Coffee: Black

Cup One: Will you marry me?

Muggy weather, the perfect setting for Luke's mood. He sat alone at a small table in his neighborhoods local coffee shop near the large store front windows. He stared out of them as he tried to ignore the sea of hipsters that surrounded him. One thing he never understood is how men can wear their hair in buns. It was like the mullet of the modern age.

Luke sat there, staring at the meager traffic on the street outside as he waited. He was supposed to be meeting his uncle, Eric, a tall scruffy man with black hair too long for his own good that favored light tan trench coats and leather loafers. The man was a mess. He rarely shaved, rarely brushed that long hair of his, and hell he seemed to barely shower. Uncle Eric was by definition a mess. At least he was the last time Luke had seen him, which was about two years ago.

Of course though Uncle Eric wasn't really his uncle. He was one of THOSE uncles that his mother would take up to her room and lock the door behind her. The thought kind of made Luke shudder. His mother had some interesting taste in men.

Why now of all times would his mother ask him to meet up with Uncle Eric was a mystery to him. Luke never liked the man. Hell he loathed him. He always showed up to their house smelling like body odor and old alcohol and the smell still made him nauseous. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Luke had gotten into the habit of cutting himself off from the world.

His mother liked to call him antisocial but the truth was he was tired of people. They all followed fads, most people his age all talked the same, ninety five percent of them had horrible taste in music, and almost all the men in his age group wore those stupid man buns. Why would he socialize with a group of sheep with no taste and poor life skills. He would be surprised if one of those hipster man bun wearing guys new how to make a grill cheese without burning the house down. Hell he'd be impressed if they made a bowl of cereal.

What his mother called antisocial Luke called being selective.

A deep sound of someone clearing his through behind Luke startled him out of his thoughts causing him to jump and hit his knee on the table. He cursed under his breath as he rubbed his knee turning his head to look behind him. "WHAT?!" He harshly spat out expecting to see one of the many hipsters around asking to steal a chair from his table or something.

His eyes widened slightly in shock when he saw the well groomed man in his late thirties standing behind him, one black eye brow raised in humor. It was none other than Uncle Eric looking almost unrecognizable. He still had his long hair but it was obvious that it had been washed and brushed before being pulled back at the nape of his neck, only a few strands of black hair escaping to fall about his shaven and clean face. Luke was surprised at how defined his cheek bones were. He never noticed that before, what with the stink, him looking like one of those shaggy dogs, and the bush that was growing on his face. He still had on a tan trench coat but this one seemed to be new and not so much homeless man chic. There were no mystery stains, wholes, or stray traces of his lunch on the front of it and it actually looked well pressed. Beneath his trench coat he wore an expensive suit, buttoned at the front to accent his waist, a crisp white shirt that stood out from the dark black jacket, and a tie. An actual tie, sky blue, about the same color as his eyes.

Luke took a breath, albeit shaky, and caught the scent of after shave, soap, and a hint of cigarettes. He smelled like an adult, an actual adult, not the back side of a bar or the disgustingly overpowering smell of cologne he had been smelling for the last twenty minutes.

"You seem surprised," Eric spoke, his words well pronounced, no hint of slur evident.

Was this really Uncle Eric?

Eric's light pink lips pulled up slightly at the corners as he smirked down at the shocked Luke. "Two years can do a lot to a person," He said, "I'm not the only one that's different string bean."

The old nickname his Luke in the face like a bag of bricks. He forgot how gangly he had been, all elbows and knees, and he had forgotten about that god forsaken nickname. He could still hear Eric slurring, "Don't come a knockin' string bean, if you hear the bed a rockin'" before he followed Luke's mother upstairs. The thought made his stomach queasy.

"You've filled out nicely," Eric said, his smirk growing as he watched Luke's display of facial expressions.

Before Luke could come up with some hasty retort Eric made his way over to the other side of the table, took a seat in the chair in front of Luke, and placed his arms on the table. "Your mother asked me for a favor."

"She asked you for a lot of favor's if I seem to recall correctly."

Eric smiled to himself, a light laugh escaping from his lips. "I don't mean that kind of favor. Besides I'm not exactly your mothers type anymore."

What type is that? Luke thought, Well groomed?

Luke reached for his coffee and went to take a sip of it. The rich aroma floating to his nose.

"She asked me to give you a job."

And there went the coffee down the wrong tube. Luke quickly set his coffee down on the table as he coughed up a lung, hitting his chest with his free hand.

In front of him Eric had his eyebrow raised again as he stared at Luke, his face obviously amused.

"Easy boy," Eric said, a hint of a laugh riding his voice.

"Screw-" *cough* "You!"

That time Eric did laugh, his laughter actually reaching his eyes. "Still saucy I see."

Luke, while catching his breath, raised his hand and flipped the older man the bird.

"Maybe later," Eric replied, a glint of some kind in his eye.

Luke rolled his eyes, "Why on earth would my mother ask you to give me a job? What on earth do you even do?"

"I'm a writer," Eric replied, "And I need an assistant. Your mother asked me to give you a job because she thinks you spend to much time alone in your apartment."

"She does realize I already have a job right? How else would I be able to afford my own place?" Luke's face took on a 'seriously?' expression.

"Your job has you sitting alone in a cubicle typing away at a computer. It's the perfect job for a future cat lady."

"Screw you."

"Keep offering kid and see what happens..."

Luke stiffened. What did he just say?

"Besides," Eric continued as if he didn't just threaten a twenty two year old with sexual harassment, "I'll pay you more."

"How much more?" Luke asked, his voice suspicious. For some reason he felt like he was discussing a sexual contract. Eric went from one type of creep to another that was for sure.

"A lot more. You make what six hundred every two weeks?"

"Something like that..."

"How would you feel about making a thousand dollars every two weeks, with an opportunity for a substantial raise based on your performance?"

For some reason the way Eric said performance sent a chill down Luke's back. "A thousand dollars?"

"Mhm."

"Every two weeks?"

"Yup."

"What would I have to do?"

"Oh you know, basic assistant stuff. Filing, organizing, cleaning, making coffee, answering my phone so I don't have to talk to my stupid editor. Those kinds of things."

"So a glorified house wife?"

Eric tilted his head in thought, "You know I never thought of it that way but yes. A house wife. Will you do me the honor of marrying me Luke Goslar?"