Gemotions

The woman, Mrs. Gable, was standing at the edge of his pristine lawn, a plastic trowel clutched in her hand like a weapon. Harold felt his stomach clench. He’d spent all morning meticulously mowing, edging, and fertilizing. The thought of her digging around, disrupting his perfect green canvas, sent a shiver of revulsion down his spine.

"Well, Harold, what do you think? Just a small patch, right along the fence, for some herbs and tomatoes?" Her voice was saccharine sweet, but the glint in her eye suggested a lurking ambition.

Harold took a deep breath, trying to control the urge to tell her to get off his property. "I'll have to...think about it." He forced a tight smile. He’d hide the key to the shed.