Gemotions

A wave of contentment washed over Leo as he surveyed his freshly-mowed lawn. The scent of cut grass, mingled with the faint fragrance of blooming roses, was intoxicating. He stretched, feeling the satisfying pull in his muscles after the physical exertion. A small, slightly battered cardboard box sat near the door. The name scrawled on the label wasn’t his; it was “Brenda Miller.”

“Oh, bother,” he muttered, but his tone lacked any real annoyance. He knew the Millers had moved out months ago. He should probably call the number on the box and check who it was for. He walked back to his deck, poured himself a lemonade, and sat down in his favourite chair, the view of the lake unfolding before him. He took a long, slow sip. He decided the phone call could wait.