her chest, his every word sucking up the space between them. She could hear the soft, rhythmic sound of their movements, the steady kneading of dough, the flour settling onto their skin, their hands working as one. 

They stood in silence for a moment, both lost in their own private world within a shared one. The bakery felt like a cocoon around them. Slowly, Julian stepped back, but only just enough for his breath to skim her neck, sending a shiver through her.

I want you to want me too I want you to want me baby  Just like I want you Ooh, ooh

“And you?” Noa asked, turning around to look at him, her voice barely a whisper as their eyes met.

This one-way love  Is just a fantasy, oh sugar  To share is precious  Pure and fair 

Julian looked at her, his gaze darkening, filled with a tension that made the air feel electric. “Uhm, professionally… I’m learning to prioritize rest in a new way. It’s not something I’ve been great at in my adult life so far, so… I guess I’m still learning,” he said quietly, as if the words carried more weight than he intended. “But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that you never know what you’re capable of until you try.”

He paused, his eyes drifting for a moment before he spoke again. “Personally, spending time in West Croydon with family—that’s my ideal version of the holiday season, every time.” He looked at her, almost as if considering it for the first time. “I’m very much a homebody,” he added softly, more to himself than to her, “and I don’t want that to change, even as my career evolves.”

The soft hum of music filtered through the room, and suddenly, the lyrics rang out:

Don’t play with something You should cherish for life Oh, baby, Don’t you want to care?

Julian stepped forward, closing the gap between them. He lifted his hand, gently caressing Noa’s face, his thumb grazing her lips, lingering a few seconds longer on her lower lip. They stood still, locked in a gaze that seemed to say everything they couldn’t yet voice.

He pulled her closer, his breath warm against her ear. “I want to show you something else,” he whispered, “something a little less... sweet.”

Before she could respond, Julian wrapped around her in a sudden, firm embrace. Noa inhaled as he gently rocked in his arms, holding her close as though they were the only two people in the world. She closed her eyes, losing herself for a moment in the warmth of his embrace, the sweetness of the dough, the scent of him, all of it swirling together in an intoxicating mix.

Ain’t it lonely out there? I want you 

The tension between them was palpable. She was on fire! She pulled away slightly, their faces so close she could feel the subtle hitch in his breath as his lips hovered near hers.

Julian’s hands slid to her waist, his grip firm but gentle as he slowly lifted her onto the edge of the table. Noa gasped as Julian sat her down on the cool surface, her legs instinctively parting as he stepped closer, closing the space between them. 

He put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer. He looked at her with those eyes—the intensity of the colors quickly shifting between blue, green, grey, and hazel, sometimes all at once—before leaning in, his lips brushing hers again, this time deeper, hungrier making her head spin.

His tongue teased against her lips, persuading her to open and let him in, and she couldn’t help but respond, her hands curling around his neck, pulling him closer. His body was so warm, all muscle, and the way he touched her sent shivers down her spine.

The kiss was slow but all-consuming, as if every moment they'd held back had built to this raw want and extreme need. 

Noa couldn’t keep her lips or her hands to herself, her touch leaving trails of heat in its wake, Julian teetering on the verge of losing all composure. 

He broke the kiss briefly, breathing heavily, his forehead resting against hers, their lips still brushing with every exhale. "Tell me what you want," he murmured, his voice rough, almost too intimate.

The words hung in the air between them, charged with possibility and desire. Noa’s heart raced, ready to leap from her chest. She was lost in a haze she couldn’t shake.

The right way I want you

But when she didn’t speak right away, Julian pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against hers. “Look at me. Look at me, Noelle,” he murmured. “There’s no rush,” he assured her, his voice thick with desire. “We have all the time in the world.”

But I want you to want me too... Oh, I want to get down, baby... When I get down with you, yeah, yeah, darlin’, oh, ooh...

Let’s finish this,” Julian said. Gently pulling Noa down from the table, he adjusted her clothes as she stood in a daze. Turning her back to him, he enveloped her body, guiding her hands once more, leading her to continue to their sweet spot: chocolate caramel shortbread. 

As Marvin Gaye continued to play...

Get down, baby Have mercy, listen precious, I know it′s you For a long time, I've wanted you I know, that you could last Oh, baby I want you the right way, babe I want you, baby But I want you to want me too, babe (want you to want me) Got to, got to, love is true (I want you to want me, baby) Oh, the way that I love you

NEXT EPISODE

[theartofmovingseries]

The Art of Tea & Rain [London]

Summary: Noa and Julian unexpectedly cross paths in a cozy bakery, reigniting sparks from their past encounter. Amid the buzz of summer streets, their banter and chemistry lead to an impromptu exploration of the city, blurring the lines between chance and fate.

Word Count: ~3k

Face Claim: Aaron Pierre

Full Episode Soundtrack

Master List

Gail’s Bakery

The summer streets of South London were buzzing. Shops spilled music into the street, giving life to the city, the air carrying the unmistakable scent of street food—chicken, sizzling kebabs, and juicy, juicy mangoes. Buses rumbled by with screeching brakes, and bikes zipped between traffic. The pavements were packed, full of locals and tourists, some locked in conversation, others glued to their phones.

Noa raced to the bakery on the quiet corner, desperate for a drink and a moment to think. Her phone buzzed nonstop—emails, reminders, itineraries—but the promise of an iced mocha overruled it all. It might’ve been summer, but it was still London.

The bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside. She loved it instantly. Cozy, filled with expertly crafted RAW chairs and the faint, mouthwatering scent of bread and pastries that lingered in the air. A perfect little sanctuary to sit by the window, people-watch, and let the world fade into the background.

Across the street, Julian causally weaved through traffic, someone who knew these roads like the back of his hand, he was finally back home. Sunlight danced off his newly bought (and equally expensive) watch as he shoved his hands into his pockets. His eyes lit up when he spotted Gail’s Bakery.

He hadn’t been there since his first breakup with Aisling in Year 9. A memory permanently etched into the square stools and the tall wooden triangle table in the corner. Aisling had cried for fifteen minutes straight that rainy Tuesday afternoon. He hesitated for a second, as the memory hit him, then shook it off and walked in. The bell above the door gave a cheery jingle, as if nothing had ever changed.

He leaned against the counter, waiting for his iced chai latte and a sticky cinnamon pastry, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. The family group chat was going off about Nan’s weekend dinner. This time, it was a celebration, his cousin Tariq and his girlfriend Keisha were expecting, and the whole family was throwing a surprise baby shower. Julian couldn’t wait. Good food, better vibes, and being surrounded by love.

For now, though, he relished the quiet. Not a single person had recognized him. There no camera flashes, no autographs, he could just be in peace.

Just as he got a text asking if he could make his famous chocolate caramel shortbread for the baby shower, he spotted her.

Noelle.

She looked... proper leng. Even better than the first time they met. Julian swore he felt her presence before he saw her. The way she carried herself, owning the room without even trying, it made him question whether this moment was really a coincidence.

Noa spotted him too, casually leaning against the counter with that faint smirk, clearly lost in thought. He looked... at home. As if this bakery was his as much as the city outside.

“Julian.”

Her first sip of iced latte was interrupted by his voice.

“Noelle.”

“What are the odds?” he said, walking over with his iced chai latte and pastry in hand.

“Low,” she replied flatly, trying to keep her cool. But her heart was racing. She hadn’t expected to see him again.

He chuckled, grin widening. “Yeah, the odds are definitely low, init?”

“Well, if the odds are already low, maybe we should make them even lower? Or higher? Honestly, I’m terrible at maths. It is maths with an S on this side of the pond, yeah?”

He placed a hand on his chest, pausing dramatically. “For me,” he teased, “personally…” He pulled out the chair across from her, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Maybe it’s just the universe being... greedy.”

His laughter rang out, turning a few annoyed heads in the bakery.

The barista’s voice cut through the air, calling out a forgotten order, but it barely registered between them.

“But I don’t mind it,” Julian added, his voice quieter now, more sure, before settling into the seat across from her. His presence filled the space between them, drawing her in.

For a moment, the clinking of cups, the low hum of chatter, and Molly the blonde barista yelling for someone to claim their drink became a soothing soundtrack. When someone’s chair scraped too loudly against the tile, Noa jolted slightly, grounding herself again.

Julian leaned back in the chair across from Noa, his expression playful.

“So,” he asked, “you come all the way in here just for a cuppa, or is this another secret mission?”

Noa smiled wryly, deliberately avoiding his eyes as she stirred her tea a little too vigorously.

“I honestly never thought I’d see you again,” she said, her voice soft, but her fingers tapping nervously against the edge of her cup gave her away.

“Why not?” Julian leaned in slightly, his gaze steady. Noa looked up, slowly, reluctantly, and met his eyes.

“Oh, you know. Lousy conversation, but the sex was fantastic. And the fact that you didn’t ask for my number.”

Julian blinked, genuinely confused for a second.

“Veronica Mars. Season two, episode twenty!” Noa shot back, incredulous that he didn’t catch the reference.

“I’ve never seen it,” he admitted, then smirked. “But right—real answer? I didn’t ask, but you didn’t exactly offer, did you?”

Noa arched an eyebrow, choosing not to take the bait.

“Okay, one—can’t believe you’ve never seen the greatest female-led detective show of the millennial generation. Not counting Murder, She Wrote. Two—I’m a lady. And ladies don’t chase. We wait to be pursued. Thank you very much.”

There was an awkward silence, longer than either expected, Julian’s gaze lingering on Noa for a second too long It felt like something unspoken had filled the space between them and neither moved to break it.

“Alright then,” Julian said finally, sitting straighter. A mischievous gleam crept back into his eyes as he leaned forward and lowered his voice.

“Today, I am at your beck and call.”

His tone was laced with teasing warmth, but the look he gave her was something else—closer to sincerity.

Noa tilted her head, intrigued. “My beck and call?” she repeated, drawing the words out, air-quoting them with exaggerated flair.

Julian nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly what I said.”

“And what, exactly, does being at my ‘beck and call’ mean?” she asked, voice coy, testing.

“It means,” he said, shrugging, “that I’ll show you my city and a proper good time.”

His words were casual, but the weight of his gaze wasn’t. It lingered with intention.

Julian gestured around them, then lightly between the two of them.

“And because I know South London like the back of my hand—it’s where I’ve spent most of my life—there’s no place in this city I’d rather live.”

He looked her squarely in the eye. “And you know you want to spend the day with me.”

The confidence in his smirk was both charming and dangerous.

Noa slowly set her cup down, not breaking eye contact. “Maybe I do.”

The tension was so thick, it could’ve been sliced clean with a butter knife. Noa’s heartbeat pounded in her chest. She wanted him. Bad.

Tea & Rain 

They left the bakery and stepped back into the buzz of South London’s summer streets. The sun shining over narrow alleys, and hidden parks that smelled of fresh-cut grass and blooming flowers. Murals burst across the walls, vibrant with Caribbean and African influence, echoing the cultural rhythm of the neighborhood.

Julian walked just a step ahead, guiding them through the maze-like streets like someone stitched into the fabric of the place. He knew every corner, every shortcut, every quiet little nook.

Noa followed, increasingly fascinated—not just by the man, but by the way he belonged. It wasn’t the celebrity sheen she noticed. That fell away here. Here, Julian was just a man at ease, at home.

She glanced sideways at him, curiosity nibbling at her thoughts.

“So… who is Julian Poitier?” she asked, trying to keep the question light, even though it barely scratched the surface of what she really wanted to know.

Julian let out a small, laugh. “Honestly?” he said. “I’m always trying to figure that out. I’m very specific about what I engage with. Things have to be undeniable.”

He shrugged. “And if they’re not, I’m happy just… going about my very mundane life. Enjoying my porridge.”

Noa smiled at that, though she wasn’t sure if it was because she understood or because it was the first answer he’d given that felt truly unfiltered.

“I get that,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Their pace slowed down, the walk became less about where they were going and more about simply walking together.

For Noa—someone who rarely allowed herself stillness—it was unexpectedly calming.

“I think I could get used to this,” she said softly.

Julian turned his head to look at her, his expression gentle.

“You’d fit in here brilliantly,” he said.

She laughed, not entirely sure if he meant South London… or his life. Either way, it was a thought that nestled itself in the back of her mind, warm and unsettling all at once.

Before Noa could get too lost in the idea of what it might mean to fit into Julian’s world—or worse, into his life—she broke the moment with a sudden grin.

“Speed questions!” she called out, pointing at him dramatically. “You have to answer fast, Julian. Like quick quick.”

He chuckled, game as ever. “Deal.”

“If you could do anything outside of acting, what would it be?”

“Easy. Open a bakery.”

“A bakery?” she gasped, clearly not expecting that. “Do tell.”

“You said quick answers, so ‘low it,” he laughed, the sound deep and contagious, rippling through him until his entire face lit up, all thirty-two teeth on display.

Noa laughed too, eyes dancing. “Okay, okay. Serious question—favourite poem?”

“‘April Rain Song’ by Langston Hughes. You know that one?” he asked, suddenly stopping mid-stride and turning to face her.

“I do,” she replied, a small smirk on her lips. “But I’d rather hear it recited by you.”

Julian didn’t need further encouragement. He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a near-whisper. “Flowers,” he added, sending a shiver down her spine.

“A nice dinner…” she teased, closing the space between them with an amused smile.

“You’re winning me over,” he murmured, brushing his fingers gently over her hand, before lacing them with hers. And then, softly, deliberately, he began:

“Let the rain kiss you, Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk, The rain makes running pools in the gutter. The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night. And I love the rain.”

Without missing a beat, Noa echoed the final line with him, their voices overlapping like a harmony.

“And I love the rain.”

They stood there for a second, the poem hanging between them like a suspended breath. Her heart thudded hard in her chest as the weight of everything unspoken between them pressed deep in her chest.

Julian’s eyes dropped to her lips. The look he gave her was unmistakable, and matched exactly what was racing through her own mind. He took a slow, purposeful step forward, even though there was barely any space left between them.

“May I?” he asked, voice low, respectful, giving her room to say no.

Instead, Noa leaned in.

The kiss started soft—careful, exploratory—like they were both testing the edges of something potentially combustible. His lips were warm, his touch reverent. And then it deepened. Her hands found their way around his neck, fingers threading into his hair as the kiss became hungrier, needier. It was like something long-denied being answered all at once.

But just as they were about to lose themselves completely, the first drops of rain began to fall, light at first, then heavier, until it turned into a full-on summer downpour.

They broke apart, laughing as they looked up at the sky. Whether they were cursing it or thanking it, they didn’t know, but one thing was certain, they needed cover.

Because as much as Noa liked a romantic rain moment, let’s be real—a girl’s got beautiful Black hair, and messing it up? There was no way she was letting her hair get ruined.

“Proper good time, in the classic London weather?” Noa said sarcastically, shaking her head and brushing the rain from her face. “And I think the weather here is as unpredictable as you are,” she teased, glancing sideways at Julian.

He raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Oh really? You think so?”

Before she could respond, Julian guided her down the street, his hand gently resting on her back. They approached a narrow storefront—a teal-colored building with “Thornton Heath Tea Emporium” painted in a looping script above the door.

“I figured you might need a proper introduction to South London tea culture,” he said, holding the door open for her with a smile.

Inside, the tea shop was a cozy chaos of mismatched charm. Shelves overflowed with colorful tins, stacked high with vintage tea cups. The air thick with the competing scents of Rooibos, Jasmine Green Tea, Mint, Chamomile, Masala Chai, and Strawberry Hibiscus—just to name a few. It felt like a scene out of Harry Potter when Harry first steps into Ollivanders: full of wonder and intrigue.

Julian, completely at ease in this tiny world, pulled Noa close as he wrapped his arm around her waist. They weaved their way through the narrow aisles, and she couldn’t help but notice how familiar he seemed with the shop. He exchanged warm greetings with the staff, chatting as if he were a regular—because, it seemed, he was.

“So, is this your thing? Tea and pastries?” she asked, glancing at the counter where delicate scones and macarons were neatly arranged in glass displays.

“Not just tea and pastries,” Julian said, his voice full of amusement. “Baking them, too.”

Noa blinked in surprise. “You bake?”

He grinned, clearly enjoying her reaction. “What, don’t I look like a baker?”

“You look like a lot of things,” she replied with a smirk. “But ‘baker’ wasn’t on my bingo card. But I guess you did say you wanted to open a bakery earlier, so that tracks.”

“Guilty as charged. I’m like the dessert guy,” he shrugged, his voice light with pride. “I’ll bring, like, the cake. My favorite thing to make is a chocolate caramel shortbread. My nan’s the real pro, though. She’s been teaching me since I was a kid.”

Noa glanced over at the pastry selection, eyeing a tiny plate of macarons as she thoughtfully took a bite. “These are very grand statements. I’m going to need proof,” she teased.

Julian’s grin widened. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Ehh, more like you promising me a plate of your own shortbread,” she countered, raising an eyebrow as he pulled her back into his arms.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Alright, how about this? I’ll make you the best chocolate caramel shortbread you’ve ever had. But you’ll have to give me your number so I can let you know when it’s ready.”

Noa laughed, but the warmth in his expression was enough to soften her teasing. She pulled out her phone, tapping her number into it before handing it back to him.

“Fine,” she said, feigning reluctance, “But if it’s not amazing, I’m holding it against you forever.”

“Alright, it’s a date,” Julian said, locking his phone and sliding it back into his pocket with a satisfied grin.

Noa raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “A baking date?”

“Absolutely,” Julian replied, his voice light but his eyes warm. “I’ll even let you pick the flavor.”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t make it a challenge,” she teased, wriggling free from his grip and stepping back.

He grinned as he released her. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Noa flashed him a playful smirk as she took a step back, eyes locking with his. “You’ve been warned.”

Julian chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving hers. “I like a good challenge.”

Noa crossed her arms, leaning slightly to one side, her gaze holding his. “We’ll see who’s the real winner when I’m done.”

Julian gave her a final, lingering look before turning toward the counter to pay for their tea selections. Noa couldn’t help but smile, a little thrill stirring inside her at the thought of their upcoming baking date. She had no idea where this would lead, but for the first time in a long time, she felt excited about the possibility of what was to come.

NEXT EPISODE

@theartofmovingseries

[theartofmovingseries]

The Art of Distraction [London]

Summary: Noa reconnects with her close friends, Harper and Jack, while navigating the excitement of Wimbledon and a date with actor, Julian Poitier. Amid the bustle of her busy day, she unexpectedly crosses path with Theo Aldridge-Wells, a famous footballer and former love at the tennis event, stirring up old feelings and unresolved tension between them.

Word Count: 4,500

Face Claims: Aaron Pierre & Ruben Loftus-Cheek

Full Series Soundtrack

Master List

FLASHBACK: Arrival, Wessex International Airport

Noa stepped out of Terminal A at Heathrow, the mild summer breeze enveloping her, the scent of fresh air and distant airplane fuel. She barely noticed the rush of travelers, their chatter blending with the sound of worn luggage wheels, as she made her way to the nearest exit. She couldn’t contain her excitement at finally seeing two of her favorite people—Harper and Jack. It had been far too long. Her fingers grazed the edge of her bag as she fumbled for her phone to text them, but before she could even unlock it, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Noa!”

Harper, in her bright red sunglasses, was shouting and waving her arms enthusiastically, standing amongst the sea of cars in the arrivals lane. Jack was beside her, coffee in one hand and a croissant in the other, grinning as he spotted Noa.

"Been too long, Noa." He chuckled, giving her a high five before taking a sip of his black coffee, no sugar.

“Let’s get out of here,” Harper said, motioning toward the blue station wagon parked at the curb. “We’ll grab a bite and catch up, yeah?”

Noa nodded, her heart already full with the thought of being back in London, the city she'd missed so much. She followed them to the car and slid into the backseat like it was second nature, the worn leather peeling from years of sun exposure and butt imprints. As they drove away from the airport, the city route blurred outside, double-decker red buses, way too many pedestrians, small shops, and the London skyline unfolding in the distance. Inside the car, the laughter flowed just like the old days when Harper, Jack, and Noa had been inseparable.

Harper had been Noa's first adult roommate after college, a friendship that had started from the very first shared apartment in Brooklyn and blossomed into a long and lasting bond. Jack was Harper’s long-term British boyfriend-turned-husband, a rocker in an indie band who’d stolen Noa’s heart with his quiet charisma and passion for music and football.

As they reached Harper and Jack’s flat, Noa and Harper quickly unpacked, tossing their bags aside in their usual lazy fashion before grabbing a few essentials for the night. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway as they prepared to head out. Jack, half-focused on his football match and half on his phone, checking his fantasy team standings, waved them off with a reminder about his early start tomorrow—his team had a big game.

The girls hopped on the Victoria line, the train’s screeching whistle almost drowned out by their excited chatter, and made their way toward the heart of the city, heading for a nearby bar where friends were already waiting. The night was filled with laughter, too many pubs, too many drinks, and the usual chaos of catching up—new gossip, old jokes, and tons of feelings.

A few hours later, after an evening of mayhem and madness, Harper and Noa were exhausted and starving. Of course, both the overground and underground had delays and detours, but all was not lost. The duo finally found themselves at Morley's, greedily ordering way more fried chicken than they ever could’ve needed. They devoured it all, stuffing their faces as drunken laughter rang out from nearby tables.

PRESENT, Harper and Jack’s Flat, South London

Noa’s suitcase sat half-packed, abandoned by the door of the spare bedroom. She leaned casually against the kitchen counter, still in her pajamas, her eyes blurry from lack of sleep. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bagels filled the air as she chatted with Jack about his upcoming Sunday League football season—his first as a full-time manager. Harper, meanwhile, was rushing around, her footsteps fast and frantic as she tried to clear off her quickly half-eaten breakfast, a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee that had already gone cold. She had a double shift at the NHS today, and with the national rail strikes, she’d misjudged how long it would take to get to work. To say she was in a mood was an understatement.

“I swear, I’m sick of these damn strikes!” Harper grumbled, balancing on one foot while tugging on a sneaker. “As a kid of a union family, I’m all for a good strike, but what’s the point if nothing’s actually getting better?”

Noa rolled her eyes, a playful smirk crossing her face. “At least you’ve got strikes. I wish we had more class solidarity in America, but, you know, we just live... and suffer.”

“You need a ride with us to the train, love?” Harper yelled as she dashed to the bathroom to brush her teeth, her voice muffled but still carrying the urgency. She needed to hurry so she and Jack could leave together, and he could drop her off at the station.

“Nah, not today! Since I’m saving on hotel money by crashing with you guys, my job is paying for my transportation—as they should. It’s like door-to-door chauffeur service for all of my events AND a special Anfield Red tour with the love of my lifeeeee, Vaughn van Ryn.” Noa grinned, exaggerating her excitement with a squeal.

“Oooh, stunning!” Harper appeared in the doorway, her face lighting up with a mischievous grin. “Wimbledon today, a special Anfield Red tour with that gorgeous team captain... and... you have that hot baking date tonight with Julian Poitier! Look at you, living the dream. The fanciest I’ll get today is not having to work with that stupid ass nurse, Michael Turner-Bay.” 

Harper dramatically pouted, leaning on Jack, who couldn’t help but laugh.

Noa finished her breakfast bagel and tea, the quietness of the flat echoing the room before her phone buzzed, startling her slightly. Her face lit up when she saw Julian’s name appear on the screen.

Julian (text): I’m in Tesco shopping for our baking date. Just in case you were thinking of airing me. It’s going to be a good time—just you, me, and some flour. [smirk emoji] Noa (text): Hello to you too! I’m not planning on doing anything of the sort because I am a woman of my word. You’re in for a treat, though. Julian (text): Oh, I’m looking forward to it. Are we starting with vanilla, or are we feeling adventurous? [smirk emoji]

It was impossible to ignore the innuendo and anticipation in that text. Whew!

As she left the kitchen to get ready, still rereading every word of the text exchange, she moved through her routine in record time. But just as she reached for her sunglasses, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was an update from a colleague at Wimbledon, reminding her about her schedule for the day and the tasks she needed to tackle before the main event.

I’ll have to figure this out later, Noa thought, slipping her phone into her pocket and stepping out the door. She walked to the train station, already feeling exhausted just thinking of the busy day ahead. As she stood on the platform, her phone buzzed once more. She hesitated for a second, wondering if it was worth responding to Julian now or letting it wait.

This can wait, she decided. She could not get into a heated flirt session before she had to go work—priorities, focus! But just the thought of Julian, and what might unfold between them later, made her mind go straight to the gutter. 

Maybe, after the workday, she could indulge in a little distraction. For now, though, she unfortunately had to go to work.

Wimbledon

Wimbledon Grand Slam Tournament, London  

The busy, bustling city gave way to the serene, more sophisticated world of Wimbledon.

 If only Serena Williams could see her.

The sun-drenched grounds of Wimbledon were a showcase of luxury and pedigree, and Noa couldn’t help but feel the weight of the occasion as she navigated the post-panel mingling. The terrace lounge buzzed with influencers and tennis enthusiasts, their conversations and laughter growing more irritating by the second.

The air smelled of strawberries and freshly cut grass, the constant clinking of champagne glasses a near-deafening backdrop to the chatter. Noa paused at the edge of the terrace, rolling her eyes. “Fucking rich people,” she muttered under her breath.

She appreciated the prestige of it all—she really did—but there was only so much networking she could take in one afternoon. Spotting a quiet corner, she slipped away from the crowd, seeking a moment of calm—casually observing the scene: glasses clinking, cameras flashing, the endless hum of schmoozing uninterrupted.

But peace didn’t last long.

Wimbledon Diversity Panel

When the panel moderator had called her name earlier, she hadn’t noticed him immediately—too much adrenaline, too many bright lights, too many unknown faces. But as she stepped onto the stage, and looked into the crowd, that’s when she saw him.

Leaning casually against the back wall, hands in his pockets, like he had all the time in the world. Theo.

Of all the people, in all the places.

He looked exactly as she remembered—no, more polished now— richer, if that was even possible. Dressed in a crisp linen shirt and dark slacks, his look was the epitome of effortless Milanese flair. Makes sense, given the multimillion dollar move he’d made to Rossoneri Milano Football Club in Milan, Italy (yes, she still read about him from time to time—she was curious, and it’s not a crime, ya know). The faintest shadow of stubble tracing his jawline — definitely sexy. He hadn’t lost that quiet confidence, drawing attention without trying.

Noa had to force herself to focus on the panel moderator’s opening remarks or she was going to make a fool of herself in front of the bougiest crowd in the world. But she could feel his gaze, pulling at her – overwhelming, yet understated. 

It was like she was back in those carefree days: the adventurous student, skipping classes, running around London, getting into all sorts of trouble, sitting in the stands at Chelswold FC, cheering for him in the VIP box, rain or shine—reckless with everything, including her heart.

She had been fresh off the plane, eager to soak in every ounce of the city—its museums, pubs, melting pots of food, music, and culture. The cultism of choosing and supporting a football team and building your entire personality around it. 

Theo had been her accidental introduction to that world—a rising star breaking into Chelswold’s first team, his name buzzing around the city for his midfield prowess. Theo Aldridge-Wells, adored for his blend of strength, elegance, and technical skill wrapped in a commanding (and very desirable) 6'3" frame. Media loved him for his composed and squeaky clean demeanor, on and off the field. It was hard not to agree to a date after meeting him in Morley’s in Lewisham on a rainy afternoon. Probably the only reason why she loves Morley’s as much as she does.

As the moderator began her first line of questioning, snapping Noa out of her very vivid trip down memory lane, their eyes met—Noelle Jameson and Theo Aldridge-Wells—a fleeting, disorienting moment that made the shared years between them feel like a fever dream. 

What started with friendly text conversations over late-night meals and dates after practices and matches, quickly evolved into something too intense and mature for where they both were in their lives. Theo had a way of making Noa feel seen, sometimes too exposed, even when she was surrounded by a city full of people and endless amounts of energy.

He’d sneak her into team dinners and text her the best places for Sunday roast. She’d challenge him to trivia about random London landmarks, and he’d surprise her with how much he actually knew—always letting her know that he was an Aquarius, so she never stood a chance.

But their worlds had been too different, the timing too imperfect. She was chasing academic dreams, he was chasing football superstardom — they were on two different paths. Noa always wondered if she should’ve accepted Theo’s proposal to marry and move to London, but she couldn’t fathom leaving her entire life behind for a chance at love with a young superstar in the making. And so they tearfully and painfully said their goodbyes. Noa refused his marriage proposal on the London Eye. She was terrified, literally and physically of the heights they had reached.

Noa broke eye contact almost immediately, trying to calm her nerves and focus on the panel discussion. But the pull of Theo’s presence is and always had been hard to ignore. The laughter, the stolen glances, the nights they’d shared walking along the Thames like the city belonged only to them. It wasn't, not unwelcome—just unfinished.

The panel was a sweeping success. Noa fielded tough questions with seasoned poise and charisma, navigating the discussion like the professional she’d worked so hard to become.

As the applause faded and the session ended, she quickly left the stage, hoping to blend into the crowd unnoticed. But of course, Theo was already there, waiting. Always, patiently waiting.

Theo clapped, slowly, his smirk teasing.

“Bravo, Noey. Ho sempre saputo che eri brillante, ma cazzo—questa volta ti sei davvero superata.” 

(“Bravo, Noey. Always knew you were brilliant, but damn—you’ve gone and outdone yourself this time.”)

Noa tilted her head, a small smile gracing her face as she stepped closer, her voice low and shockingly seductive.

“Dimmi che sei orgoglioso di me, anche se sai che non ne ho bisogno.” 

(“Tell me you’re proud of me, even though you know I don’t need it.”)

Theo's eyes darkened, and in one fluid motion, he pulled her close, leaned down, and whispered in her ear..

“Sempre orgoglioso di te, Noey. Anche quando eri troppo testarda per vederlo.”

 (“Always proud of you, Noey. Even when you were too stubborn to see it.”)

For a moment, the years and the dispersing crowd melted away, and Noa felt herself magnetically drawn to him, against her better judgment, caught in the pull of a connection that had never truly faded. Did she still love him? She hadn’t seen him in years – how could that be? 

But before the silence grew heavy, Theo pulled back just enough for her to catch the faint scent of his cologne, the woodsy, grounded notes wrapping around her like a comforting yet dangerous mahogany embrace. His voice, a low murmur, seemed to vibrate through her. He forced her to meet his gaze.

“Mi sei mancata.” (“I’ve missed you.”)

Cocktail Hour, Wimbledon Tea Lawn 

His words hung in the air, choking Noa’s courage to walk away. Theo wasn’t asking for anything, but somehow, Noa felt everything. And I mean, everything. 

He walked beside her as they moved toward the post panel cocktail hour on the terrace, finding a table overlooking the tea lawn, falling into conversation with ease. 

Theo gave Noa a once-over, his mind racing at warp speed. Here she was, the girl of his dreams, his first love—Noelle, his Noey—bossing up like she always planned. He just wished he could’ve witnessed it firsthand. He wished they could’ve done it together. 

“Swear down, you really do light up a room… you always have, but this was next level. Inspiring stuff,” he said, his tone light, but there was that underlying admiration. He was proud of her.

“Why do you always do that? Noa asked.  

Theo stopped and gave Noa a pointed look, “Do what?”

“Say something with that look in your eyes, like it’s only for me,” she quietly whispered, trailing off. She refused to make eye contact with him, choosing to pick at her nails instead.

“Because it is only for you, Noelle Jameson," he said, his voice low but firm. He grimaced, then added, "It always has been." His quiet words hung in the air as he held her gaze, unwavering, even as she tried to look away.

Theo smirked but didn’t press further. Instead, he let the tension in the air linger as he called the waiter over to order two glasses of champagne and some refreshments, including the famous Wimbledon strawberries and cream—giving Noa a moment alone with her thoughts.

When the waiter returned, Theo gently set the refreshments on the table and said plainly, “If you’re wondering … it’s the way your eyes light up when you’re passionate about something. Just like today—you were all like…” He gestured with his hands, mimicking her movements from the stage, his arms slicing through the air in exaggerated arcs.

Noa caved and laughed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. 

“Yeah, because you’re just observant. I’m sure you can see every little detail. Must be exhausting, always knowing exactly what to say.”

Theo raised his hands in mock surrender. 

“For some people, maybe,” he quipped, grinning. “Good thing I’m modest about it.”

Noa snorted, shaking her head in disbelief. “Theodore James, you are unbelievable, still.”

She crossed her arms, leaning back slightly, an eyebrow arched as she studied him. 

“So, why are you here? Of all the places a footballer could spend the off-season, even the most avid tennis fans would rather be on an actual vacation than at Wimbledon.”

“Well, as you said, I do like tennis,” he replied, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. 

He raised his champagne glass, taking a sip before narrowing his gaze on her. 

“You’ve seen me play a few matches—my forehand isn’t bad, is it?”

She scoffed, though the corners of her mouth twitched with intrigue. 

Theo leaned in, his voice lowering, pulling her into the space between them. “You’ve seen my court coverage—you know I don’t miss an opportunity,” he teased, his words sliding between them as he reached out, the tips of his fingers grazing her wrist in a featherlight touch.

The faint contact sent a shiver up her arm, and she straightened, her breath catching.

With calculated slowness, Theo dipped his head, his warm breath brushing against her ear as he spoke, his voice raspy and deep. “You’ve seen my backhand,” he murmured, his lips brushing the edge of her jaw. 

“My serve,” he added, punctuating it with a teasing graze of his mouth against her neck.

“And my net game…” He paused, his grinning as his lips lingered just long enough to steal her composure. “…Always up close and personal.”

Her pulse quickened, her body betraying her under the weight of his gaze and touch.

Abruptly, Theo pulled back, standing tall with a mischievous grin as he watched her gather herself, her cheeks warm, and not from the sun, and her arms falling awkwardly to her sides. His eyes sparkled, thoroughly amused by her flustered reaction.

“I was actually invited by my fancy fashion house sponsor,” he said with a nonchalant shrug, breaking the tension with ease. “You know—rich people things.”

Noa glared at him and rolled her eyes. “Of course. How could I forget you and your rich people things.” she deadpanned.

Theo briefly debated whether he should reveal the real reason he was at Wimbledon, but he couldn’t resist—he loved seeing Noa this worked up over him.

As he spoke, movement in the crowd caught his attention. His sharp instincts, honed from years on the pitch, made him notice the curious gazes now turned their way. His jaw tightened slightly before he glanced back at Noa.

She noticed it too. The unmistakable interest of onlookers had found them, murmurs stirring just beyond their little bubble. Her eyes widened as her cheeks felt hot and tingly—not from shame, but from the overwhelming publicity of an intimate moment with her—ex?! Almost fiancé?! Young love?! Paramour?! She ducked her head slightly, to shield herself from the attention. But deep down, she was frustrated and upset—not because people were watching, but because Theo hadn’t given her more.

Theo’s grin softened as he took in her reaction, leaning casually against the small table, smugness written all over his face. 

“Looks like we have an audience,” he murmured under his breath, his tone edged with amusement. “What do you say, Noey—shall we give them a show?”

Noa's brow furrowed, the playful smirk slipping from her face as her gaze flickered nervously toward the growing crowd. She shifted in her seat, trying to regain composure, but there was an unmistakable edge to her voice when she finally spoke. "You think this is funny, don’t you?" she said, her words quiet but sharp.

Theo tilted his head, shifting his gaze between Noa and the hum of the Wimbledon crowds around them—indoor and out. 

"So, when are you going to admit the real reason you left me in London was because you couldn’t keep up with my charm?" he said. 

Noa rolled her eyes. "You wish. I left because life happened. We were different people then."

Theo chuckled softly, leaning in to seductively take a strawberry from the plate. "Right, different people. But it was never the wrong time, Noey. You just had a habit of running when things got too real."

Noa loved her nickname—how he said it, soft and sincere, so full of affection. She wanted to argue, but the words caught in her throat. It was the truth. Theo had been a major part of her life, and she couldn’t shake the weight of how it ended.

"You've always been too good at getting under my skin," Noa muttered, keeping her eyes ahead, avoiding his gaze.

Theo grinned, clearly not fooled by her attempt to change the subject. “So you're not going to let me take you out to dinner tonight? We could do rich people things, yeah?! Or are we just going to pretend like this never happened?”

Noa raised an eyebrow, trying to match his casual tone. “Not sure I’m ready for that level of emotional commitment, Theodore James. But I can’t tonight... I have a date.” 

She smiled to herself, thinking of Julian.

Theo leaned in closer, lowering his voice, his smirk turning teasing. “Oh, I’m definitely holding you to that.” 

He watched her for a moment, as if waiting for something, before adding with a hint of challenge, “Have fun on your 'date.' Just remember to pick up when I call, yeah?”

Noa couldn’t help but laugh, a mix of amusement and intrigue in her voice. “You’re impossible.”

The laughter faded as she glanced around, her attention shifting momentarily. Then, through the sea of people, she saw him.

He wasn’t dressed to stand out—simple polo, sunglasses hooked onto his shirt—but somehow, he still managed to draw attention, he had a presence that made people glance twice without knowing why.

Julian? She blinked, doing a double take.

He looked up, a brief surprise in his eyes before settling into a more composed expression. "Noelle."

In the background, Theo stood, curiously observing the dynamic in front of him, smirking as he heard his "Noey" addressed as Noelle. She never used that name, he thought—only for dates. As the words formed in his mind, it dawned on him that THIS was the date. Julian Poitier, the actor.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, unable to mask her curiosity.

Julian hesitated for half a second, his gaze flicking briefly to Theo Aldridge-Wells, the Rossoneri Milano Football Club and England international, who was still standing next to her.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Julian replied, his tone just the right mix of smooth and playful. 

He didn’t miss the way she’d looked over at Theo, his eyes narrowing slightly in that subtle way actors do when assessing a situation. He didn't like how much Theo stood out without even trying.

He briefly scanned the crowd before settling back on her. “Had some last-minute plans come up. A friend of mine works PR for one of the players, so they gave me a pass to check things out.”

“Oh,” Noa said, nodding as if that explained everything, though it didn’t quite.

Theo chuckled lightly, his easy confidence filling the space between them. 

“Friend of yours?” he asked, giving Julian a polite but brief glance.

Julian’s eyes lingered on Theo for a fraction too long before returning to Noelle. 

“Something like that.”

The awkwardness sizzled between them, and Noa did not like it. She had been so caught up in catching up with Theo that she hadn’t thought twice about what it might look like to someone walking by, someone like Julian. Why was he really here anyway? He was being way too nonchalant and vague.

“This is Theo,” she said quickly, trying to defuse the tension. “We’ve known each other since I lived abroad as a student years ago.”

Theo, sensing the rising tension, offered a small nod in greeting before taking a deliberate step back. “I’ll leave you to it. It was really good seeing you, Noey.” 

He dragged out the syllables, then leaned in to give her a hug. 

As he did, his eyes remained fixed on Julian, a half-grin tugging at his lips. His voice dropped with a quiet challenge as he added, “Enjoy your date.”

He flicked his gaze toward Noa one last time, a silent promise hanging between them. Theo knew when to step back, but today wasn’t that day. Noa was always the one who needed time to figure things out.

As Theo disappeared into the crowd, Julian raised an eyebrow, now fully aware of the unspoken history between them. “I didn’t realize I was crashing a reunion.”

Noa couldn't suppress the nervous laugh that escaped her lips. “No reunion, just... old acquaintances. Long story.”

"Doesn't seem so long if I’m guessing correctly," Julian teased, adjusting his sunglasses with a smirk. He was all too aware of the unspoken tension between Noa and Theo.

Noa knew she was treading dangerous ground with Julian, though she couldn't quite figure out why. She laughed lightly, trying to push past the tension. “Fair enough. Though now I feel like you’ve been holding out on me. Random Wimbledon invites?”

Julian chuckled, tapping his fingers on the small table, his gaze locking onto hers. “I aim to keep things interesting.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I should probably go. Got to go to another panel before the next match.”

Julian nodded, his smile softening, but something flickered behind his eyes. “Yeah, of course. I’ll see you later?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just gave her a knowing smile, his silent challenge clear. Noa gave a quick wave before heading off, but the air between them still felt charged.

Julian watched her leave, hands shoved in his pockets, his mind spinning. The way she moved, the way she looked at him—it all felt too... familiar. His gaze drifted to Theo, standing off to the side, still watching them. That guy. Julian wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much, but it did. He wasn’t about to spiral over a girl he’d just met, but damn, he didn’t like how easy it seemed between Noa and Theo.

Tonight, though? Tonight, he’d show Noelle a good time. A real good time.

NEXT EPISODE

[theartofmovingseries]

The Art of Passports to Paris

Summary: After an unexpected 24 hours in Amsterdam, plans shift with a last-minute assignment that extends time in Europe—back to London, then on to Paris for Haute Couture Week, where career moves, late-night jazz, and tangled connections collide in the City of Love.

Full Episode Soundtrack

Master List

Dreams by Fleetwood Mac

The first signs of sunrise sprinkled across the tiny cul-de-sac in South London, nudging Noa awake, whether she wanted to participate or not. The morning sun peeked through the curtains, finding Noa sore and bruised from last night’s sparring with Julian—physically and mentally. Every muscle in her body ached like she had been hit by a Mack truck.

She had managed to sneak in undetected last night, grateful that Harper and Jack were sound asleep. She loved them, but she was not in the mood for another round-robin of questions about her love life, the first one had spun her head. She was exhausted from the last few days, and instead of being able to lie in bed like she had a Victorian wasting disease, she had to be in Aldwych by 10 a.m. to meet Viv and the on-the-ground team preparing for their work in Paris. She’d rest before Monaco, she promised herself—just get through this project first.

Slipping out of bed, Noa moved quietly through the flat so as not to disturb anyone. She took a quick but steaming hot shower—hair be damned. Okay, maybe not too hot, she wasn’t that reckless, but she needed the heat from the water to burn her like she was in the depths of hell. Maybe it would bring her back to life.

Post-shower, she pulled on her cutest professional attire. She was meeting Viv, and Vivian Marchand was a dresser. Noa may not have Viv’s budget, but she knew greatness when she was in its presence, and she would soak up all she could. 

Quietly gathering her work bag and slipping on her travel shoes (she’d change into her heels at work), she headed out the door into the newly awakened city, mouth watering for that Iced Black and Strawberry & Ricotta cake from Gail’s.

For once, the Overground into central London was quiet, not a Chatty Cathy or a crying baby in sight. Instead, train riders were lost in their own worlds—scrolling on their phones, reading books, nodding off to sleep against the windows with their headphones blasting tunes.

Noa took a window seat, resting her head against the glass, her playlist of choice blasting the latest tunes to get her ready for the busy day ahead.

One deep breath in the quiet solitude of the Overground, a final moment of calm before plunging into the chaos of central London.

Noa stepped out of the underground and into the hustle and bustle of the central London workforce. Double-deckers and black cabs fought for street dominance, while pedestrians clambered on sidewalks on their way to work, rapidly clicking away on their phones or yelling in them to coworkers who didn’t seem to be listening. 

Between the Thames and the London School of Economics, Aldwych House was an office for all, an intersection of culture and commerce, drawing creatives, tech bros, and financiers alike. Noa’s team leased space because SoHo House was across the street, and for central London, the rent was cheap.

The entrance to Aldwych House was a gilded oasis, the tasteful type you often found in Wall Street and Midtown buildings in New York City, not Trump Tower gaudy, but subtle, understated wealth, the reason your coffee cost nearly $10 a cup with every passing year.

A single large gold revolving door served as both entrance and exit, leading to a grand lobby with high ceilings, white marble geometric prints, and delicate metallic trim greeting you as you whirled through. As Noa entered, she passed at least two dogs with their owners, probably her coworkers, quickly making their way to the sleek, polished elevators that looked like they’d take you to heaven and not to the lowest pits of hell, aka the office.

Noa made her way past the marble reception desk, quickly reaching Mr. Leroy Bailey, who handed her a one-week temporary badge with a swift set of building etiquette in his fatherly West Indian tones. She entered elevator 6 and took the ride to the 17th floor. 

Misread by Kings of Convenience

Stepping out of the elevator, Noa was greeted by the sounds of London’s best pop music, as she walked the corridor full of floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing panoramic views of the city. As she entered the glass door for her office, she was greeted by the team’s Administrative Assistant, Milly Albright, who looked like Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds, and a sign letting employees know that the rooftop was now open for folks to enjoy, with new outdoor furnishings and 360-degree views of central London.

After spending two minutes chatting with Milly and getting the lay of the land, Noa was introduced to Sebastian and Georgia-Louise, two members of the team that would be supporting her in Paris. They chatted a bit in a nearby conference room over breakfast tea and pastries as they awaited the arrival of Viv and Maya-Rose, their American counterpart based in Paris. 

Sebastian William Hale & Georgia-Louise 

“So, Noa, tell us, how’d Vivian rope you into this?” 

Sebastian William Hale, or Bash, as he liked to be called, was the quintessential London posh boy, a Jude Law in his prime type — the old money sophistication and aristocratic charm of a man-child who had been on the receiving end of privilege and good genetics — tall, athletic build, baby blue eyes, and perfected “messy” blond hair, the result of too much time in the mirror and too much product in his hands. 

Noa smirked, stirring her tea. “Let’s just say she made an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

Sebastian tried really hard to dress like he was rich but nonchalant about it, when really he looked like he walked out of a polo match, navy blazer over the most well-ironed white shirt, tailored beige pants, and dark brown suede loafers. He intentionally aimed for minimal accessories, but that gold Cartier watch and Persol aviators attached to his shirt wouldn’t fool anyone.

“So,” Georgia-Louise said, voice dripping with those undertones, “you’re the one Vivian’s been waiting for.”

If Sebastian looked like Jude Law, then Georgia-Louise Windsor, always Georgia-Louise (because, apparently, the London office only hires those with impeccable pedigree. Miss Windsor hailed from the Armitage family in some obscure corner of England that Noa had never heard of (and likely never will again) and was the Barbie to his Ken, bright blue eyes, soft blonde waves, hoity-toity high society vibes. She dressed in a cream-colored belted blazer dress, her dainty French-manicured fingers wrapped around an engraved porcelain teacup with “Georgia-Louise” on it, as she assessed Noa with quiet curiosity.

“Am I?,” Noa asked, curiously, waiting for Georgia-Louise to say something out of pocket so that she could clock her tea before the meeting got off the ground. 

Sebastian smirked, taking a sip of his coffee before chiming in. “Vivian Marchand doesn’t wait for anyone.”

Intro by XX

The door swung open at exactly 10 a.m. In walked a statuesque woman. Mahogany skin. High cheekbones. Full lips, painted in the richest red. A silk press so perfect, it could rival former VP Kamala Harris.

Vivian Marchand.

She was tailored to perfection in the most luxurious fabrics: today, a deep emerald green short-sleeve Jason Wu crepe shift dress with subtle bodice detailing, paired with navy Manolo Blahnik suede heels, accessorized by a navy Dior clutch and jewelry from a London-based ethical jeweler, gold leaf earrings and bangles.

Her dark eyes quickly scanned the room, looking for Noa as she set her briefcase on the table.

“Noa, darling, I am so happy to see you!” Vivian greeted, a warm smile on her lips. 

“Sebastian, Georgia-Louise,” Vivian greeted smoothly, her dark, piercing eyes locking eyes with each of them in calculated assessment. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Georgia-Louise, who probably rarely found herself rattled by anyone, sat a little straighter. “We have as well, Vivian.”

Vivian Marchand took her seat at the head of the conference table with the confidence of someone who owned every room she entered. Crossing one leg over the other, she grabbed the video monitor remote, ready to get to work.

“Let’s get down to business,” she announced abruptly, clapping her hands once before clicking the remote. The screen lit up: Paris Haute Couture Week: Beyond the Grandeur.

“The July Haute Couture Week in Paris is organized by the Fédération de la Haute Couture et de la Mode (FHCM), featuring exclusive couture collections from official haute couture houses and invited guest designers. Some of the top brands that regularly showcase their collections include Chanel, Dior, Schiaparelli, Jean Paul Gaultier, Giorgio Armani Privé, Givenchy, Elie Saab, Balenciaga, and Valentino (though not officially haute couture, it presents during the week). There are several other brands invited to present couture collections but are not officially designated haute couture houses, like Fendi Couture, Zuhair Murad, Rahul Mishra, and more,” she said, barely glancing at the presentation deck as she rattled off the information.

She paused, letting the list settle. Then, she leaned forward slightly. “So why do we care?” she asked rhetorically. “Everyone loves to talk about inclusion, but we’re here to see who’s actually doing the work.”

She let the moment hang before delivering the real announcement.

“We’ve been invited to the annual Vogue Paris Foundation Gala,” Vivian declared. “Hosted by Vogue France at the Palais Galliera (Musée de la Mode de la Ville de Paris), with a curated guest list of A-listers, top designers, models, industry elites, and media powerhouses, to support the museum’s fashion collections. And, of course, us,” Viv beamed.

Sebastian clapped his hands and whistled. Georgia-Louise muttered something incomprehensible  under her breath, rolling her eyes in annoyance at Sebastian. Noa sat taking in the screen and all of the presentation details in silence.

Viv smiled, pleased by their reaction. “But we aren’t just there for the celebrity, champagne and couture.” 

Her eyes landed on Noa. She leaned forward, hands clasped together. “I need you on the ground. Not just for the glitz but for the gaps. Every designer will say they’re committed to inclusion, but are they truly? Who’s on their runways? Who’s behind the scenes? Who’s in the rooms where decisions are made? We. Need. To. Know.” She emphasized each word, tapping her pen on the glass table.

Noa nodded, feeling the importance of this assignment deep inside her chest. This wasn’t just about fashion; it was the opportunity to expose gaps in an industry that never faces accountability for their lack of diversity in every way — an industry that loved to pat itself on the back.

The Less I Know The Better by Tame Impala

A knock at the glass door pulled them out of the moment.

“Ah,” Vivian said, glancing up. “And here’s our Paris connection.”

The door opened, and in walked Maya-Rose.

Petite but commanding, Maya-Rose Harris-Stowe was the epitome of double barrelled. Her tousled wavy banged bob, perfectly angled to frame her face, bounced slightly with every step. She wore a summery Zimmermann long sleeve mini dress with blue blossoms that showed off her toned brown legs and swayed gently as she moved. She rocked an earthy coat of eye shadow, a pair of aqua blue heels and looked perfectly made up with a coat of bronze blush on her cheeks and a tint of berry-hued lipstick on her heart shaped lips.

As she entered the room, her deep brown eyes sparkled with a mixture of curiosity and warmth, taking in the scene, figuring out where she needed to be—ready to charm.

“Hi everyone. Sorry I’m late,” she said, slipping into a chair.

Bash, clearly enamored with Maya-Rose, raced to introduce himself and the entire room. “I am Sebastian, but everyone calls me Bash,” he gleamed. “Noa, Georgia-Louise, and the very famous Vivian Marchand—but you probably already know her,” he stammered, almost knocking over his bottle of water in the process.

“Thank YOU, Sebastian,” Viv said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

At that, Viv clicked open her briefcase and pulled out a manila folder, laying it flat on the table. She flipped it open, revealing a meticulously arranged schedule for Haute Couture Week. The air in the room shifted back to business. The conversation quickly turned to strategy— names were thrown around, schedules mapped out, and behind-the-scenes politics dissected. Noa scribbled notes as Sebastian tossed in data insights about attendees, and Georgia-Louise countered with the PR and communication KPIs. Maya-Rose provided a landscape analysis, and Noa gave a quick download on global equity initiatives that could be of interest to specific fashion house directors.

The next half hour was a flurry of ideas— notes scribbled in Noa’s journal, a running list of designers to watch, PR reps to charm, and behind-the-scenes names who could give them real insight. They debated which shows to attend, which ones would actually push boundaries, and which ones were just performative.

“We should have a tracker,” Georgia-Louise suggested. “Proper diversity— models, designers, execs. If they’re banging on about it, we should have the receipts.”

“I can sort that,” Sebastian said, already typing on his phone.

Vivian nodded approvingly. “This is why you’re here.”

Maya-Rose took an opportunity while Viv was deep in conversation with Sebastian and Georgia-Louise to shoot Noa a grin. “You must be the infamous Noa. I’ve heard good things,” she whispered.

“All lies,” Noa quietly quipped back. 

By the time the initial plan was in place, the team felt more prepared than when they entered the room but definitely more tired. The work ahead was daunting, but they were ready.

Vivian clicked off the projector and began to gather her things. “Now that we have done our homework, you all are free to take lunch and spend the rest of the day preparing for the road ahead. I look forward to seeing you all very soon.”

“Let’s continue this over lunch,” she declared, rising gracefully from her seat. “There’s a place nearby, quiet enough to talk, but good enough to make it worth our time.”

“Sold,” Noa said, gathering her things.

Powerlines by Cassia

Lunch with Maya-Rose

Noa and Maya-Rose left the conference room, quietly chatting as they walked through the open-concept office space, quickly greeting colleagues at their desks some huddled around high tables with laptops, others deep in animated discussion.

Once they reached the gold elevators, Maya-Rose pressed the button. "There’s a spot I love just a short walk from here. Beautiful outdoor seating, serves great cocktails. It’s one of my favorite places for Indian street food, with Bombay-style decor. Very upscale,” Maya-Rose said, giving Noa a wink.

“I forgot, Viv said that you are an American? Londoner?” Noa asked as they stepped inside the elevator and the doors shut.

“Ehh,” Maya-Rose hesitated before diving into her life story. “I was born in LA, surprisingly,” she chuckled, looking at Noa, “but my dad’s job took us all around the world—he’s a retired journalist. So I would say my longest stays were in London and Paris, hence why I have the job at that office,” she said just before the elevator doors opened.

The women stepped out into the main lobby, Maya-Rose pausing before lightly grabbing Noa by the arm to get her attention. “I hope it isn’t too weird, but I heard that you and Theo Aldridge-Wells are together….”

Noa froze, her grip tightening on her bag. 

“We grew up together, that’s all. I didn’t want you to think that I was hiding that since we just met and all,” Maya-Rose rushed out as Noa stood frozen in shock.

“I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to make it awkward or anything,” Maya-Rose whispered.

Noa finally came back to reality and quickly refocused herself on the conversation.

“Oh, it’s not awkward, I just—Theo and I—we did date, for a long time—but we aren’t together,” Noa said, looking off into the distance.

“Oh! Awkwarddddddd,” Maya-Rose laughed, trying to ease the tension.

“I just saw the—”

Maya-Rose hesitated for half a second.

“Paparazzi photos in—”

“Amsterdam,” Noa finished, exhaling as they spoke at nearly the same time, then bursting out laughing.

As they stepped out of the revolving door of the Aldwych House and into the hustle and bustle of central London.

Maya-Rose led them towards Covent Garden, expertly weaving through the crowd with Noa keeping pace beside her. They quickly reached St. Martin’s Courtyard and arrived at Dishoom Covent Garden.

A waiter led them to a cozy corner table by the window, with light greenery and little lightbulbs strategically placed in the wooden textured ceilings—a nice complement to the uniquely brass-wicker combination chairs at the table. Before he left, he poured the women two glasses of water and handed them menus. The restaurant was full of lively conversation, a mix of business lunches and tourists on their taste trails. Noa scanned the menu as Maya-Rose set her phone on the table face-down.

“So, tell me something about you that is NOT as awkward as I made it earlier,” Maya-Rose giggled, neatly organizing her cutlery and taking a sip of her water.

Noa exhaled a quiet laugh, also taking a sip of her water. “Oof, that’s a big question to ask someone as indecisive as me.”

Maya-Rose grinned. “Start with something simple. Where’d you grow up?”

“Brooklyn,” Noa said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Born and raised. New Yorker through and through—to a fault, sometimes,” she laughed.

Maya-Rose’s eyes lit up. “Brooklyn girl. I respect it. What was it like?”

Noa thought for a moment. “Loud. Fast. Never a dull moment. So much at your fingertips. I was the kid with a book in her bag at all times, begging my mom to let me go to the museums by myself, if that paints a picture of the type of nerd I was,” she laughed.

“Bet you were the type to correct teachers when they got something wrong,” Maya-Rose teased.

“Only when necessary,” Noa replied, a smile crossing her lips. “I wasn’t trying to be a know-it-all, but I liked knowing things. I still do. Things were always changing and moving, inside my home and outside, so knowing things made me feel... steady, I guess. Like if I could just learn enough, I’d always be prepared for anything.”

Maya-Rose nodded. “I get that. My family moved around so much, stability in a home was definitely not commonplace. I think that’s why when we finally landed in Paris, I never— I guess I never left. ” she quietly laughed, letting the words settle into her own silent realization.

In between their heart-to-heart, the waiter returned, taking their orders. As he walked away, the scent of grilled spices and freshly baked naan drifted followed him, engulfing the conversation around them. A burst of laughter from a nearby table momentarily pulled Noa’s attention, forcing her to take a look around and take in the moment before she spoke again. 

“Yeah,” Noa said, her voice softer now. “I think for me, it was about control. Life can be unpredictable, but if I had a plan, if I had goals, I could at least decide my own direction.” 

She paused, as if weighing her words. “I always knew I wanted something concrete, like a north star—something that wouldn’t slip through my fingers—whether a career, passion, or hobby, something that could just be my own, ya know? With my career, it is all those things wrapped into one at times. And it’s that north star. No matter who comes or goes, it doesn’t shake how I can show up for myself… and for others, making a way for my community and those with less opportunity.”

Maya-Rose studied her for a moment. “You’re pretty badass, you must know that. Viv couldn’t stop raving about this young upstart that rivaled her own rags to riches story, her protegee in the making. ” she teased.

Noa laughed, loud enough to get a few patrons to glance up from their tables. “I wish I were as badass in my personal life as I am in my professional life” she joked. “Viv has been a real power player and inspiration, so I only hope to be as half as good as she is when I get to her age.” she hesitated. “Lately, though, it’s felt like the more I try to control things, the less steady they feel, especially in my personal life."

“Ooh, do tell,” Maya-Rose asked curiously.

Just then, the waiter interrupted Maya-Rose’s impending inquisition, returning with their meals, setting down steaming plates of vegetable and lamb samosas, chili cheese toast, vada pau, chota papad, and chicken berry britannia— a lunch time feast to share between the two of them. The clinking of cutlery and buzz of conversations filled the restaurant, the soft glow of hanging bulbs setting a golden ambience over their table. Noa reached for her napkin just as her phone buzzed twice beside her water glass.

Noa stared at her phone for a beat, her fingers hovering over the screen. 

Julian: Dinner tonight?  Theo: [Photo of him on the plane with teammates] Heading out for national team duties.

Maya-Rose arched her brow. "That looked like a dilemma face."

Noa exhaled a laugh, locking her phone and setting it back on the table. "Not at all. Just figuring out my evening plans."

"Well, if the plans involve someone sending you cute texts that make you blush, I'd say the choice is clear."

Noa smirked but said nothing, instead picking up a piece of chili cheese toast. "So, Maya-Rose, tell me—what’s your biggest fear?” she laughed before pausing. “I’m kidding, kidding… What does it really mean to be on the ground in Paris?” she asked.

Maya-Rose stared straight at Noa before stating matter-of-factly, “Never finding love. I was desperately in love once, and it didn’t work out… I hope I find that love again, tenfold,” she said, pausing to slightly nod her head as if she were manifesting this truth to the universe.

Noa let out a surprised laugh, not expecting Maya-Rose to take the question seriously but she liked that about her. She appreciated people who were game for anything, no hesitation. 

“Oh.” Maya-Rose leaned in slightly, her voice lowering just enough to draw Noa in.

"For your actual question… It’s not just about the shows. It’s about knowing where to be and who to watch when no one thinks they’re being watched. It’s all of the drama that no one talks about and no one is hoping you're asking about—the fashion, the fittings, the castings, the celebrity aspects, the exclusive pre-show dinners. Who gets dropped last minute? Who is being added as so-and-so’s plus-one? Why is this person not on the red carpet? Etc., etc."

Noa nodded slowly, already mentally filing away the insight. "And you have eyes everywhere?"

Maya-Rose smirked. "Let’s just say I know how to be in the right place at the right time. And by the end of the week, so will you," she said, picking up a piece of chili toast.

"So, tell me specifically about the gala," Noa asked. "Viv, in all of her drama, makes it sound like the Oscars of fashion."

Maya-Rose laughed. "It kinda is, to be honest. It's also one of the most political rooms in the industry. You have these designers, yeah, they want to only be seen with the best of the best, the 'right' people. Your celebs only care about the best placements. Journalists want exclusives, of course. And all of those larger-than-life personas are bursting at the seams to tattle on or one-up each other in some way." She tilted her head. "And that’s where we come in."

Noa’s eyes beamed with conspiratorial knowledge as she looked across at Maya-Rose. "So we’re basically the Inspector Jacques Clouseaus of couture."

Maya-Rose raised her glass in a toast. "Exactly, dahling. Very Pink Pantheresses of Haute Couture."

“Well, every reference I have of French fashion came from Brigitte in Passport to Paris,” Noa laughed as she raised her glass.

“Count it, dahling. Count it,” Maya-Rose said. “Bonjour, bonjour!”

While Maya-Rose finished her chili toast, Noa squared away the lunch tab with the company credit card and had a sip of water, 

Maya-Rose wiped her fingers on a napkin. "Well, dahling, I should probably dash. Cool if I text you later to start our packing plans and coordinate travel? I got your number from the “Welcome to Paris” packet Viv put together." she says as she begins to stand and collect her items.

Noa laughed, "Sounds good. I snatched yours up as well. Safe travels, yeah."

With a final clink of their glasses, Maya-Rose was gone, leaving Noa a quiet moment to catch her breath and regroup after a long day of new beginnings so to speak. 

The Green Note Jazz Club

Noa pulled out her phone, checking the messages that had come through while they were talking.

Julian: "Dinner tonight?" Noelle: "Sure." Julian: “Safe. I’ll pick you up at 7:30, yeah?” Noelle: "Deal. What’s the dress code this time? [smirk emoji]" Julian: "Proper smart." Noelle: "??? I don’t know what that means." Julian: [Location pin] "I was trying to keep it a secret, innit." Noelle: "Damn, look at me, ruining plans." Julian: "You said it, not me. [laughing emoji]"

Settling an actual second date with Julian made Noa smile, but before she could open that door fully, she needed to respond to her other message — Theo. 

Theo: [PHOTO - England Men’s National Team players in their team uniform in a selfie on the team private jet]  "Heading out for national team duties."

Noa grinned, tapping out her response:

Noey: "Safe travels! You’re going to kill it. Say hi to everyone but my self-appointed arch-nemesis, you know who! Kiss Basil and give my mom a hug for me, but don’t be too nice or give too much love – they are MY people, dem." Theo: “Noey, they are always my people dem too, innit. ‘Low it!” Theo: “Oh, Theresa and Tara want fashion week photos, Kayo too…. So GC us, yeah?” Noey: You don’t even like fashion…. Theo: “A Milanese designer LOVES to see me coming, Noey….”  Noey: [Sure Jan gif]  

Noa hit send on the final message to Theo. She grabbed her things, and headed out of the restaurant back into the ho-hum of the city. As she made her way to the tube station, her phone buzzed again—this time, it was the Patats group chat.

Selam: "What days are you gonna be in Paris, Noe?" Amina: "Spare room is waiting for y’all!" Selam: "N*ggas in Paris?! Part Deux?! Beyoncé?" Carmen: "We coming?!" Amina: "Lore???" Selam: "Bet she's still in Costa Rica... What are you doing there anyway, Lorraine?" Lore: "Actually, I am back in Toronto, but y’all said... Paris?! I do work remotely [smirk emoji]."

Noa laughed in between her replies:

Noa: "Just say the word. Beyoncé too?! Cracks open Patats N *ggas in Paris Google doc. I’ll drop the doc. Y’all really coming through??" Selam: "I have miles… and AmEx concert points [smirk emoji]." Amina: "I SAID: Spare room's BEEN waiting…." Carmen: "I can take a day or two off…." Selam: "Is this happening??? YES." EVERYONE: "LORRAINE???" Lore: "Why am I always the one being bullied into responses? Y'all know I am in! Always." Noa: "OUI! Bonjour! Croissant! Merci! Beyoncé… that’s a French-ass name…" EVERYONE: [laughing emojis]

Noa hit send on the final message and dropped the Google doc into the chat just as the tube arrived. She’d have the Patats drop all the plans and she’d be ready for their Parisian shenanigans. Her mind shifted to the evening ahead, knowing she had a little time before dinner with Julian.

Arriving at Harper and Jack’s, Noa found the flat empty with a note from Harper letting her know that she was working a double at NHS and Jack had a match in Sheffield, but demanding breakfast tomorrow for the three of them. She laughed at the note because she knew Harper meant business. She raced to take a quick nap before she headed out again. 

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room by John Mayer

At 7:30 p.m. sharp, Noa’s phone buzzed with a message from Julian. Outside.

A small burst of excitement ran through her as she glanced at herself in the mirror one last time. Satisfied, she grabbed a jacket in case she got cold in the night air, smoothed a hand down her dress, and hurried out of the flat, locking the door behind her.

Based on the location pin Julian sent, she knew that they were headed to a jazz club, but had no idea what the man had planned beyond that but surprisingly, she wasn’t anxious about not knowing every detail. 

The cul-de-sac was unusually quiet, as Noa quickly clicked on the pavement towards Julian’s sleek black Audi SUV, parked a few steps away under the soft glow of a single streetlamp. The engine idled, humming in a low, steady rhythm, and through the windshield, she could see Julian waiting, his hands resting casually on the wheel. 

As she neared, the driver’s door opened, and Julian stepped out in an all-black fit, with his favorite gold-rimmed glasses and chain. He looked SO good. If he didn’t quickly rub the top of his head, brushing his little curls before he spoke, Noa would’ve never guessed he might have been as nervous as she was.

You look…” He trailed off, giving her a slow once-over. His eyes danced with mischief as he finished, “Exquisite.”

Noa felt her face heat up a bit, smiling slightly. Before she could respond, Julian’s gaze shifted to something behind his back, and with a quick motion, he reached in and pulled out a neatly wrapped package.

He held it out to her, amusement dancing across his face. 

“For you,” he said. 

Noa blinked, surprised. “What’s this?”

"Just a little something I thought you might like." he shrugged, as if the gesture was nothing, but the way he watched her, told her otherwise.

Intrigued, Noa took the package, her fingers brushing against his, their fingers quickly shocking each other. The paper crinkled in her hands as she glanced up at him, arching her brows. “Should I open it now or wait?”

Julian smirked, stepping back to open the passenger door for her. "Up to you. But, for me? Personally, I’m a fan of a bit of delayed gratification." he winked. 

Noa rolled her eyes, laughing, but slipped into the car, placing the gift on her lap. Whatever it was, she had a feeling it was something thoughtful, something that meant more than he was letting on. She could never get this guy nailed down, she thought to herself, as he closed the door. 

"Right on time," Noa teased, catching Julian’s eye as he hopped in the driver’s seat.

Julian took another slow once over of Noa,  before smirking, "Ready for a bit of an adventure?" 

Noa fastened her seatbelt as she turned to him with a smirk. "That depends. Are you planning to tell me what we are actually doing, or are you keeping me in suspense all night, sending me location pins, every step of the way?"

Julian only grinned, tapping the GPS screen where a location pin blinked back at them. "Where’s the fun in giving it all away up front, yeah?"

Noa huffed but couldn't hide her smile. Julian played his cards close to his chest. And for now, she’d let him.

“So,” Julian says, “I wanted to take you to a legendary place tonight. It’s proper iconic, world-class acts, a rich history, and that classic, intimate jazz club atmosphere. The best of the best in live jazz.” He hesitates, then grins. “But… for tonight, I decided to go smaller, cozier, more laid-back, with a bohemian feel. We could discover new talent.” His eyes spark with mischief.

“Well,” Noa leans in closer, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, “we must set the mood… for the delayed gratification.” She winks and connects her phone, scrolling through her carefully curated Jazz Love Songs Essentials playlist before pressing play.

Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off 

🎶 Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off 🎶 Things have come to a pretty pass Our romance is growing flat For you like this and the other While I go for this and that Goodness knows what the end will be Oh, I don't know where I'm at It looks as if we two will never be one Something must be done You like potato and I like potato You like tomato and I like tomato Potato, potahto, tomato, tomahto Let's call the whole thing off

Julian hummed along, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as Noa stretched deeper into her plush seat, softly singing along. 

Don’t Know Why by Norah Jones

Noa glanced out the window and immediately spotted the Green Note, a hidden gem of London's jazz scene with its deep green brick exterior illuminated by a canopy of lights. The warm, inviting glow spilled onto the pavement as people gathered around the entrance, some pausing to check the menu chalkboard outside.

Julian cut the engine and turned to her, “We’re here,” he announced. 

Noa unbuckled her seatbelt marveling at the venue, excitedly anticipating what was to come. Above the entrance to the club, the name "Green Note" was lit up in vintage-style lettering, by two Hollywood-esque stage lights, that if you blinked you’d miss. As one got closer, photos of past performances—posters of all shapes and sizes—were displayed, covering the club’s window, capturing moments of raw emotion, and the passion for live music. 

A velvety voice inside floated out onto the street—Don’t Know Why—melancholic and longingly, drawing them in like Norah Jones herself was performing.

🎶 Don’t Know Why🎶 I waited 'til I saw the sun I don't know why I didn't come I left you by the house of fun Don't know why I didn't come Don't know why I didn't come

Julian stepped out of the car and moved around to open Noa’s door, offering a hand as she slid out. 

Noa took his hand, the warmth of his palm lingering longer than it needed to. 

He stepped forward, offering his arm in an old-school gesture, tipping his head towards the entrance. “Shall we?”

Noa hesitated for half a second before slipping her arm through his. 

The two of them walked inside, greeted by the velvety sound of a saxophone warming up on stage. The venue was intimate, small dark cherry wood round tables with plush round stools, a single candle on each table, twinkling against the deep wood and mosaic paneling. The air smelled like aged whiskey and a faint hint of cigar smoke.

A hostess led them to a cozy table near a beautifully aged baby grand piano, just close enough to feel the music but far enough for private conversation. 

As they settled in, Noa took a moment to soak it all in—the ambiance, the warmth of the place, and the easy way Julian leaned back in his chair, appearing to totally be in his element, watching her, his hazel eyes sparkling beneath the dim lit candle on their table.

Come Away With Me by Norah Jones

Just as the waitress came over, introducing herself with a warm smile before placing the menu in front of them,  another singer took the mic, crooning out the dreamy notes of Come Away with Me, setting the perfect backdrop for the evening.

🎶 Come Away with Me 🎶 Come away with me in the night Come away with me and I will write you a song Come away with me on a bus Come away where they can't tempt us with their lies And I wanna walk with you On a cloudy day In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high So won't you try to come?

Julian, however, wasn’t quite ready to let Noa focus on the menu just yet. 

He sat up slightly, his gaze playful, "Are you going to open it now?" he asked, referring to the neatly wrapped package he had given her earlier.

"Or should we order first and you leave me hanging a bit longer?" his tone teasing yet expectant.

Noa chuckled, glancing at the menu for a second before deciding to take a look at the gift she quietly placed on the table when they arrived. 

She took it in her hand, inspected it, raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it with you and delayed gratification?” 

She gave him a knowing look, though her fingers had already started to peel back the paper.

Julian smirked, his eyes lighting up as he watched her. He said nothing, shrugging nonchalantly, though the razor focused anticipation in his eyes told a different story.

Slowly, crinkling paper the only sound between them for a moment, Noa unwrapped the gift he'd given her—a custom vinyl record, its cover art sleek and evocative, featuring the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald and Canadian pianist Oscar Peterson from their 1963 jazz performance on the stage of the Olympia in Paris. The record's title, written in elegant cursive, its design intricate, the edges of the vinyl slightly worn. 

“A little keepsake from one of my favourite artists and favorite places,” he’d said, his voice casual, but the gesture wasn’t lost on her. 

She turned it over in her hands, smiling to herself. She hadn’t expected something so personal. 

Her gaze flicked up to meet Julian’s, surprise and gratitude in her eyes. “Julian…” she trailed off, not sure what to say. “This is beautiful.” she said. 

She hadn’t expected a gift like this, it was pretty coincidental as well, considering she was going to Paris and was planning on asking him if he were attending Haute Couture Week as well. 

Noa turns it over tracing the worn edges admiring the thoughtfulness.

Julian leaned forward slightly, “I thought you’d like it. It’s for you. You know, to remind you of tonight,” he added with a quiet grin.

Noa smiled, the warm feeling of his gesture making her heart skip a beat. “Thank you,” she said, her voice sincere. She admired it for a moment longer before glancing back at him. 

“I guess it’s as good a time as any to see if you’re going to Paris Haute Couture Week?” I am going for a work assignment and I figured you might be given your celebrity status these days,” she said, trying not to let her small feelings of shyness get the best of her. 

Julian’s grin widened as he leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Noelle, have you been stalking me?” he teased, feigning surprise, his tone playful.

"Maybe," she replied softly, a glint of humor in her eyes, then continued, “You’d like that, innit.” she teased.

Julian chuckled, leaning forward slightly, clearly enjoying where this was heading. “I’ll be at the Dior show. How did you know?” he gasped dramatically.

Julian laughed, leaning in slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You asking for another date—this time in Paris?” he teased, voice dripping with confidence. 

“Already predicting success with this one, innit?” he added, a smirk crossed his lips as he watched her, his own heart beating a little faster at what was happening between them in this conversation.  

Noa laughed, “If you play your cards right…. The night is young, my dahling.” 

The Nearness of You by Norah Jones

Just as the final contemporary jazz singer ended her song selection, Noa and Julian finally turned their attention to the menu as the waitress gave them a moment to decide. Julian seemed content to let Noa take her time, but the waitress, Bethanny, was not as amused— waiting for answers. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked casually, already knowing how it would go. “Food or drinks first?”

She grinned at his question, “You’re the one who chose the place,” she said, “so I’ll let you surprise me again. Work your magic.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting into a mock serious one. “Hmm….,” he hesitated, eyeing the menu with exaggerated thoughtfulness. 

“Could we have the Spinach and Cheese Burek, Hummus with Toasted Pitta Bread and Crudités, a Bombay Potato Filo Roll, the Moroccan Spinach and Chickpea Filo Roll, Carrot & Orange cake, and a bottle of Montepulciano, please.” Julian asked the waiter. 

“It is not the largest of menus, but I did hear that this girl I know loves a Burek and a glass of Montepulciano… I’ve been stalking her Instagram and Linkedin. She’s pretty out there with her work travels, innit.” he grinned like he was letting Noa in on a secret.

“Ah, this girl sounds fascinating, ya know.” Noa teased back, smitten with the fact that Julian had done his own research on her career.

​​As their food arrived, the conversation had Noa laughing more than she had in the last few days, Julian’s gaze never leaving hers.  He poured them each a glass of Montepulciano, watching as Noa took a sip, sighing in satisfaction. 

“So,” he leaned back, cradling his own glass, “this mystery girl… Think she’d be impressed by a man who remembers her drink of choice?”

Noa smirked, setting her glass down. “She might be. But she’s also got high standards. Will definitely take more than just Montepulciano and Burek to sweep her off her feet.”

Julian faked a dramatic sigh. “Tough crowd, innit.” a smirk dancing across his face as they continued eating, the sounds of jazz and quiet whispers amongst them. 

Julian paused for a moment in thought, leaning back slightly, clearly intrigued, "Oh, so you reckon I need to put in a proper bit more effort, do I? I quite like that. What’s it gonna take to impress this high-maintenance mystery woman, innit?"

Noa leaned in, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Well, for starters, someone who actually listens when she talks. Someone who can keep up with her pace, you know? She has a lot going on and needs someone who understands that.” 

She paused, letting her words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “And maybe someone who’s not afraid of a little challenge.”

"So, you're saying this woman fancies a challenge? Now, that's intriguing."He leaned in closer, his voice dropping a notch. "What kind of challenge are we talking about, yeah? One where I get to prove myself, or one where I get to be... a bit unpredictable?"

Noa’s eyes shifted to meet him, intrigued by the change in his tone. “It depends,” she said, her voice lowering too. “Could be one or the other. I trust you’ll figure it out.”

Julian’s smirk widened as he took another sip of wine, clearly enjoying this back-and-forth. "I love a good mystery," he said, almost to himself, as though savoring the challenge Noa had just laid out before him.

Noa’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned back slightly, taking a moment before capturing his gaze to shift the conversation. 

“Alright, Julian,” she said, her tone laced with curiosity, “I’ve got a question for you.”

Julian raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “The other ones weren’t questions?” he deadpanned.

Noa’s smile deepened, a little mischievous. “Obviously, not,” she teasingly quipped back, “Focus! When was the last time you did something completely out of character, just for the hell of it?”

Julian laughed, clearly taken aback by her question. He leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “Hmm... unexpected, yeah?” He glanced around the room, as if considering his response. “Well, I don’t exactly plan things that way, I like routine. But… I guess I did take a last-minute trip to Curacao, just to escape for a weekend. No plans. Used my phone like once.” 

“A weekend only using your phone once?” she gasped, her voice teasing. “Do tell.” 

Julian’s smirk returned, this time with a touch of pride. "I did. Surprisingly liberating, it was. But to be honest, I'd do it again—if someone managed to talk me into it."

He locked eyes with her, “Think you could convince me?”

Noa stared at him back, mischief in her gaze, “Absolutely.”

As Noa reached for the last piece of filo roll, The Nearness of You began to quietly play in the background. 

"So, what do you think of the filo roll?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Noa sighed, a relaxed smile took over at the satisfaction of a good meal. "I think this is a very good choice. You get points."

Julian chuckled. "Safe. I'll keep a running tally."

Julian suddenly pushed his chair back, “Alright,” he announced, standing up and offering Noa his hand. “Dance with me.”

“What?” Noa laughed. 

“Feels like the right moment.” Julian said, nodding towards the stage.

Noa hesitated, but the way he looked at her—like she was the actual pale moon—made her take his hand before she could second-guess herself.

🎶 The Nearness of You 🎶 ​​It's not the pale moon that excites me That thrills and delights me Oh no It's just the nearness of you

Julian led her to the small dance floor, the lyrics enveloping them in the moment. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back, her fingertips brushing over his shoulder as they moved — the rhythm slow, and yet they swayed even slower— just the two of them.

It isn't your sweet conversation That brings this sensation Oh no It's just the nearness of you

The Man I Love 

As the song ended and Noa and Julian moved to return to their seats, the venue MC of the evening stepped up to the mic, announcing an open floor for guest jazz karaoke. 

Before she could ask what he was up to, Julian was already walking towards the stage, leaving her in anticipation for what trick he had up his sleeve as she sat down to cheer him on. He took the mic, the band waiting expectantly. With a small nod to the pianist, he began to sing The Man I Love. 

🎶 The Man I Love 🎶 Someday he'll come along The man I love And he'll be big and strong The man I love

His voice was rich, steady, a quiet confession wrapped in his unique song choice. 

And when he comes my way I'll do my best to make him stay He'll look at me and smile

His voice carried through the room, drawing eyes and ears alike. Noa sat back, caught somewhere between surprise and admiration. She couldn’t help herself from grinning at the unexpected turn of events. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the warmth of Julian’s laser-focus gaze as he sang out to her in the crowd, but something inside her stirred. 

When the song ended, much to Noa’s horror—her worst nightmare came true, Julian gestured toward her. “Come on, Noelle,” he grinned. “Your turn.”

She shook her head, yelling toward the stage. “Absolutely not.”

Julian smirked. “Sure about that?”

I’m In The Mood for Love 

The band had already started playing I’m In The Mood for Love, and before she knew it, the audience started clapping, trying to encourage and force her to take the stage. With a resigned sigh—and a secret nervous excitement to sing one of her favorites—she made her way up to the stage.

Julian handed her the mic, whispering in her ear, “I saw this on your playlist,” he winked before stepping back and dramatically fanning her to the audience to perform. 

🎶 I’m In The Mood for Love 🎶 ​​I'm in the mood for love Simply because you're near me Honey but when you're near me The moment Noa started singing, she shyly focused on Julian.  I'm in the mood for love Heaven is in your eyes Bright as the stars we're under

And Julian? He was watching her like she was the only person in the room.

Oh, is it any wonder I'm in the mood for love

Not one to take a challenge lying down, Noa apologized to everyone in the audience before announcing that she would be transitioning into a duet before dragging Julian back onto the stage with promises to never be heard from again—They Can’t Take That Away From Me. 

🎶They Can’t Take That Away From Me 🎶

Slipping into a jazz performance persona, channeling her inner Dorothy Dandridge, Noa smiled thinking to herself, she began to sing, coaxing Julian into her performance web.

The way you wear your hat The way you sip your tea The memory of all that No no they can't take that away from me The way your smile just beams The way you sing off key The way you haunt my dreams No no they can't take that away from me

Their voices blended effortlessly, playful yet intimate, the push and pull of intrigue and amusement lingering between the harmonies.

When the song ended, the applause was so loud that you could definitely hear it reverberate on the quiet Camden street. Julian bowed dramatically, offering his hand to Noa once again. She rolled her eyes but took it, laughing as they returned to their table, shyly whispering her sincere gratitude to patrons congratulating them on a job well done. 

Basically, bumble  

As soon as they sat back down, Noa reached for her wine glass, shaking her head with a small smile. “Alright, you win.”

Julian leaned in, his grin unmistakable. “That’s all I wanted to hear, love.”

Noa tilted her head, her voice teasing yet sincere. "Alright, Julian, time to go deep — since we’ve pretty much just made this club our very own LaLa Land,” she laughed, “What do you think is the most important thing in a relationship? 

Julian sat back a little, eyes narrowing thoughtfully in the ceiling, as if he were willing the answers from the man upstairs himself. 

"Hmm. That’s a tough one. I’d say... feeling safe. But not just in the obvious sense. It’s about feeling like, can I feel happy and seen, can I be my true self—without hiding anything, innit? That’s a big thing for me. I’ve always been like this from when I was young. I’m very sensitive to energies around me."

He paused, holding her gaze for a moment. “I think a lot of people overlook that,” he said. “They focus on the fun bits—chemistry, attraction, all that.”

“I really like the idea of there being minimal pressure. Just conversation. Just getting to know each other, to understand each other.”

Then, with quiet certainty, he added, “At this point in my life, I’m confident in my capacity to do that. And yeah—today, I’d say I’m energized by the idea of being open in that way. Letting someone in.”

Noa was quiet for a moment, her gaze soft but intense. "I like that answer," she said. 

"Me too." he teased, with a wink.

"So, since I’ve spilled my heart out," he said, leaning in as close as he could, locking eyes with Noa, "What’s your take on all this, then? What’s the one thing you reckon makes a relationship last?"

Noa's lips curved into a sly smile. "I thought you’d never ask," she said.

"I think it’s about vulnerability. You have to let someone in—really in. Not just the glossy, perfect version of yourself. The messy, complicated, flawed bits too. That’s when you find out if it’s worth it,” she paused for a second, thoughts swirling around at how she would explain exactly how she felt, “I… I am not sure I am there yet. But I’m working on it.” she said, more to herself than him.

Just then, her phone buzzed, cutting through the moment. Both their eyes instinctively darted to the screen.

A message from Maya-Rose.

“Maya-Rose, innit?” Julian teased, but his face quickly shifted, his expression unreadable.

Noa noticed the change but didn’t comment, her curiosity piqued by the sudden shift in his mood.

Dream A Little Dream of Me 

The end of the evening came quicker than either of them expected. For a moment, it felt like everything slowed down, even the liveliness of the club slowly fading into the night.

"Well, guess it’s time to head off, then." Julian said with a grin, standing up and offering Noa a hand. 

Noa took it and they made their way out of the dimly lit venue, Julian leading the way to the car, unlocking it, and allowing Noa to slip into the plush seats, bones grateful for a nice reprieve during the quiet drive home through the emptying London streets. 

“The papers were right, Noa quietly blurted out, catching Julian by surprise. 

“About?” he asked, curiosity quickly getting the best of him. 

“His warmth is almost enough to bring the sun back up and reverse the UK’s newfound afternoon darkness,” Noa recited, “An interviewer said this about you,” she hesitated, “I’d like to agree,” she said, confidently and resolute, catching Julian’s gaze before turning back to look out of the window. 

Julian smiled, not knowing how or whether to respond, he just let the compliment linger in the air, quickly replaced as Dream A Little Dream of Me hit the airwaves, the city blurring past, his fingers occasionally tapping against the gear shift in time with the music.

🎶Dream A Little Dream of Me 🎶 Stars shining bright above you Night breezes seem to whisper, I love you Birds singin' in the sycamore trees Dream a little dream of me Say nighty-night and kiss me Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me While I'm alone and blue as can be Dream a little dream of me

I’ll Be Seeing You

When they pulled up into the cul-de-sac of Harper and Jack’s flat, Noa hesitated for just a second longer than she needed to before saying her goodbyes. Julian quickly unbuckled his seatbelt to get out and walk her to the door, neither too happy that the night had come to an end. 

“I had a really lovely evening tonight, Noelle,” Julian whispered as he walked her to the door.

“And…. I guess this is where I leave you,” he teases, motioning to the front door. 

Noa stopped to capture his gaze, “That girl you mentioned, she would rate the date, UP there,” she laughed, gesturing with her hands the heights that the date soared. 

“I like that,” Julian grinned, voice playful and light, gaze focused on Noa. 

“I guess this is goodnight,” he said. 

Noa stretched her hand out motioning for Julian to shake it. He quickly got the hint and shook her hand back, his fingers lingering a bit longer, gaze sharper as he let go. 

“Good night,” Noa said.

And with that, she turned to enter the flat. She didn’t kiss him and she was proud that she stuck to her guns, she wanted to get to know Julian and she had to give him — give herself — the chance to do that. 

As she finally made her way to the bed post-shower and night routine, pulling herself into a cocoon in the covers, her phone buzzed softly in her hand—- a message from Julian. 

I’ll Be Seeing You attached with a simple question:

"Dinner tomorrow?"

The night lingered. The music did too.

🎶 I’ll Be Seeing You 🎶 I'll be seeing you In all the old familiar places That this heart of mine embraces All day through In that small cafe The park across the way The children's carousel The chestnut trees The wishing well I'll be seeing you

The In-Between

It was an early morning wake-up in the Hollis household. Sunlight filtered through Harper and Jack’s kitchen window, illuminating Noa and Jack’s sleepy faces, the sunrays dancing across their cheeks each time the curtain blew in from a quick breeze. Despite it being July, the constant brightness and warmth wasn’t commonplace—everyone was convinced that Noa was a weather maverick, bringing London warmth and clear skies every time she seemed to visit—and so far, they hadn’t been proven wrong. 

Noa casually scrolled through her phone, while Jack leaned against the counter, sipping on his coffee—black, no sugar, of course. Harper moved about, gathering all the ingredients to make the perfect full English breakfast as Waterloo Sunset by The Kinks blasted from her JBL speaker.

Dirty old river, must you keep rolling Flowing into the night? People so busy, make me feel dizzy Taxi light shines so bright But I don’t need no friends.

Harper was determined to ensure the trio had time to catch up because the last few days they had been ships in the night—and she did not like that one bit.

She moved around Jack.

“Jack, would you PLEASE sit down in a chair for god’s sake?” she yelled as she rummaged through the fridge for bacon, sausages, black pudding, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, baked beans, and toast.

As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset I am in paradise.

Moving back to the stove, Harper went to work—frying the bacon and sausages in one pan, then sautéing the mushrooms and tomatoes in another. As everything cooked, she quickly heated the baked beans and toasted the bread, the practiced ease of someone who’d made this breakfast more times than she cared to count.

The sizzle of food and sounds from the speaker created a rhythmic, soothing backdrop.

Every day, I look at the world from my window But chilly, chilly is the evening time Waterloo sunset's fine (Waterloo sunset's fine)

Harper glanced over her shoulder, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.

“You know, it’s been a bit of a week at the hospital,” she said, a tinge of frustration seeping into her words.

“The NHS system’s on its knees again. What’s fucking new?” She gestured, once again pushing Jack out of her way to get to the counter and make a pot of Earl Grey tea for the table. 

She paused, the weight of her words settling in the air. 

And just last night, I lost a patient. Not because we’re incompetent, but because we’re failing—underpaid nurses, doctor strikes, lack of beds and resources... and shit pay. Sometimes, I feel like I could quit.”

She didn’t look at either of them for a moment, focusing instead on the task at hand. She flicked the sausages, the heat from the pan warming her face.

I told them I needed the day off. Just needed a break from the grind, you know? But they were happy to let me go, so… today, I’m making breakfast. Her tone was light, but the edge in her voice didn’t go unnoticed.

Noa glanced up from her phone. “Harp, this sounds like the fucking pits,” she said. I wish I could say something profound and empathetic, but I have absolutely nothing,” she sighed in defeat. 

They both burst out laughing, acknowledging that, at that moment, it was the smallest form of encouragement. Even if it was hollow, it was camaraderie.

Harper shrugged, offering a small, weary smile. “It is. But I like helping my patients... and I’m too lazy to figure out a new career. So, I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” She laughed, but Noa didn’t miss the frustration in her tone.

"But, hey—let's talk about something else for once. I feel like every time we're in this kitchen, I'm bitching about the NHS."

"You are, but we listen, and we don’t judge," Jack sarcastically piped in, finally deciding to sit down, now that he finished his coffee, and scroll through his phone.

"Oh, shut up, Jack," Harper teased, swatting him with her dishtowel.

"Okay, so, back to what I was saying," Harper continued, turning off the stove and beginning to plate the breakfast.

The teapot whistled. Noa listened as she got up to make everyone a cup of tea to go with their meal.

"Noa I’m dragging you into trivia tonight. Jack and I always lose to this one coworker, and I need reinforcements." Harper said. 

Jack's head snapped up, and he shot Harper a mock glare. "Hey, I’m not the one who misses every answer," he smirked.

Harper nudged Jack with her elbow as she put plates down on the table, turning to find Noa heading over to the table with the teacups.

I fight for patients every day, I shouldn’t have to fight to get one damn answer right at trivia,” she groaned, meeting Noa’s gaze.

“Noa, I need you there. Pleaseeeeee. You’re my secret weapon. Look at how you bring us sunshine in London! London! You’re a lucky charm – my lucky charm.” Harper begged.

Noa laughed, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. I’ll come, but I’m not guaranteeing any wins.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to take the teacup from Noa’s outstretched hand, quickly thanking her before chiming in. 

“Yes! That’s what I like to hear. Noe, we are going to crush them,” raising his cup to clink with Noa’s.

Harper finally sat down, and the trio began to eat and chat, Jack continuing with his updates.

"You know, I’ve been on a bit of a streak myself, innit? Had a big win with the team in Sheffield. Things are looking up.” he said. 

Harper teased. “Oh? Are we talking about that ‘big career move’ you’ve been hinting at for weeks now? The top-secret one you refuse to tell me, your wife, about because you don’t want to jinx yourself. What’s next—leaving London for a bigger club? You’re not going to leave me with the trivia losers, are you?” 

Jack chuckled, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Could be…” He paused. “Actually, there’s a new division opening up, a chance to manage a proper league team. It’s a big step up, but it’s outside of London.”

He stared out the window for a moment, his thoughts drifting to something far beyond the kitchen’s walls. His voice softened. “Wouldn’t be easy... leaving everything behind, though.”

Noa, sensing the seriousness in the conversation, gave him a thoughtful glance. “That’s a lot to think about. But hey, you’ve gotta take those opportunities when they come, right? And it is a huge deal to even be considered.” 

She caught his gaze and motioned for him to high-five her.

Harper, trying to lighten the mood, shook her head with a smirk. “And here I was thinking you’d finally settled down, Jack. But of course, you’ll do anything to get out of trivia nights.”

Jack laughed. “Well, if we aren’t going to be winners, we should’ve bowed out gracefully from time ago.”

“Maybe, but we’re going to win tonight because Noa is going to be there. Ain’t that right, Noa?” Harper teased.

“Well, yeah, but what time exactly?” Noa took a moment to eat a piece of bacon before shifting the conversation. “I’ve got dinner tonight…”

“Ooh, dinner tonight,” Harper squealed, Jack teasingly whistled.

“You did run out of here all coy and whatnot,” Harper said. “So spill it. ‘Julian, huh?’” She said, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “Spill, Noa. Tell me nowwww.”

Noa shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I mean... I like him,” she said before giving a quick recap of the Jazz date.

“But I’m not rushing into anything. I don’t want to overthink it. I am seeing where it goes.” She fidgeted with the edge of her teacup, avoiding both of their gazes.

Jack chuckled, nudging her lightly with his elbow. “Because you are still team Theo,” he teased.

Noa laughed.

“I mean, I get it. I’d date both of them too,” Harper teased… “hypothetically speaking of course.” She smirked, taking a bite of sausage.

Noa smiled, her nerves easing just a little. “I’ll see how it goes. I don’t want to rush anything, but… I guess we’ll see.”

As they finished up their breakfast, the conversation shifted toward Noa's upcoming work assignments. Harper leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. “What’s going on with these new assignments? Paris?” she asked.

Noa took a deep breath, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her teacup as she gathers her thoughts. “Well, yeah, Paris is coming up,” she began, before launching into a full recounting of all the things her boss, Vivian Marchand, has planned for her and the team.

Harper’s eyes widen, impressed. “So, you’re basically about to become that girl in the industry. Paris is just the tip of the iceberg, huh?”

“I guess. It’s a huge opportunity, and honestly, I am trying not to let imposter syndrome kick in because I’m not the type to back down from a challenge, you know?” Noa said, trying to temper her nerves mixed with her actual excitement.

“Nice,” Jack says, nodding in approval. “Very proud of you, Noa. The whole lot of us, actually. You know what, a round of beers on me tonight so we can properly celebrate,” he smiled, clearly amused with himself, while the girls laughed at his clear amusement.

Noa’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter just as the trio finished tidying up. Jack headed to the bathroom to prepare for the day ahead, while Harper raced to the living room to spend the day binge-watching RuPaul’s Drag Race.

She grabbed the phone, seeing a text from the Patats group chat telling her to “get on her Zoom” in five minutes with a video link. She raced into the spare bedroom she was staying in and got her computer set up for the call.

Five minutes flew by before Noa signed into Zoom.

“Yo!” Selam’s face popped up, her energy immediately filling the screen. Her voluminous curly hair was pulled into a messy bun, accentuating her big brown forehead.

Selam Tesfaye (Brooklyn): “It’s early, or late as hell—or whatever, but I am here.”

Selam was propped against her headboard in an oversized sweatshirt and her geometric reading glasses, her computer clearly on her lap with how close she was to the screen, eager to get the final trip details sorted before her flight.

In succession, the rest of the Patats popped onto the screen, everyone open to the N*ggas in Paris travel doc they lived and died by.

Amina popped on screen, her dark brown locs pulled into a bun, a deep scrub face mask covering her face. She was wrapped in the same homemade Senegalese blanket she had gifted the Patats for Christmas. Behind her was the familiar sight of a stack of books and a steaming mug of tea cradled in her hands—always the epitome of self-care.

Amina Diop (Paris): “Okay, I’ve got my tea, my cozy blanket, and an hour to ruin all your lives with unsolicited advice before I gotta be an adult—let's go!”

Noa, preoccupied with Amina’s cozy hour, blurted out before she even said hello, “Okay! Cozyyyy! Where you get that face mask from—needs it!”

Amina Diop (Paris): “Girl, Sephora was having a sale, and my cart runneth over. I’ll give you one when you get here.”

Before Amina could finish, the next face popped up — Carmen. The sight of her always brought a burst of light and energy. With her wild, dark brown curls sprawled across her shoulders, she was sitting on her couch in sweats, eating some mofongo.

Carmen Rivera (Rhode Island): “Sorry, I’m late—had to get them white people off my Zoom. I closed my computer earlier like, y’all know it’s after 5 pm—I have to go,” she clapped her hands through each word. “You know, priorities. And then I never signed into my private account…. Anyway, are we seriously doing this? I can’t even... Noa, you’re like, living my dreams right now, so I guess we do need to get over there and soak up Europe with you.”

Finally, the familiar little figure of Lorraine Robinson popped up on the screen. Despite her short height—barely scraping 5'1"—Lore always took up space with her presence. Today, her braids were styled high on her head in a funky topknot, with a pair of blue sunglasses sitting on top, tucked into the braids. She leaned in toward the camera, a tropical drink in her hand, clearly enjoying the time difference way too much.

Lore Robinson (Toronto but currently in Miami): “Hey, y’all. My bad.” She waved lazily, clearly enjoying herself far too much.

Amina Diop (Paris): “Lore? Are you sitting on a beach?! Where are you?”

Lore Robinson (Toronto but currently in Miami): “Yeah, I lied and said I was going back home after Costa Rica, but then I looked at the weather and came to Miami instead.” She shrugged.

The girls burst out laughing because that was so Lore—unpredictable and always chasing the sunshine, literally. Her carefree Southern charm mixed with her newfound Northern hustle gave her an almost magical ability to adapt anywhere.

Carmen Rivera (Rhode Island): “Cold in July? You just showing out because you’re remote.”

Lore Robinson (Toronto but currently in Miami): “Yes, it still is Toronto, summer or not. And I knowww you aren’t talking, Miss Takes-Vacations-Every-Chance-You-Get—worse than me!”

Selam Tesfaye (Brooklyn): “Oh, I see how it is. While we’re slaving away to get a few days off for Paris, you’re just soaking up the sun in Miami. Real nice, Lore.”

Lore Robinson (Toronto but currently in Miami): “Don’t hate. You know I’m always here for a good time, not a long time.” She grinned.

Noa laughed as she sat up on her bed to get into a comfortable position, her eyes scanning the screen full of familiar faces.

"Okay, okay," Noa said, getting everyone's attention. "First of all, let me just say, I can't wait to see you all in Paris. I miss y’all way too much, and it is about to be…."

Selam excitedly interrupted. "Insaneeeee. We really about to be out here like locals, again. Our second home." she laughed. 

"Look at this itinerary." Selam hovered her mouse across the Google doc so the girls could follow along with her plans.

 "Morning: Eiffel Tower for the mandatory tourist pic.Then we hit a café, of course—gotta make sure we get them croissants and macaroons." Selam rattled off. 

“Valid,” Noa nodded. “ We never get one during the daytime and I am sick of blurry ones with trash in the way.” 

Amina, still cradling her tea, nodded. "I hope y’all made reservations, because I am not waiting in line for anything in this city. The boulangerie by me has croissants and macarons, but I know y’all want to go to a more photogenic place for this trip."

Carmen, who'd just finished off the last of her mofongo, jumped in with a dramatic sigh. "Let’s talk about lunch. We’re doing lunch at the Louvre, right? Because if I’m not eating near my girl Mona, there is no point for me to be in Paris."

Lore rolled her eyes, laughing. "Okay, TOURIST.” 

"Okay, yeah, I think I can make that happen around my work schedule. Since it’s central, I won’t have to travel far." Noa said.

Selam raised a brow, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "So, you getting us into the Dior 100 dinner, or are we not best friends anymore? 

Amina’s voice chimed in from the corner of the computer screen. “And what about Beyoncé? Do you think you’ll be able to stay for the concert since it’s when you have to fly back to London?”

Noa groaned, flopping back against her pillows. "I wish. But you already know my schedule is looking like my own Formula 1 race—back-to-back events, barely time to breathe—before I have to be in Monaco for the actual Grand Prix."

Carmen jumped in, "Okay, but let’s be real for a second. If Beyoncé herself called you up and said, 'Noa, girl, I need you in the front row,' you’re telling me you’d say no? You’d be like "Nah Beyonce Giselle Knowles-Carter imma pass.” she said, rolling her eyes. 

Noa let out a short laugh. "First of all, if Beyoncé ever personally invited me to anything, I would cancel everything. But you know that is not happening. Plus, I’d ask her for box seats like we had in London. Do not want to be standing with the regular folk."

Lore, still lounging with her tropical drink, smirked. "Oh, come on. You really about to skip out on a life-changing experience just to catch a flight? Noa, be for real."

Selam leaned in, grinning mischievously. "Girl, you better start practicing your technical difficulties excuse right now. ‘Oh no, she gestured with her hands, my flight got canceled, guess I have to stay an extra night and see Beyoncé live in Paris!’" she feigned.

Noa shook her head, trying to fight a smile. "You all are terrible."

Carmen gasped dramatically. "Excuse me?"

Lore raised her glass again. "Here’s to Noa making the right choice."

The rest of the group cheered, and Noa sighed, shaking her head but laughing anyway. 

"Y’all get on my nerves. Imma see what I can do. But if I miss my flight and end up stuck in Paris, Amina get that couch ready, babes." she said. 

Amina smirked. "As long as you bring croissants home every morning—deal."

Selam clapped her hands. "See? Problem solved. Now, back to this itinerary—because somebody still hasn’t confirmed if they’re sneaking us into that Dior dinner,” narrowing her gaze on Noa. 

Noa crossed her arms. "Sele, I don’t even know if I can get into that Dior dinner. I am only a lowly servant on the totem pole."

Selam rolled her eyes. 

"Oh, please. Seriously, I know y’all think I’m living the dream. But just wait till you see how many emails I have to answer before I get to eat my first croissant. Mona Lisa probably get more down time than I will and she be tired from them tourists!" Noa laughed.

Amina clucked her tongue, shaking her head. "You’ve got this, Noa. We'll be your personal Parisian squad. You just tell us when to show up, and we’ll be there to back you up."

Carmen leaned closer to her screen, serious now. "Look, forget the itinerary for a second. How’s the romance going? Is this Paris trip a love story in the making or what?"

Oohs, ahhs, and laughs flooded the Zoom speakers.

Noa cleared her throat, glancing at the other girls. "Uh, you know, things are... complicated. But let’s focus on the itinerary. We can talk about my love life later."

Selam smirked, crossing her arms. "Girl, you’re avoiding the question. We saw the photos! But fine, we’ll let you have your mystery for now. Just remember, we are going to talk in Paris." She pointed at Noa through the screen.

Lore raised her drink, toasting to Noa. "Okay, so here’s to Paris, Noa telling us all her business, and... hopefully all of us going to that Beyoncé concert."

And getting into the Dior 100 show!, Selam added. 

"Here, here!" they all said in unison, laughing and saying their goodbyes with promises of seeing each other soon but staying connected on the group chat.

Thank You by Dido

Noa quickly ended the Zoom call and raced around the apartment to get ready for work. She never failed to underestimate the amount of time she would need to prepare, and, of course, the Zoom call took up more of her time than she anticipated — not that she was complaining; she missed her girls. 

Jack must’ve left for work while she was on the call, because the bathroom door was open and he was nowhere in sight. Harper was now fast asleep on the couch as the television screen stared back at her, her snores battling the sounds of the panel of judges duking it out for RuPaul’s reprieve. Noa decided against turning the television off, opting to let Harper get as much uninterrupted sleep as she could — if she couldn’t ease her frustrations about the decreasing workplace quality for NHS staff, she could at least let her have the one day off not to think about her problems.

A quick shower and dress, quietly grabbing her work bag and a bottle of water for the road, she headed out the door into the July summer sun, the sunshine beaming down on her to the point that she had to stop to pull out her sunglasses if she was going to make it to the Overground without squinting the entire way there. She passed a few older couples on their early afternoon walks, and a dog walker corralled several dogs on the way to the station.

She had to take a different train today, and she was already regretting it — the Overground into west London was far from quiet. It seemed everyone and their mother wanted to take the train today, and instead of being lost in their books, phones, or asleep, they were constantly and loudly chatting or moving about the train car with no remorse for those hoping to use the travel time as a silent retreat.

Vivian asked the team to meet in Notting Hill today. Her boss wanted everyone on a fact-finding preparatory mission, a crash course in Vogue fashion and Parisian history, 'because if they were not over prepared, there was no reason for them to be there,' Viv repeated, over and over again.

Noa had an aisle seat, trying to listen to music to get her ready for another busy day ahead, but she couldn’t concentrate because of the train rider next to her attempting to take a conference call despite the Overground’s spotty cell service.

She was grateful for the lack of train delays because she found herself thrown into the hustle and bustle of west London much sooner than she actually wanted — guess the day had to begin sometime, she thought to herself.

Yellow by Coldplay

At exactly noon, Noa walked down the gorgeous, iconic tree-lined streets of Notting Hill, passing the eclectic rows of pastel-colored houses that attracted hordes of tourists hoping to get their best Instagrammable photo. She couldn’t help but laugh as she passed a group of teenagers being shooed off of the steps of a lavender house in the middle of the street, the elderly owner throwing a myriad of curses and gestures that told the teens to “Move Along”. 

Noa found herself meandering through a bustling Portobello Road Market, bouncing in between several cafes and art galleries. The air filled with the smell of fresh pastries, and the small talk of artists and aspiring artists alike, saturating the space with discourse about differences between realism and surrealism. 

As she neared the corner, nestled between two cafes, on a busy narrow street, Noa spotted the famous Notting Hill Bookstore. Her steps quickened as she marveled at the shop —  its grand old wooden door, and large rectangular windows showcasing shelves stuffed with books— patrons buried within them or navigating through them — literature to satisfy all interests. She stepped closer, the bell above the door jingling softly as she pushed it open, the inviting scent of paperbacks and coffee overwhelming her senses. 

The Notting Hill Bookstore was picturesque and pleasantly old fashioned, the type of local bookstore that real estate developers and gentrifiers alike couldn’t wait to put out of business, but withstood, because of the community behind it. It was a quaint space, lined with tall too cramped shelves contrasted with an overpriced dessert bar, artisanal candle display, and Scandinavian furnished guest seating area – probably the sole reason the bookstore could afford to pay its consistently rising rent. 

Noa stood in the center of it all, flipping through a book on the Geography of Happiness while awaiting the arrival of her coworkers. Sebastian arrived first, looking like the first time Hugh Grant approached Julia Roberts in Notting Hill, the movie — dressed casually in a blue button-up shirt with sleeves rolled up and a pair of khakis. He of course had his hair tousled and that gold Cartier on his wrist with the Persols on his face. 

“Mornin’,” he said, smiling and removing his sunnies. 

“I am going to grab a quick cuppa, yeah,” he said, taking off in search of a cup of hot coffee.

Sebastian was immediately followed by the arrival of a very caffeinated Georgia-Louise talking Maya-Rose’s ear off about the latest royal gossip. Never one to miss an entrance, Vivian Marchand whirled in 15 minutes later, in an outfit that would make Princess Diana proud, sporting a slightly oversized, dark red Harvard University sweatshirt, light-colored denim jeans, rolled up at the cuffs, white sneakers and Chanel sunglasses.

“Hello everyone, gather around, let’s make this quick,” Viv says, removing and pocketing her sunglasses.

“You all know why we are here…” she said. 

“A fact-finding prep mission, for a crash course in Vogue fashion and Parisian history,” they all sang in unison.

“And why is this important?” Viv asked with feigned curiosity.

“Because if we are not over-prepared, there is no reason to attend Paris Haute Couture Week,” they said again, in unison. 

“Lovely!” Viv said, clapping her hands. 

“Let’s get to work. I’m off to grab a coffee and a Danish, so if you need me, I’ll be seated over there,” she pointed and whisked away before anyone could contest.

Noa greeted everyone but snuck away to find the fashion book she spied when entering the bookstore, her mind volleying between work and laughing at Sebastian, who seemed to decide that today was the day he was going to try to sweep Maya-Rose off her feet.

“You know, fashion is just data,” he was saying, leaning against a shelf. “Trends are just patterns. And patterns—well, that’s where I come in.”

“Is that so?” Maya-Rose deadpanned. She was taking a moment to check her phone, frown lines on her face revealing that whomever she was texting was not giving responses she wanted to hear.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind when I need some help on the event breakdowns,” she said, giving Sebastian a fake sympathetic smile, before abruptly heading in the opposite direction to escape.

"If you're done flirting, Sebastian, we actually need to solve a problem,” Viv said, appearing out of thin air. 

Our group table at the gala? Gone. Double-booked. The event coordinator is blaming a 'system error.'” she said.

Georgia-Louise inhaled sharply, already pulling up her notes. "Quite unacceptable. I shall see to it personally that this is corrected Vivian,” furiously dialing a number on her phone and leaving the bookstore as soon as the call connected. 

Beware My Heart by Billie Holiday

Maya-Rose, who was still on the other side of the bookstore, unaware of the mishap, drifted toward the jazz section, her fingers tracing over spines before plucking a biography of Ella Fitzgerald from the shelf. Flipping through the pages she paused on a page about Ella Fitzgerald’s performance at the Olympia in Paris. She turned it over in her hands, smiling to herself.

Noa found her flipping through the pages, smiling to herself.

Looking up to find Noa staring at her, she hesitated before responding, as if caught off guard. 

"This takes me back," she said, more to herself than to anyone in particular. "Best date I ever had was at a jazz club. The kind of place you don’t find on Google." she said, abruptly closing the book and standing up straight.

Noa smiled back, “Viv is looking for us. You should bring that book if it has anything to do with Parisian jazz clubs. We could use it for a night on the town.” she said. 

The words hanging between them, deliberate in a way that made Noa wonder if Maya-Rose was waiting for her to pick up on something and ask for more detail. 

She filed it away, not quite sure why it mattered.

Viv clapped her hands together. "Alright, people. I need solutions, not existential crises in the music section."

At that moment, Georgia-Louise reappeared, out of breath, but full of updates, as the group made their way back to the front of the store to check out, Noa lingered for a second, watching Maya-Rose tuck the Ella Fitzgerald book under her arm.

South of the River by Tom Misch

As Noa left the bookstore, her steps several feet behind the group, her phone pinged. 

[Chat Name: Aldridge-Wells & Co.] (Participants: Theo, Noa, Kayo, Theresa, Tara — Theo’s older sisters.)

Theo: Oi, Noey—Theresa and Tara are gonna be in Paris this week.

Noey: Wait. Both of them?

Tara: Surprise! Hey Noey! I have a few days off from the hospital, and figured I’d tag along.

Theresa: I’m actually working, Noa. I am curating and moderating the Avant-Garde Noir: A Celebration of Black Surrealism & Futurism event where I heard you are shadowing Élodie Saint-Martin (French-Haitian, Avant-Garde Designer)?!

Noey: No way! Yeah, I am too excited to get a chance to shadow her. Well, now doubly excited to see you and Tara! 

Theresa and Tara: Us too! 

Theo and Kayo: BOO! 

Tara: Not our fault y’all are doing football things. 

Theo: Low it, Tara! 

Theresa: Speaking of gatherings… Delroy’s retirement party. Yes, dad has resorted to calling it this in every conversation. Kayo? Noa? Theo, will you be back? 

Theo: Of course, Theresa. You think Delroy would let me be MIA?! Madness.

Typing bubbles appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.

Kayo: Loooool, that’s funny. Because I distinctly remember everyone disinviting me to another family function after last time.

Noa: You were there stirring the pots and being rowdy.  

Kayo: Me?? I was nothing but a pillar of diplomacy.

Theo, Tara, Theresa: [laughing emojis] 

Kayo: I will be in attendance. Noey…. Not sure bout her lot. 

Noa: Bye, Kayo! Delroy loves me and I will be there. 

Julian and Noelle’s Infinite Playlist

Noa quickly rejoined the group just as Vivian switched from her idle chats with the team to giving out the last of the assignments and making sure to emphasize being on time for the flight to Paris tomorrow. 

“Vivian Marchand, will not be embarrassed, or tardy for the party,” she scolded. 

What is with every older person and the need for speaking in third person, Noa thought to herself. 

She said her goodbyes to the group and began the grueling trek from west to south London to meet Julian. He invited her to dinner at his house and she decided to go straight there instead of stopping back to the flat. 

Noa arrived at Julian’s flat early, figuring she could surprise him before dinner, however she was met by a text as she exited the Underground. 

Julian: Can’t wait to see you. Went to Tesco to pick up a few dinner supplies. If you get to my place early, there is a key under the mat. Use it wisely. [smirk emoji] 

Noa smirked at the message as she left the train station and began the walk to Julian’s house. Since the last time they met, he had purchased a home a few minutes away from his old apartment and was just settling in. 

Waiting in Vain by Bob Marley

She walked, her sandals tapping softly against the pavement. Rows of red-brick townhouses lined the road, their iron railings and flower boxes with late-blooming hydrangeas inside. Noa spotted his place up aheadthe bay window cracked open. 

Julian’s townhouse was a typical London townhouse in South London, a charming mix of old and new—a Victorian terrace with period details with updated modern touches.  

She used the key and pushed the door open, entering a very quiet foyer, greeted by a narrow but welcoming entryway leading inside. Noa kicked off her shoes and walked through the entryway, the light oak wooden floorboards creaking under her feet.

Julian's flat was impeccably styled , minimal, with just enough character to make it feel lived in. It was understated, masculine warmth, but cozy, grounded, and stylish. 

The living area blended textures and earth tones. A suede green chair sat in one corner, plush and inviting, while a light brown-beige leather chair sat with a level of worn-in softness. The walls were painted in a warm soft beige, the natural light filling the space through large sash windows. 

Scattered around the living room — a vinyl player (of course) with a stack of records nearby, a well-thumbed book on the coffee table, and a black-and-white framed photograph on the wall. It was a very curated space, inviting you to stay just a little longer.

Noa wandered into the open-plan kitchen, white marble countertops catching the lights overhead. A blue ceramic mug sat on the table, the color of his eyes, she thought, a quiet detail in an otherwise neutral space. Next to it, a bouquet of fresh flowers—her favorite, yellow tulips from Amsterdam—resting in a simple glass vase, with a handwritten note tucked beneath it, addressed to Noelle in fancy handwriting.

As she passed the open door, her gaze landed on the mess of the garden just beyond the windowsill. Overgrown weeds and sad dead plants, severely neglected and needing attention. 

She stepped out into the garden, intending to peek at the space for a moment before Julian came back. It was just one of those things she couldn’t ignore: an outdoor space full of potential, lying in ruin.

But before she could make any judgments, she froze. There, in the middle of the garden, stood an older woman, hands on hips, inspecting the chaos with an expression somewhere between disgust and mild exasperation.

Is This Love? by Bob Marley

"Lawd ‘ave mercy," the woman muttered to herself in a low voice, throwing her hands in the air, her Caribbean accent peeking through. "Dis bwoy a real piece a work, mi swear."

Noa blinked, startled. "Uh… hello? I didn’t mean to interrupt.” she tried to ease her intrusion. 

The woman turned, her sharp eyes catching Noa's gaze. 

She was a short woman with a commanding presence. Her smooth, dark skin glowed and her striking light eyes immediately reminded Noa of Julian’s. Dressed in a beautiful blend of gold, and green, her dress draped gracefully over her, the flowing fabric moving with each step, She had gold bangles on each wrist—her bald head, making her a striking figure of timeless beauty.

“Who are you, child?” the woman asked with a raised brow, but her tone was soft—almost welcoming.

“Noa,” she said, still unsure how to explain herself. "I, uh, came to see Julian.”

The woman took a slow step forward, her gaze studying Noa. She seemed to be weighing her presence in Julian’s space.

“Ahh,” the woman said after a long pause, “I’m his grandmother. Glad to meet you. I’m Vera.” She extended her hand with a knowing smile. “Come help me out here, no point standing around. You here now.”

Noa’s confusion melted into a smile as she shook Mrs. Vera’s hand, still a little thrown by the unexpected turn of events. “Sure. What are we doing?”

With a sharp gesture, Vera began grabbing tools from her bag, thrusting them at Noa. 

“If you want to spend time with Julie, you’ll need to get your hands dirty,” she said firmly, her tone a mix of practicality and mild exasperation. “He won’t tend to this garden, and it’s driving me mad.”

Noa laughed, trying to keep up, “I wasn’t planning on gardening today, but okay.”

“Well, you will now.” Vera handed her a trowel and a small pair of pruning shears. “This is where we start.”

They worked in silence for a few moments, each of them pulling weeds from the cracked soil. Vera reached over and pressed play on her little old school boombox that Noa had no idea was there, queuing Is This Love? to erupt through the speakers. She continued to work, humming along, tapping her foot to the beat.

“So,” Noa ventured, unable to resist asking, “How long has this garden been in disarray? Julian is too afraid to get his hands dirty?” she laughs softly, trying to get on Mrs. Vera’s best graces.

Vera paused, before a smile crossed her face. “Julie? He never stays long enough, his life is too busy these days, always moving.”

“Sounds like him,” Noa agreed, “This place could really use some attention.” she said, looking around and surveying the neglect.

Vera turned to her, eyebrows raised. “Yuh nah just a pretty face, eh?” she said, her voice laced with a hint of curiosity and a touch of playfulness.

Noa teased back. “I can handle a garden if that’s what you mean.”

Vera snorted, clearly amused. “I see. You’ll have to show me then.”

As they continued pulling weeds, Noa noticed a small tray of herbs on the ground, a few scotch bonnet peppers growing amongst them. She reached for one, unsure if it was for eating or just a garden decoration.

“You like peppers, Noa?” Vera asked as she worked.

“Yes.” Noa said, confidently.

“Good. We a cook later.” Vera’s eyes gleamed. “Hope yuh can handle it, though. Mi like mi food fi have a likkle kick. Not everybody can take di heat.” she laughed.

Noa paused, she loved spicy food but it seemed like Vera was testing her.

“I think I can manage,” she said with confidence. 

Vera laughed warmly, the sound rich and full of affection. "You remind me of his mother when she was your age. Full of fire. Full of life."

Noa’s heart stuttered at the mention of Julian’s mother. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she couldn’t help but get a little excited at hearing more about Julian’s family. It definitely was too early to be meeting them, but it was nice learning something personal and first hand about the woman he spoke so highly of all the time. 

Vera quickly caught Noa’s quiet giddiness, “Don’t worry. Julie’s a good boy. Good heart, good bones — rooted, yuh know? I wish he finds someone who is rooted too, but that's not my place to say, yeah” giving Noa a look of unspokeness. 

Noa felt the words settle between them, the air suddenly heavier, quieter. She didn’t know how to respond. Mrs. Vera didn’t seem to expect an answer, though. She merely continued pruning the plants, a thoughtful look on her face.

Jamming by Bob Marley

The door slammed open, and Julian’s voice rang out, “Noelle?”

“We inna here, bwoy!” Vera yelled back, her voice full of authority.

Noa turned to see Julian standing in the doorway, his face a mix of surprise and guilt. 

“Grandma, I didn’t know you were coming by,” he said, clearly caught off guard.

Vera shot him a look, her eyebrows raised sharply. “What yuh mean, yuh didn’t know? Di garden’s been fallin' apart, and you couldn’t even give mi a heads-up that I’m gonna have company? Di place look like a jungle!” 

She shook her head, letting out a deep sigh. “And yuh haven't been takin' care of it, so now mi have to do it all.” she said, throwing her hands in the air. 

She paused for a moment, and then her eyes twinkled as she turned to Noa, “At least mi have company now, don’t I?” she winked.

Julian shook his head, trying to salvage the situation. “I had dinner plans, Grandma,” he said, dropping his bags onto the counter. “We’re having callaloo, saltfish, dumplings, rice and peas.”

Vera’s eyes lit up at the mention of food. “Callaloo? Saltfish? Dumplings? Rice and peas? Hmm, sounds good, but you not cookin' that today, Julie. Mi will be cooking, and yuh two will help mi.” 

She looked over at Noa, sizing her up with a critical eye. “Noa, yuh know how fi cook this? Come, mi teaching yuh today. After we done, we get back to di garden.”

Vera didn’t seem to expect an answer from anyone. She merely went to the kitchen sink to wash her hands and get in the cooking zone.

Noa felt the silence in the air, unsure of how to respond. 

The Sun is Shining by Bob Marley

The kitchen buzzed with anticipation as Vera took charge, the kitchen her orchestra, she the conductor. 

Noa and Julian exchanged a glance before Julian grumbled, “Here we go…” and grabbed a cutting board. 

Noa, unsure but eager to help, followed his lead, picking up a knife and looking to Vera for instructions.

Vera, already in the midst of preparing the saltfish, paused for a moment to look at them both. “First ting, yuh need to get di rice an’ peas going. Mi’ll handle di rest,” she said, her voice commanding yet laced with affection.

“Noa, yuh know how fi wash rice properly?” she asked, her eyes twinkling as she passed a bowl to her.

Noa nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. “Uh, I think so?”

“Alright then,” Vera said, “Mi show yuh di real way. No shortcuts inna mi kitchen.” 

She demonstrated, showing Noa how to wash the rice properly before moving on to the peas. 

“Di peas need fi boil down ‘bout ten minutes before yuh add di coconut milk. Di seasoning—ginger, garlic, pimento, and scotch bonnet—that’s where di flavor lives.” she rattled off to Noa. 

Julian, who had started peeling the saltfish, nudged Noa to get her attention, muttering under his breath, “She is going to tell me how I need to improve, watch.” He and Noa quietly laughed, like two students in detention.

Vera turned her head sharply, a small chuckle escaping her lips. “You’d think with all di time yuh spend in di kitchen, yuh woulda learn fi cook by now, Julie. But nah, mi always end up saving di day.” 

Noa couldn’t help but laugh, impressed with how comfortable she was with Julian’s grandmother.

Lively Up Yourself by Bob Marley

Noa tried to concentrate on washing the rice properly, trying to keep pace with the way Vera moved around the kitchen. Julian kept glancing at Vera, trying to get the saltfish right, but he was failing, miserably.

“Don’t cut it too small, Julie. Yuh want it to be tender but not falling apart like that sad excuse for a stew fish yuh made last time,” Vera added, her voice light but direct.

“Mi tryin', but yuh callin' mi out and makin' mi nervous in front of di girl mi like.” Julian said, winking at Noa, who couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Trying? Steups! (kissing her teeth sound) That’s all yuh ever do,” Vera teased, but her voice softened in affection as she moved over to check on Noa’s progress. 

“Yuh good, Noa? Don’t be shy with di seasoning.” she asked.

“Ok,” Noa replied, trying her best to mimic Vera’s movements. 

The kitchen was filled with the scents of garlic, pimento, and the distinct kick of scotch bonnet peppers as the food began to come together.

They all worked in a comfortable rhythm now, Vera offering pointers here and there between the sounds of Bob Marley still flowing from the little boombox in the garden. As the dumplings started to take shape, Julian relaxed a little, leaning against the counter as the smell of the meal filled the room.

After a while, Vera’s voice broke through the easy chatter. “Mi done, yuh two. Now we wait for di rice an’ peas fi cook down. In di meantime, we enjoy a little food we already cooked.”

The three of them gathered around the kitchen table as Vera plated up the callaloo and saltfish, dropping a hearty portion in front of each of them. The dumplings and rice and peas followed, steaming and fragrant.

As they ate, Noa laughed at Vera’s stories of her youth, and Julian, was unusually open considering his grandmother was meeting a woman in his home for the first time that he hadn’t know for more than 30 days — less, but he didn’t want to count because it was all happening so fast — maybe too fast — even if he did really like Noelle.

Noa’s phone buzzed suddenly, pulling her attention away. She glanced down at the reminder: Trivia!

She sighed reluctantly, glancing up at Julian and Vera. “I should go, it’s trivia night… and I promised to meet some friends.”

Vera raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling. “Ah, yuh off to play some game, eh? What happen to family time?”

Noa smiled, her phone still buzzing in her hand. “I won’t be out late, I promise.”

Julian jumped in, setting his fork down. “I could come with you, if you want?”

Vera’s eyes widened in mock disbelief, but watching the two of them in amusement. 

“Wait, so now di garden still ain’t done, and now yuh going off to trivia with Noa? What kind of foolishness is dis?” she said.

She gave Julian a playful shove. “Get outta here! Yuh gonna make her walk out with yuh and leave mi with all dis work?”

Julian gave his grandmother a look of defeat, then glanced at Noa. "Alright, alright. I will finish it tomorrow, Grandma.”

Looking at Noa, Julian asked, “You ready to go?”

“Yep,” Noa replied, feeling a little sad to leave the warm atmosphere but looking forward to trivia night. 

“I guess I should get going, thank you for the lovely evening Mrs. Vera,”  Noa said before standing from the table and reaching for a hug. 

Julian grinned, clearly relieved to be off the hook for now. “We’ll see you soon, Grandma.”

“Mi’ll be right here, ready to finish what yuh started,” Vera called after them, her voice warm but commanding.

Big Ben Strikes Twelve

Sitting between a vintage clothing shop and an indie record store in Shoreditch, Big Ben Strikes Twelve is unmistakable. It’s the kind of place where indie meets 2000s hip-hop and R&B. You’d overhear a debate about indie films at one table, a discussion about crypto at another, and arguments about the best football club, as well as whether UK grime or garage is better — so eclectic.

The exterior is a mix of classic brickwork and large windows, a sign the the name "Big Ben Strikes Twelve" illuminated and hanging above the entrance, a whiskey barrel positioned at the entrance. 

A chalkboard easel out front reads:

🕰️ TRIVIA NIGHT – 8 PM 🕰️ “Losers buy the winners a round. Them’s the rules.”

The door is heavy, vintage oak, with a brass knocker shaped like Big Ben’s tower. You push it open, and—

Boom.

The walls are lined with newspaper clippings, gig posters. Neon signs glow: One above the bar reads, “Time’s up, drink up” while another near the quizmaster’s podium says, “Mind the (knowledge) gap.”

Mismatched stools line the dark wood bar tops, with hanging lights shaped like pocket watches dangling about the table. Of course there is a DJ — spinning a mix of classic 2000 from every genre (Pop, R&B and Hip Hop, Indie, a sprinkle of UK garage and grime) – Donnell Jones, U Know What’s Up currently crooning out the speakers.

At the center of it all, a massive, slightly wonky countdown clock looms over the trivia stage. When the game begins, it ticks down dramatically—because at Big Ben Strikes Twelve, every second counts.

The pub is alive and buzzing with energy, the smell of whisky, smoke, and lively conversation. Noa stepped inside scanning the room for Harper and Jack, Julian by her side. She quickly finds them sitting at a large, dark wooden table with tons of beers and pub food lining the table with at least five unknown folks chatting away — probably their friends, Noa thought to herself.

“Okay, Jack,” Harper said, her voice teasing, “We always get the question about the capital of Australia wrong. I swear, we get this every time.”

Jack didn’t even flinch. “This is the one. I feel it, babe. This is our game.”

Walking up to the group, Noa shook her head, amused by their competitive streak and conversation. “I can’t believe you two are still going on about that. It’s Canberra,” she said laughing. 

Harper shot Noa a playful grin. “You’d be saying the same if you were as consistently wrong as we are.”

Harper shot Noa a playful grin, but her eyes flickered past her, then widened.

“You brought him?” she blurted, sitting up straighter.

Jack looked up and smirked before introducing himself.

“You don’t exactly seem like the trivia night type, Julian. Aren’t you a recluse?” she rambled on, treating Julian as an old friend, not a famous actor she just officially met. 

Julian laughed. “Who says a recluse can’t enjoy a good quiz night? Plus, I’m already here, so I’ll just have to play, innit?”

“I mean, yes, sure—just surprised, that’s all… But join us, I’m Harper,” Harper said, extending her to give Julian a handshake.

Julian chuckled, sitting down beside her. “I was promised drinks, good company, and the chance to see Noa in her natural habitat. I couldn’t resist.”

Across the table, Olivia, Asha, and Imani exchanged quick, giddy glances, clearly trying to play it cool. Asha took a long sip of her drink before whispering, “Holy shit.”

Kofi leaned back, grinning. “Man, this is wild. I just watched your last movie yesterday.”

Imani nudged him. “Don’t be weird.”

Harper waved a hand. “Excuse us for not being emotionally prepared to meet Julian Poitier at trivia night.”

Julian smirked. “I promise, I’m just here for the trivia. No celebrity rubbish.”

“Though, for the record, I’m with Jack on this one. Feels like it’s his time to finally get it right.” Julian said, winking. 

Jack grinned, “I knew I liked this guy.”

As laughter rolled around the table and the initial shock wore off, the group moved to introductions.

First up, Jack’s friends:

There was Lucy, an emo Adele—tall, with a Cockney accent, dressed in an oversized black Led Zeppelin tee, skinny jeans, a leather jacket, and black Doc Martens, with red lipstick lining her thin lips.

Then there was James, tall and muscular, tattooed, with short dark hair tapered into textured black curls that complemented his medium brown complexion and dark brown eyes. He wore all black from head to toe.

Finally, rounding out Jack’s crew was Irish Liam—which was odd since there wasn’t an English Liam, so why was he Irish Liam? He had short, dark brown hair and striking blue eyes, wearing dark brown cargos, Vans, and a white tee under a dark brown leather jacket.

Next up, Harper’s NHS friends:

Olivia aka Liv had a dry wit, deep brown eyes, and dark wavy hair. She wore a Yankees baseball cap with acid-wash jeans, a simple dark blue t-shirt, and a pair of Converse.

Asha, with her medium brown skin with golden undertone and long, straight black hair, wore a sleeveless blouse, high-waisted wide-leg pants, and strappy sandals with a modest heel. She accessorized with a wide-brimmed hat, a beautiful pair of gold butterfly earrings, a woven straw handbag, and very notable pink nails.

Finally, rounding out the group was a couple—Kofi and his very gorgeous girlfriend, Imani.

Kofi, with his baby face making him look every bit of twelve years old, had a lean, athletic build, rich deep brown skin and short black textured hair. He was wearing a light bomber jacket with subtle branding, slim-fit black jeans, a pair of Air Max, and a silver chain necklace.

Imani had the best hair Noa had ever seen—straight, dark brown with light bronze streaks, pushed behind her ears, highlighting her rich ebony skin. She wore a custom leather biker jacket over a simple white top and high-waisted jeans. She was, without a doubt, Noa’s girl crush.

I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor by Arctic Monkeys

DJ D Double E gave the turntables a final spin, fading out the music and blazing the horns, leaning into the mic, "Oi, oi, time to get you lot ready for trivia night — oooh oooh!!" he gestured with gun fingers in the air.

Just then the MC for the night— MC Docta—stepped onto the stage picking up the night ""Right, listen up, ladies and gents! Welcome to Big Ben Strikes Twelve’s legendary trivia night! I’m MC Doctor.' Get ready, ‘cause it’s gonna get well competitive!"

The clock above the stage ticked down dramatically.

Harper then stood at the center of the group, scanning around to make sure everyone was within earshot. She clapped her hands together,"Alright, team! Let's get this show on the road. Here’s how we’re rolling tonight for Trivia Night!"

She gestured toward Jack, "Jack, you're with me. Noa, you're with Julian, obviously. Imani and Kofi, I know you two are a package deal, so that’s easy. Asha and Liv, you're on the same team, and—"

Lucy threw up her hand, interrupting Harper mid-flow. "Wait, wait, wait. Are we seriously doing this in pairs? I thought this was gonna be a team effort."

Harper raised an eyebrow, unphased. "Lucy, it's trivia. We’re doing it in pairs, well for you, three, pointing between Irish Liam, Lucy, and James, trust me—it’ll make the competition more fun. Plus with a trio you have a better chance of winning against pairs, unfortunately." she rolled her eyes in feign annoyance.

The group laughed, chatter commencing between the specific pairs. 

Harper raised a hand again, to refocus them. "Alright, alright, enough messing about. We've got a trivia night to win. No Googling, you cheating lot.” she scolded, pointing her finger at everyone.

She scanned the group, her gaze landing on Asha. "Asha, that goes for you." Harper said, narrowing her gaze.

Asha gave her a playful look, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Trust me, Harper, my knowledge runs deep, still. No Googling needed."

Imani, her voice smooth and confident, gave Kofi’s hand a squeeze. "We’ve got this."

Kofi smiled, glancing around the group. "We’re ready, to kick you lot in the knickers, innit.” 

The energy in the room spiked as the countdown hit zero, and MC Docta took the mic. "Alright, alright! Let’s get this started!"

Harper smirked at Jack, giving a little wink. "Get ready. This is our night."

Harper chuckled, adjusting her stance as the first trivia question lit up the screen. "Game on."

As the questions started, the room filled with the usual mix of groans, cheers, and shouted guesses. But it was the sudden synchronization of Noa and Julian’s answers that caught the attention of their teammates.

“Wait a second,” Harper called out, raising an eyebrow. “Did you two just answer that exactly the same?”

“Coincidence,” Julian said quickly, his grin spreading. “Nothing to see here.”

Noa fought to suppress a smile. “Totally. Just... great minds thinking alike.”

Jack leaned in, the competitive fire in his eyes almost palpable. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Noa shot him a playful glance. “Careful, Jack. We might just beat you tonight.”

As the trivia continued, there was a noticeable shift in the room. The chemistry between Noa and Julian was subtle but undeniable — in the way their glances lingered just a second too long, in how they intuitively bounced ideas off one another. They made a great team, and it didn’t take long before the others noticed.

"Ah, would ye ever stop winnin’, the pair of ye!" Irish Liam blurted out, throwing his hands up, clearly tired of his trivia trio already. 

But it wasn’t just the game that was heating up. As the questions got harder and the atmosphere became tense, Julian’s usual guarded demeanor seemed to soften, his competitive edge coming out in full force as he matched Noa’s energy.

A few questions later, as they were deep in the middle of a particularly tricky round, Jack, for the first time, seemed to look a little defeated. He leaned back in his chair with a dramatic sigh, rubbing his face. “Alright, fine. We’re losing. I give up.”

Harper, clearly determined, shot back with a smirk. “Not on my watch.”

And just as they were about to dive into the next round, Julian leaned toward Noa, his tone unexpectedly quiet, though still playful. “You know, Noelle, I have to admit… I didn’t think I’d have this much fun tonight.”

Noa looked at him, taken off guard by the moment. “Well, don’t get too comfortable. The night’s still young, and we are still not winning.”

Julian chuckled, but there was a shift in his eyes. For a brief moment, it felt like the trivia game wasn’t the only thing they were playing.

Final Question. The air in Big Ben Strikes Twelve was thick with tension and anticipation. Drinks sat forgotten on tables, eyes locked on the glowing trivia screen. The game had been neck and neck, but now, it all came down to this.

MC Docta leaned into the mic, drawing out the suspense. “Alright, final question of the night! And this one’s a proper test—only the best of the best will get it right.”

The crowd murmured. Noa stole a quick glance at Julian, and he smirked, eyes twinkling. Harper cracked her knuckles. Jack exhaled like a man ready to go to war.

The question flashed on the screen. The room inhaled.

Seconds ticked by, and then—

BZZT.

Noa and Julian’s buzzer lit up first. Their answer popped onto the screen a split second later.

MC Docta squinted. Then grinned. “Well, well, well! We’ve got our winners!”

The room erupted into cheers and groans. Noa turned to Julian, half in disbelief, half exhilarated. Julian just chuckled, tipping his head toward her.

“You really doubted us?” he smirked.

Jack groaned, throwing his head back. “I can’t believe this, bloody hell!”

Harper rolled her eyes, but grinned. “Alright, alright. I’ll admit—impressive teamwork.”

Irish Liam, arms dramatically crossed, shook his head. "I’m tellin’ ye, the whole feckin’ thing was rigged!"

Laughter rippled through the group as the DJ D Double E wasted no time, cuing up the next track—Pharrell’s ‘Frontin’’ sliding in smoothly over the speakers. 

Julian leaned in closer to Noa, his smirk lazy, amused. “Drinks are on you lot, yeah?” he teased, looking at the group of losers.

Harper clapped Noa on the back. “Enjoy the win, champs. But don’t get used to it.”

Jack pointed a finger at Julian, already reaching for his wallet. “Next time, mate, you’re going down.”

Julian just shrugged. “We’ll see.”

The scene dissolved into teasing, laughter, more drinks being ordered, lingering glances between Noa and Julian exchanged under the dim glow of the bar lights.

Trivia night was over. But something else was just getting started.

Dial Two Seven by Lapsley

The airport was a racket of hurried footsteps, rolling suitcases, and the faint sounds of announcements overhead. Noa navigated through the crowd with Sebastian and Viv, her carry-on bag clutched tightly in hand, filled with nervous energy. She loved to travel, but she always felt like she’d forget something, like her passport. So, she was the type to arrive at the airport super early and double- and triple-check everything.

"I can’t believe we are proper bound for Paris," Sebastian remarked, his voice low as he glanced at his watch. 

"I swear, every time I find myself at this airport, it’s as if I’m under some dreadful curse." he said, looking around like the boogeyman would jump out at any minute.

Viv, who had been absorbed in her phone, barely looked up. “You know what? I’m going to need you to prep a full report by this afternoon, Sebastian. We have a meeting at the hotel. I know it's a lot, but that’s what we’re in Paris, right?”

Sebastian blinked at her. “Wait, afternoon, we proper land at 2pm.” he said, confused and yet with a slight tinge of annoyance in his tone.

Viv didn’t miss a beat. “Yes. Your data insights are crucial before we get into full Paris mode. We’ll be on the clock as soon as we land.”

Viv, finally sensing Sebastian’s hesitation, offered a tight smile. “I like to think of it as a challenge.”

One Kiss by Dua Lipa

Just as the group started moving toward security, Noa’s phone buzzed, a message from the Patats.

Selam: "So Julian Poitier just sat down next to us on the flight 😳 Do we ask him for a selfie or act casual? 😭” Carmen: "No seriously, Noa, this is a sign. He's so fine, wow! The vibes are immaculate. You’re dating him, right??"

Noa paused mid-step, blinking at the messages. She quickly typed back.

Noa: "Guys... I’ve been on like one official date with the man. Also, why is he on your flight?" Selam: "Girl, how are we supposed to know? He’s here, looking all perfect and, like, chill. Can’t believe you’ve been keeping him all to yourself!" Lore: "This is too good. Do you think he’s noticed us yet? We’re in the same section!"

Noa stared at the screen, biting back a laugh. She had half a mind to forward the messages to Julian, but that would give them exactly what they wanted: a reaction.

Meanwhile, Noa didn’t notice that Georgia-Louise and Maya-Rose had arrived, standing behind her, the tension in the air between them was thick. She could feel it without even turning around. And now they were all stuck on the same flight together — Lord. Noa wondered for a moment why they were having this tension. 

Noa sent one more message to the Patats, bracing herself for their inevitable follow-up texts.

Noa: "He’s not a public exhibit, guys. Don’t make it weird."

Seconds later, another ping from them:

Amina: "Too late. We just made it weird, Noa. Julian smiled at us [smirk]"

Noa’s eyes nearly rolled out of her head. “These bozos,” she muttered, as she headed to TSA to begin the journey to Paris.

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