Gemotions

The clipboard felt like it weighed a ton in Agnes's hands. She hadn't expected Mr. Henderson to be *home* when she went over. She’d figured she could slip a politely worded note under his door detailing her desire for a privacy fence, leaving a diagram she’d meticulously sketched with a ruler. Now, face to face, she stammered, pointing at the drawing, her cheeks burning. “Just… a suggestion, really.”

Her voice cracked. She instantly wished she could rewind time and just… *not*. Mr. Henderson, with his booming laugh and easygoing nature, was the last person she wanted to confront.

He peered at the sketch, his brow furrowed. Agnes felt a hot prickle at the back of her neck, the kind that always heralded a disastrous social interaction.