Gemotions

The late afternoon sun was harsh on her face as she stepped out into her backyard. She could smell the crisp, early spring air and the fresh, damp earth. Her neighbor, Mr. Peterson, stood near the fence, a shovel resting against his leg. “I was hoping,” he said, his voice hesitant, “to plant some squash in that patch of sunlight.”

She couldn’t help but notice the way his jeans hugged his thighs. Her mouth felt dry, and she unconsciously licked her lips. Her gaze moved slowly over his body, taking in the details: the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his hands gripped the shovel.

“Of course,” she managed, her voice suddenly high-pitched. She fought a sudden urge to smooth down her hair. "That sounds… lovely." She felt a strange buzzing in her ears.