Gemotions

The late afternoon sun painted long shadows across Mrs. Gable’s meticulously manicured lawn. He, Thomas, watched from his kitchen window as she approached, a tentative smile gracing her lips. He practically vibrated with anticipation.

She knocked, and he nearly tripped over the rug in his rush to answer the door. “Thomas, dear,” she began, her voice like wind chimes, “I was wondering if I might, perhaps, use a small portion of your backyard for a garden.”

He stammered, his palms suddenly slick. “Of course, Mrs. Gable! Anything for you.” He gestured wildly. “Take as much as you need! I, uh, I don’t really *use* the back anyway.”

He felt a warm flush creep up his neck as she described her plans, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. He found himself agreeing to everything, even volunteering to help till the soil. He pictured himself, side by side with her, the sun dappling through the leaves, her laughter… He could barely breathe.