“¿Le puedo comprar una cerveza?” she asked. Can I buy you a beer?
It was out of the blue. If John didn’t know better, he’d think she was hitting on him. Maybe he didn’t know better. She saw him thinking.
She spoke again, softer. “Solo quiero hablar.” I just want to talk.
He had work to do. But there was something in her tone. He ordered another coffee and sat back down. Marcela ordered a beer. He looked at her expectantly while she drank from the perspiring bottle. She put it down hard on the table when she’d finished about a quarter of the liquid.
“How old are you?”
John wasn’t sure if he should be amused or insulted.
“Old enough that you shouldn’t ask.”
Marcela started to smile but then it was washed away by something. She looked out over the street, surveying locals and tourists
