She had not had any customers for the last two hours, so now the manicurist was painting her own nails. Bright pink with golden tips. He had been watching her for a while from his neighbouring terrace. He was supposedly tending his pigeons. Well he was tending them, but the cooling evening breeze and the sight of her made him linger. And linger a bit more. It was getting dark now , but she did not need to see to know what she was doing. Her movements sure and quick as she applied another layer of the nail polish. Not once had she looked up, not acknowledged his presence in any way.

But she knew he was looking. He was sure of it.

After he returned to la isla he had started appreciating the femininity of the Cuban woman in a completely different way . The tight clothes, the bright colours, the attitude that said that too much of a good thing is wonderful. Why had he not noticed before ? Had he not been looking ? He knew why. His attention had been on the extranjeras. But he had learned a lot since then. In Germany, the fun loving, salsa dancing novia that he knew from her visits to Cuba had turned into a work-obsessed control freak within weeks of his arrival. He got tired of it. So he came back.

Slowly he let his favourite pigeon escape from his lap and got up to smoke. He walked closer to the edge taking her in. The rounded bum on the little chair, the short yellow skirt, the long dangling earrings, the curls in the nape of her neck as she bent over her task. She was a cutie this one… A cutie indeed. He had seen her in the neighbourhood too, with her novio. A big guy. But no sign of him now… Besides she was still here, wasn’t she? 

Nice colour he said. She looked up at him. Met his eyes, but still she said nothing. He knew that she did not want to give in straight away. He would not expect her too. He held out his glass of rum to her. Quieres?