Danica

Her English has the clipped precision of a language learned at work rather than at school; her Serbian belongs to another register entirely, and a warmer one. Broad hands, unusually warm, and forearm weight where others use fingers, so the pressure arrives leaned into rather than pushed, with enough heat that nothing catches. The streets behind the Albert Cuyp have been hers long enough that she gives directions like a local and complains about the tourists like one too. Long bookings are the ones she likes, because to her the first twenty minutes are only the opening of a conversation.

Danica decides which bookings she takes and may decline any of them; she sets the limits for what a session includes, says what they are, and may end a visit at any point, as the terms set out.