LEILA
.
.
The date ended politely, he walked me to the corner and we stood there for a moment, the city noise a distant hum.
“I had a really nice time, Leila,” he said, his smile genuine.
“Me too, Liam,” I replied, meaning the ‘nice’ part, at least.
He hesitated for a second, then extended his hand, a polite handshake, his grip was firm, his hand warm.
It was fine. Exactly fine. And that was the problem.
“Goodnight, Leila.”
“Goodnight, Liam.”
I watched him walk away, a perfectly nice guy in a perfectly nice suit, disappearing into the crowd and I felt nothing.
No flutter in my stomach, no lingering warmth from the handshake, no anticipation of seeing him again.
Just emptiness.
The same kind of emptiness I’d felt when I walked out of that penthouse door years ago, but dif
