Lucy, a stargazing outcall companion from the Jordaan

'If the sky is clear, switch the lights off for a minute. Jupiter is up.' That is Lucy, already at your window before her coat is off, long dark curls brushing the glass as she points past the rooftops. Dreamy is the honest word for her, dreamy and tender and quietly artistic in everything she touches.

Astronomy is her oldest love. She knows which constellations hang over Amsterdam in each season, still gets giddy at a passing satellite and keeps an app that tells her exactly when the space station will cross the sky. On cloudy nights she settles for the city's own stars: lit windows in canal houses, the blinking red lamps on distant cranes, the long white streak of a night train crossing the IJ.

Mornings belong to running along the Amstel, when the river is grey and empty and the first rowing boats are just sliding out. Afternoons belong to espresso culture, hunting down the perfect cup in tiny roasteries, a subject she discusses with the reverence other people save for wine. Brown eyes that always look a little beyond the room, a slender 163 cm frame, twenty-four years of noticing what other people miss: that is Lucy in daylight.

After dark she changes into coastal bohemian elegance, silver lace, loose satin, an easy windswept feeling that suggests a weekend by the sea. Talk wanders happily with her, from stars to painting to the shape of clouds over the water, and she listens as tenderly as she speaks. Her English is soft and unhurried, the spoken version of a long-exposure photograph, and a quiet hour with her can feel like the city has been put on pause.

A car finds her in the Jordaan, where the lanes empty by midnight and the tyres barely whisper on the cobbles. Coffee devotees could also meet Milena, who shares the espresso habit. When you are ready, the booking page explains the few details to send, and Lucy will spend the ride with her forehead close to the glass, watching the city lights drift by all the way to you.