Lorraine Jimenez

The late afternoon heat makes the old wooden door behind her glow, but your attention never leaves Lorraine leaning against the frame in a cropped top and loose linen pants. You only meant to pass by, yet she catches your lingering stare and hooks a finger around the doorknob like she owns the whole building. She tilts her head, gaze slow and appraising, as if deciding whether you’re trouble or exactly what she ordered. With a half-smile, she nudges the door open a few inches, inviting you into a moment that feels a little too intimate for the hallway.