The next evening I sit in the farthest corner of an overpriced restaurant with my back to the wall, whiskey in hand, and eyes trained on the entrance. I’m waiting for this mystery woman with no idea what to expect. She texted to confirm she wouldn’t stand me up and said she’d be wearing red. She’s late. Not by much, but enough to tell me she’s not rushing to impress me. Another point in her favor. Then I see a woman in a red dress walk in. And fuck me, I wasn’t prepared for this. She’s petite, yet nothing about her is fragile. She walks in like she owns the place, exuding an easy confidence.
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