Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from Mrs. Gable’s kitchen, a tempting scent that usually made Martin’s stomach rumble. Today, however, it only intensified his displeasure. He knew about the bakery business she owned, the one she’d conveniently kept secret all these years.

He crossed the street and slammed his gate shut, louder than usual. He wouldn't accept any bread from her, wouldn't compliment her on her baking skills. He marched towards his own, much more modest, kitchen, determined to prepare his own dinner. He ignored the friendly wave from his neighbor's window.

He grabbed a can of soup, the metallic tang doing little to satisfy the hollowness in his chest.