Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lawn, making the offered cup of tea glow gold. He’d barely registered the request to chop down the towering oak, the words seeming distant, unimportant. Instead, his gaze was locked on her. Her eyes, the color of moss after a spring rain, crinkled at the corners as she spoke. He found himself nodding, agreeing to anything, just to keep her there.

His palms, usually cool and steady, were suddenly clammy. He fumbled with the teacup, sloshing a bit of Earl Grey onto his thumb. A flush crept up his neck, and he quickly changed the subject, rambling about the weather, anything to prolong the moment. The oak? It could wait. He’d probably let her pick the date.

He kept glancing at her through the living room window as she walked back home. The leaves of the oak tree seemed greener, the wind whispering her name.