The couple sits with their backs to me, leaning toward each other in the fading light of the outdoor café. They obviously enjoy each other’s company. Even from my shadowed corner in the back of the café I could hear her twinkling laughter as he leans closer to whisper something in her ear. It turns my stomach. She looks like something out of a painting, her graceful, lean body ripples with muscles of a dancer. Her heart shaped face is framed by a set of pretty blonde curls. Her hair faintly shimmers in the low light and as she throws back her head to laugh, the curls take on a life of their own, bouncing and sending reflections of fragmented light spinning to every corner.
I see the man admiring her beauty. He watches her move with sickening fascination at her limbs that seemed made of liquid silver. When she speaks, his eyes flicker from her sparkling, almond shaped eyes, to her round, cherry lips and then back again.
I can only see the man’s profile, for the other half of his face bathed in shadows. His strong jaw line sports a smattering of fresh stubble. His high brow and sloping nose gives him a regal and handsome look. He is tall and lean like her, and together they look like something out of a magazine. His head full of wild, dark hair seems to go perfectly with his deep, penetrating brown eyes.
A street performer sits just next to the café and begins playing a slow, lyrical tune. The man grins, stands up suddenly, bows to the woman, and offers her his hand. She laughs again and the light ricochets off her shaking curls. She lets him take her to her feet and sweep her to the sidewalk. They both seem to be naturals, swinging and stepping around the tourists as they glance curiously at the gorgeous couple. Their bodies are close and fluid, their hands clenched. I see him reach for her waist and pull her toward his body, even closer. She rests her hands on his chest and their eyes lock as they twirl around pedestrians in the cooling night air. Soon she closes her eyes and leans into him and they slow until they are just rocking against each other.
I know that as she breathes in the scent of his worn suit coat she smells rosemary and smoke, soap and damp cotton. I know the smell all too well. Finally I get up and leave the café through the back door like I do every night. I couldn’t take it anymore. Watching them for another moment would have killed me. I walk the back alley in the dirty puddles and rubbish, away from another night of my husband dancing with the sparkly haired woman.