Fiction

Eustace Jenkins was beige. Molly was certain of it. Many men she had seen each with their own color. Some were exciting, vermillion, or chartreuse, others were more every day, purple, or yellow, but Eustace, Eustace was beige. He was a nice enough man; timid, reserved, but a good enough listener, a fine accountant, the kind to offer to pay the bill but not insist if one preferred it split. The kind of man that'd buy you a charm bracelet on your first anniversary then spend the rest of his natural life span filling it with one of a million trinkets destined to collect dust in the back of a closet or uncomfortably jangle on the wrist for special occasions. The kind of man who ended every one of his short, clipped sentences with a definitive period that said: “Nothing more can possibly be said." 

         “Would you like to come over for some coffee?” he asked at the end of dinner. Not wanting to be rude, Molly agreed.

 

See Full Story Here: Dinner and Coffee