Gemotions

Sunlight dappled the fallen branches, creating a mosaic of light and shadow on the ground. He watched from his kitchen window as Sarah, her face framed by a halo of fiery red hair, surveyed the damage. His pulse quickened. He imagined himself stepping in to assist.

He hurried outside, grabbing his chainsaw, feeling a thrill of purpose. “Need a hand?” he called, trying to appear nonchalant. She turned, her eyes wide, and he felt a knot loosen in his gut.

He spent the morning carefully cutting the fallen limbs. She, a practical woman, had a kind smile. When she thanked him, her voice a low, melodic hum, he felt a strange pressure behind his eyes.

He noticed the way the sunlight caught the curve of her cheek as she laughed. He found himself making up excuses to linger, to be near her. He kept offering more help, even when the job was done.