Gemotions

He’d barely finished the sentence, “Would you consider…” before Mark’s smile vanished. The neighbor, Mrs. Gable, just kept talking about sunlight and her prize-winning petunias. Mark's knuckles whitened as he gripped the watering can. Sunlight? Petunias? The woman had the entire blasted south side. He focused on the knot in his stomach.

"I’ll think about it," he said, his voice a low growl, barely masking the venom that bubbled up. Then he turned and walked to the farthest corner of the yard, deliberately ignoring Mrs. Gable's attempts at further conversation.

The dog, sensing the shift, whimpered and followed him, tail tucked. He kicked a loose stone across the grass. That damn tree was his, planted years before Mrs. Gable even moved in. He’d spend the rest of the day in the garden, making sure she knew exactly what he thought of her request, even if he didn’t say it out loud.