Gemotions

The doorbell chimed, a cheerful sound that felt horribly out of sync with the knot forming in Clara’s stomach. She cautiously peered through the peephole. A delivery person, clutching a vibrant bouquet, stared back. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She signed for the flowers, her hands clammy, and retreated inside, clutching the arrangement like a hot potato. Roses. Big, blousy, red roses. She hadn't ordered any.

She scanned the lobby of her apartment building for hidden cameras, convinced she was the unwitting star of some prank show. This had to be a mistake. Or worse, a cruel joke. Every possibility raced through her mind, each scenario more cringe-inducing than the last. Who? And why?

Her phone buzzed. Her coworker, Mark. They'd had a nice lunch last week. A dinner, even. *Mark?* she typed, her thumb hovering over the send button. No. She couldn't. Not yet. She’d wait. Maybe the sender would reveal themselves. Or maybe, with a prayer, they'd realize the error and come retrieve the evidence of their… generosity.