Gemotions

The clatter of the gate announced his arrival. Michael, eyes twinkling, a slight smirk playing on his lips, stood at the edge of the lawn. He held a chainsaw, its metal gleam catching the light. She felt her pulse quicken, a frantic drum against her ribs.

"Hey, Sarah. Got a minute?" His voice, usually pleasant, held a particular edge today, a timbre that seemed to buzz in the air between them. A bead of perspiration trickled down her forehead. She found herself captivated by the way the setting sun illuminated the fine hairs on his arms.

"Sure," she replied, trying to sound casual, but her voice was strained. She noticed the way his jeans hugged his thighs, and her breath hitched. Her palms were suddenly damp.

"This old maple… it's leaning pretty bad. Might come down in the next storm. Dangerous, you know?" He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over her. She fought the urge to lick her lips.

"I… I hadn't noticed," she stammered, feeling a flush creep up her neck. The air around them felt electric, charged with unspoken possibilities. She fiddled with the strap of her sundress, her fingers suddenly clumsy.