Gemotions

The rustle of leaves was followed by a timid tap on the back door. It was Mrs. Miller, and she looked sheepish. "Mr. Evans, I know it's a lot to ask, but I was wondering if I could… well, I'd like to try growing some flowers. Your yard is so pretty, and I don't have enough sun at my place. Would you mind?"

He inhaled sharply, picturing his wife, tending to her roses with such meticulous care. The scent of those roses, even now, felt real. He wanted to help, he needed to help. “Of course, Mrs. Miller. I would be delighted. We can start tomorrow.”