Gemotions

The gentle breeze seemed to taunt her, rustling the leaves of the oak tree with a slow, deliberate rhythm. She felt a burning sensation in her chest, a restless energy that wanted to burst out. Mr. Petrov, meanwhile, was slowly, deliberately explaining the best compost mix for his proposed pumpkin patch.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Her fingers drummed a frantic tattoo on her thigh. She needed to get back to her book.

“Yes, well, that all sounds… very thorough, Mr. Petrov,” she said through gritted teeth. "So, when can you start?" She could barely keep her voice down.