"Why did you paint your front door blue?" I asked.  He only smiled, shrugged and disappeared into the kitchen.

I was woozy. Maybe it was the martini. A blue front door?

Brown, black, and occasionally a red one. But blue? What does it mean? Could I be off-trend?

He returned from the kitchen carrying a tray of crab puffs. Hot out of the oven, they were steaming. Exasperated, so was I.

"Why blue?" I asked. 

"Why not blue?" he said, and offered me a crab puff. But I didn't flinch. I sipped my martini. I stared him down. I wanted answers.

"I just like blue," he said. He handed me a small plate and cocktail napkin, still pushing those crab puffs. I ignored them. I refused to break my gaze. His eyes were blue. 

I chugged my martini and slammed the glass down, not on its coaster. I needed to leave. The hardware store was about to close. I wanted paint. If I rushed, I could have a blue door before nightfall. Perhaps the store carried doorknockers. Brass. A lion's head. No, a ram's. Or maybe... I'll see what they have on display. I'll install it in the morning. Paint needs time to dry.