Gemotions

The request, when it came, felt like a physical blow. A sharp, stinging jab to Liam's solar plexus. The words, so innocent, of wanting to cultivate a small plot next to his fence, replayed in his head. Mrs. Peterson's cheerful tone grated on him. He felt his jaw clench.

He had spent weeks making sure his lawn was perfect. The idea of someone altering his precisely manicured space… He needed to be alone.

"Well," he stammered, running a hand through his hair. "I… I'm not sure. I'd have to… think about it." He felt a flush creep up his neck.

He watched her retreating back through the window, the image of her in his yard a persistent, unwelcome echo. He retreated to his darkened living room, away from the sun's glare, and closed the curtains.