Gemotions

Liam tugged at his collar, the crisp fabric suddenly feeling like sandpaper. His face flushed crimson as Mrs. Gable, perched on her porch swing, squinted at him over her spectacles. He’d rehearsed this conversation a dozen times, but now, the words tangled in his throat like a ball of yarn.

"So, the... uh... the fence," he mumbled, gesturing vaguely toward the shared property line. The sun seemed to intensify, baking him.

He was usually so confident, a man of action. But the thought of asking his sweet, elderly neighbor for a construction project, one he knew she’d find unsightly, knotted his stomach. He hoped he didn't appear a complete buffoon.

He avoided her gaze, focusing instead on a particularly vibrant weed sprouting from a crack in the sidewalk.