Gemotions

Michael clutched the package – a sleek, expensive-looking box – like a hot coal. "Returned to sender," he mumbled to the delivery woman, the words catching in his throat. He felt his cheeks flush, the heat creeping up his neck. The note on the package read, "Ms. Eleanor Vance, Suite 3B."

He hadn't been expecting anything. He wasn't sure what Eleanor Vance had ordered, but his gut clenched at the thought of the contents. He knew she'd be gone by the time he got home from work, and the building manager was busy. He felt a deep urge to simply toss it in the communal bin.