South of France Edition

It started, as most good ideas do, with a car rental and a vague sense of professionalism.

We called it a tournée commerciale. Two girls, one mission, seven days in the sun — or so we thought. The plan was clean: drive south, knock on boutique doors, sell some sunglasses, come back. What nobody tells you about road trips is that the road has its own agenda.

Molleges. La Villa Luna. A house plucked out of a magazine and dropped in the middle of nowhere, in the best possible way. We dropped our bags, kicked off our shoes, and decided that being sage was a very reasonable character choice. We were, at this stage, entirely sage.

Gordes — literally a postcard. We walked around feeling slightly fraudulent, like two Parisians pretending they've always lived like this. Lavender fields, golden stone, a landscape that makes you want to buy a crochet dress at minimum.

Avignon sous la pluie. The rain came down with the confidence of someone who hadn't checked the forecast. Lunch at the hotel, streets turning grey, a second glass of wine on the logic that we couldn't really work in this weather anyway. Très professionnel.

Arles. The sun came back like an apology. Lunch at Godina — the kind of place where the food is so good you forget you have somewhere to be. We were sage. We were focused. We were business women.

Marseille. Mama Shelter. The city hit different — that particular Marseille energy, rough and warm and completely unbothered. Apéro sunset, too many spicy margaritas at Tuba (factual statement, not a complaint), dinner at Prosper, then dancing at Vice Versa. The next morning arrived with feelings. Café. Silence. Sunglasses inside. A quiet agreement that we had, perhaps, been only moderately sage. Then we got in the car and drove to Saint-Tropez.

Saint-Tropez. And that's where the wheels came off — in the most wonderful way.

Apéro at Les Palmitos with le pastis 12 12. Hotel Les Palmiers. Linen sheets. A wardrobe suddenly inadequate.

We were supposed to sleep early.

We ended up at the Tigrr.

We met Wolfgang — a man of a certain age, with a certain energy, the kind of person everyone would say is too much, dial it back. He was not too much. He was exactly enough. We did karaoke with Wolfgang. We played pétanque at 2am. At some point, the line between business trip and vacation dissolved completely, and we let it.

From the Tigrr, we ended up at Pablo — where I met someone. Let's call him Johny Wants to Cuddle, because that's essentially how he introduced the concept of himself, and also because it was his birthday, and people are allowed to be direct on their birthdays. I did not ask his age. I had made a deliberate choice not to know. The night was lovely. Saint-Tropez at 6am is an entirely different city and I recommend it to everyone.

The next morning, I received a "what's your name" text. I did not respond. This is not a regret, simply a narrative choice.

The day that followed was peak Tropézite — a medical condition I'm now certain is real and probably irreversible. Lunch on the beach with a 2-for-1 detox mezcalita. Siesta with the specific coma-level rest only the Mediterranean sun can produce. Dinner at Don Camillo.

We were supposed to sleep early.

Then we walked back into the Tigrr. Wolfgang saw us from across the room. He opened his arms wide.

"My girls!"

He leaned across the table, eyes sparkling with the energy of a man who has a story to tell.

"I want you to meet someone," he said.

And he introduced us to his son. Jonathan.

We looked at each other. We looked at Jonathan. We looked back at each other. The laughter started somewhere around the stomach and didn't really stop for the rest of the evening. Jonathan, for the record, was charming. My last morning in Saint-Tropez was slow and golden — with a good old walk of shame in that specific crochet dress — and exactly what it needed to be.

We drove back with the windows down and the kind of quiet that only exists between two people who have been through something together — even if that something was, technically, a business trip.

The sunglasses got sold. The boutiques got visited. The quota got filled.