escort diary® of Alexandra Thomas: I Remember the Way He Looked at Me
There are evenings you forget as soon as they end—pleasant, predictable, slipping away like the last flicker of a candle. And then, there are the others.
The kind that begin with an unspoken understanding. A glance across the table that lingers just a second too long. The soft weight of a question that doesn’t need to be asked. The slow, deliberate unfolding of a night that refuses to be rushed.
He told me he had been here before. That the city was familiar, the restaurants, the skyline, the rhythm of it. But that evening, it wasn’t the city he recognized.
It was something else.
These nights don’t happen often. They aren’t scheduled. They aren’t planned. They unfold in their own time, for those who know how to recognize them.
Perhaps you do.
