After we left the boys at the loft, we’d headed back to my apartment for a quick change out of our evening wear. Fae was taller than me by a few inches, so even my largest shorts were booty-hugging on her frame, but she pulled off the look with the same cool confidence she exuded when wearing Prada and pearls. We set out for the flea market not long after, and she soon become a woman obsessed — not, unfortunately, with finding designer deals or hunting down hidden gems amongst the many racks and displays that made up the flea market, but with distracting me from all thoughts of Sebastian. We wound our way through the maze of colorful carts and tables, chatting with the street vendors we knew and giggling at the sight of confounded tourists trying to discern some kind of pattern from the chaos. The first time I’d been here, I’m sure I’d worn that same shell-shocked look of astonishment as my unaccustomed eyes tried to take it all in at once. Milk crates full of vintage records were stacked along tabletops, mothball-scented mink coats hung from long racks, plastic bins brimmed with unorganized shoes of all sizes and styles, and various food carts exuded spicy, exotic smells.
