I first saw her in the Jardin Botanico in Puerto Vallarta. Draped in beige chiffon, her champagne hair twisted up and wispy in the humidity, she was bending over the lilies, her delicate nose seeking their scent.
I had to speak. “Maravillosos, no?”
She sized me up, then said haltingly. “Me gustan mucho los lirios…”
“Oh, you are English? I love lilies too. I think they are the national flower of Mexico. They are so graceful, as are you.”
She blushed and turned away. I had gone a bit too far.