A cozy little place tucked away in the maze of the old town. An inconspicuous door, the dim light of a tiny lobby. A pretty young hostess smiles warmly and gestures for me to follow her inside.

I walk behind her down a narrow corridor.

Nothing like those mountain quarries, where the air is damp and cold from walls that never dry. There, instead of the delicate silhouette of a hostess ahead of you, it’s some ageless man in a torn quilted jacket, grunting and stinking at the same time. And waiting for you at the end isn’t a private room with a soft sofa and a glass of velvety sherry, but who knows what—a night, a storm, a rescue helicopter… or a deadly ambush.

But the sofa really is comfortable. I sink into it as though it were the deep featherbed my grandmother had in her village house.

A cigar and a sip of a sweet warming drink push the flashes of the past far away—with its freezing dampness, darkness, filthy twisted hands, and the fear that everything could end in an instant before anything warm, peaceful, and everlasting ever had the chance to begin.

Ah, whatever.

I lean my head back and close my eyes.

Anticipation…

Sometimes it’s stronger than reality itself. The mind paints impossible scenes—intricate plots woven together with expensive perfume, whispered words, lingering glances, and gentle touches.

And sometimes reality has surprises of its own.

The phone rings.

“Yeah, everything’s fine… Listen, I’m busy right now. Can we talk later? Okay?”

The muffled click of high heels against the carpet draws closer to the heavy velvet curtains. Like the rush of an incoming wave, they sweep open, letting her and the hostess into the room before closing again behind them.

I rise to greet her and gently lift her delicate hand for a welcoming kiss.

The hostess is about to ask something…

A slight shake of my head and a brief closing of my eyes stop her.

No.

Nothing.

Not yet.

Not now.

I glance toward the velvet bell cord. She understands immediately and nods.

Another silent wave, and the curtains swallow her again, the playful boudoir fairy winking as she disappears.

Nothing else matters.

Nothing matters when your hands are wrapped around a soft waist beneath smooth, delicate silk. When slender fingers with perfectly manicured nails glide slowly across your back, and you can still feel the sharpness of them through your jacket. When they slide over your chest through your shirt while a gentle kiss softly envelops your lips.

Her fingers recklessly tousle your hair as you pull her supple, yielding body closer.

When a torn collar button suddenly feels like the perfect solution, allowing you to feel her lips on your neck… then on your chest… while breathing in the delicate scent of silky, flowing blonde hair.

The first touch of bodies freed from their clothes.

Deep breaths.

Barely perceptible caresses across the most sensitive places.

When your fingers move across soft, perfectly cared-for skin, discovering the generous, moist warmth of forbidden desire.

That enveloping warmth transforms soft flesh into firm, pulsing strength…

After that, everything dissolves into intoxication.

Tight embraces.

Deep, rapid breathing.

A racing heartbeat.

The rhythm building… almost to convulsions…

And then complete exhaustion—born of pleasure, tenderness, and the freedom of total release.

Then…

Silence.

The peaceful stillness of two relaxed bodies lying motionless on the enormous sofa in that cozy private room hidden among the winding streets of the old city.

But sooner or later, the positions their bodies settled into after relief begin to feel uncomfortable. Sweat gathers beneath your arms, one arm goes numb, and your back insists that unless you sit up now, you’ll spend the rest of your life bent over.

“How are you? Maybe you’d like to order something? They make an excellent steak here—with lingonberry sauce and lightly grilled asparagus on a bed of mashed potato, fennel, and carrot. I highly recommend it.”

The very mention of food answers itself with gentle kisses across my chest, neck, and lips.

“Oh… the way you said that sounded delicious…” she whispers, trying to peer into my soul with her endless gray-blue eyes.

“I’ll order it immediately… And… ask them to recommend a nice wine to go with it.”

A gentle tug on the bell cord brings the hostess’s heels to life beyond the curtains.

She doesn’t hurry.

A brief professional pause.

“May I come in?”

“Yes, of course.”

She enters.

“If you would be so kind… the steak… a glass of Chardonnay for the lady. And for me—a burger with a fresh salad and a bottle of sparkling water.”

“Excellent choice.”

“Thank you.”

With a mischievous wink, I send the blushing young woman off toward the kitchen.

“Hmm… Aren’t hostesses supposed to stay out of this part? Their job is to show guests in, seat them, and wait for the next customer.”

“Well… maybe she liked me.”

“So what? She probably likes lots of people. You’re not here alone. You’re here with a woman.”

“True. But what exactly does that change? Why does it bother you so much?”

“Oh, because it does. Let her flirt with the lonely ones if she wants. You’re here with me, and that’s the end of it.”

“But I’m not really yours… We’ve talked about that before. You have a family. A comfortable life. Someone waits for you at home… and maybe even loves you.”

“You could take me with you.

Completely.

For real.

I don’t come here for nothing…

I come to you because you’re the closest person I have.”

The sound of heels again.

The curtains part.

The hostess returns, pushing a serving trolley.

“Your order.”

A few swift, practiced movements, and everything is neatly arranged on the table.

“Wow! That was quick. Thank you.”

“Enjoy your meal.”

A smile.

The curtains.

The clicking heels fade away.

“I can see it,” I say. “I can see that I matter to you. But why?”

She takes a bite of the tender steak with obvious pleasure before answering.

“I don’t know… I’ve never really thought about it.” She pauses. “Maybe… I want to spend the rest…” She takes a sip of wine. “…the rest of my life with you.”

She dabs the corners of her lips with a napkin.

“There!” she says, fixing her eyes on me, waiting for an answer.

“That’s… not quite how I imagined someone saying they wanted to live together. Besides, that wasn’t really a proposal.”

“Why not? What if it was?”

“‘Maybe’ and ‘what if’ change everything. This isn’t the fitting room at Galeries Lafayette—does it fit, doesn’t it fit? From the sound of it, you don’t even know what you really want.”

It’s fascinating to watch her expression change—from boldly defiant to bewildered. The pretty face turns frightened, and her eyes begin to fill with tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“I see you.

I know you—as much as your stories have allowed me to.

And you know… I’m not ready to become the guardian of a grown-up child. A beautiful one, an attractive one, an incredibly passionate one… but utterly irresponsible.

Someone who, after a couple of years, would grow tired of me despite everything I’d poured into her—my time, my soul, my money—without ever giving me the warmth I’d been waiting for.

You already know what it’s like to go looking for excitement somewhere else when the person closest to you simply doesn’t have the time to invent new amusements for you or wait while you decide between the yellow dress and… the other yellow dress.

You won’t look for closeness.

You’ll go looking for someone like me.

Someone who still doesn’t know what it’s really like to live with you, but who enjoys surrendering to passion with you—sharing the occasional dinner, short trips, evenings at the theater, and tearful conversations over text.”

She stares without blinking.

Tears stream silently down her cheeks.

Her limp fingers release the knife and fork, leaving stains on the spotless white tablecloth.

“The way you speak… it hurts.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Leave.”

“Okay.”

Well then.

I’ll go.

Yes, she’s upset.

She heard something about herself that was painful.

And uncomfortable.

So what?

My coach has said far harsher things to me than that.

And one time he…

Ah…

Never mind.

“Miss…”

I lean toward the hostess, speaking in a quiet, confidential whisper.

“Here’s payment for dinner.

You’ve been a great help.

Thank you.”

Kind eyes shine softly through the dim light.

Her gentle hand accepts the banknotes from mine.

“I finish work fairly early today…”

I hand her my business card.

She opens her mouth to ask something, but I interrupt.

“Here’s the number.

Call him.

Tell him what you saw today…

Then come.”

Outside.

Whew…

Cool.

Dark, though it’s still not very late.

A few familiar turns—so familiar they’ve become automatic—and once again I’m walking through the glittering shop windows of the city.

Home.

…

The next morning bears no resemblance to yesterday.

My mind feels clear.

Fresh.

The pretty hostess is still asleep beside me, peacefully curled up on the pillow.

I’ll make breakfast.

What’s in the news today?

All right…

I see…

I see…

And this?

What’s this?

A well-known businessman…

…has been found in his car with a gunshot wound…

His wife has been arrested on suspicion of murder…

Investigators believe the motive was a conflict over the wife’s infidelity, which she had concealed…

The couple have two children…

She faces…

Damn.

That was me…

“No.”

“You again?”

“You told the truth.

An uncomfortable truth.

You held up a mirror.

People hear and see things like that every single day.

She made her choice.

Her uncomfortable choice.

It has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, go to hell…”

I’ll go hunting.

“Yes, it’s me.

I’d like to book a flight.

Today.

The usual.

First class.

And a transfer.”

There we are.

A few hours above the clouds…

And I’m back.

In the past.