She opened the door and peeked in the tub. The creature was still sitting there, unmoving.

     He wasn’t green either, so she supposed he was a toad. The question was, how did he keep getting in? There were no windows, and the drain stoppers of the sink and tub were sunk securely, with scarcely a half inch of clearance. He couldn’t have squeezed through.

     She tipped the cup over on its side, setting it down near him, hoping he’d jump in.

     He blinked twice but didn’t move.

     With an exasperated sigh, she regarded the little intruder. Was it even the same toad? They all looked alike to her. It bothered her, the not knowing. One toad who kept reappearing seemed somehow less of a problem than a revolving door of strange toads.

     With a sudden flash of inspiration, she reached for her favorite nail polish, Plum Passion. Squinting at the label under the fluorescent light, she scrolled down, searching for hazard warnings. It couldn’t be that harmful, right? After all, she, herself, was wearing it.

     Crouching by the tub, she twisted open the cap, hoping he wouldn’t jump away.

     “This won’t hurt,” she crooned, and swabbed the loaded brush toward him, aiming for his broad back.

     Startled by her movement, he hopped forward and she jerked back, spilling a blob of polish on the white enamel of the tub floor. It looked like blackberry wine. The toad jumped again, and his front feet landed in the puddle, before he reversed course and hopped into the Styrofoam cup to hide.

     Gotcha! Vera swooped in, snatching up the cup and covering it quickly.

     Marching down the stairs, she peeked through her fingers at the toad, who now sported plum-colored feet. He blinked up at her nervously.

      She flung open the door, intending to toss him out on the lawn, but when she saw the harsh sunlight, she decided under the porch would be kinder. Tipping the cup gently, she deposited the toad onto damp soil and dead leaves, feeling a prickle of guilt over his purple toes. He hopped away without a backward look.

#

     Weeks passed, and the toad did not return. Vera watched TV and read books in solitude, reflecting if the toad had been a stray cat, she might have kept him for company.

     She was painfully shy, with no skill at flirting or small talk, and she had no real friends, just co-workers. Her life revolved around her workplace, with her voice becoming creaky and unused on weekends. Oftentimes, her only interactions outside the work week were thanking the pizza delivery guy and yelling warnings at the TV to Rick Grimes on The Walking Dead.

     She had always been a loner, but for the first time in her life, she actually felt lonely. She found this new development in her life highly unsatisfactory, but she was completely at a loss over how to change it.

#

     The new barista at the coffee shop handed Vera her change with a thank you. Her downcast gaze drifted up to his face, drawn by the rich baritone of his voice, soft like velvet and pleasing to her senses. He blinked twice, smiling shyly, his kindly brown eyes showing a spark of interest as he handed her the mocha latte.

     She reached for the Styrofoam cup and immediately noticed his hand - a wine-colored birthmark, the size of a silver dollar, spread over his skin between thumb and forefinger.

     In a brave and unprecedented reach for happiness, Vera took a deep breath and a leap of faith.

     She invited him to dinner.

     He said yes.

​

-the end-