Coming Home

He leaned against the staircase, admiring his handiwork. Apart from the garden still needing to be weeded, the plumber still needing to be paid, and the lights in the attic still needing to be replaced, he finally felt good about himself for once after taking care of the house. He had finally gotten around to painting his room fire-engine red, just the way he wanted it. He could finally stay still for a moment and stare at the new gray glove he found in a drain ditch this morning.

It belonged to a woman, most likely. The slim fingers gave that away instantly. But gray? Of all colors? Gloves weren't meant for gray. They were meant for the vibrant. Meant for the loud. Meant for the certain.

Not meant for the dull.

But even so, he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. Couldn't bring himself to get rid of the idea that somewhere out there existed a dull, gray woman missing an equally dull glove.

A child-like mischief tickled his insides. Made him smirk. For a brief moment, he wanted to return it rather than add it to his collection, but no. This glove was special now. An orphan abandoned on the side of the road. It could finally have a home with all his other pairs.

Yes. He most certainly would keep it.

But first, he would find her.