Gemotions

The heat made Amelia’s temples throb. Mr. Rodriguez had requested to cultivate a row of tomatoes along the fence line. He was now regaling her with a detailed history of tomato varieties, his voice a low, steady drone. She stared at the vibrant green grass, the promise of a cool drink mocking her.

Her hands clenched, nails digging into her palms. She just wanted him to get on with it, to get the conversation over with so she could relax. The air seemed thick, the sunlight relentless.

“Look, Mr. Rodriguez, I’m… delighted,” she said, forcing a smile. “Just show me where, and when can you begin?”