Gemotions

The clatter of dishes in the sink, the scent of lavender from the potpourri in the hall; it was a scene of domestic tranquility that was violently shattered by the doorbell. Carol stormed towards it, expecting the delivery she had ordered. Instead, there was Mr. Jenkins, a man she barely knew, holding a trowel. "I've always admired your garden space," he said. "Think you'd mind me using a small portion to grow some herbs?"

Carol's breath hitched. Her hands felt clammy. She thought of her unfinished novel, of the peaceful afternoon she had planned. Now it was all being swept away.

She managed to stammer out a noncommittal response, the words catching in her throat. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck.