Vesuvius

She held her Aperol spritz in one hand and wandered out onto the terrace of the Hotel Cenobio del Doge, overlooking the Mediterranean, which this evening was a rich turquoise. The patio bar was busy, but there was one free chair.

“Scusi, signor…” She put one hand on the back of the rattan chair and gazed across the table. He looked up from his Corriere del Sud, and his pale blue eyes widened.

He brushed a thatch of silver hair away from his forehead and extended an open palm towards her. “Per favore, signora.”

She had already noticed his pink linen shirt. Now she sat down and saw his bracelet: fine leather cord with insets of black lava beads. A man with a pink shirt and a bracelet, so assured of his masculinity, so unusual and exciting to see. She wished she spoke better Italian.

If you need a radically masculine bit of ornamentation ($40), message Louisa on the contact page.