one hundred word story #66: Dangerous liaisons

Ernest never learned to compliment. "Your face," he says to Belinda, "looks like a thousand tiny suns, all converging in a massive eclipse." "Your eyes," he says to Emily, "are like apple seeds, except bigger, and shinier." “You’re pretty and everything,“ he says to his barista, “but really, it’s your insides I’m interested in.” This time it registers. Words don’t work; gestures do. He brings her a cup of coffee at her café. “For you,” he says. “Is this from down the street?” she asks. “This coffee is like my feelings—hot,” he says. “Then keep it,” she says, “please.”