Gemotions

The phone rang, the shrill sound shattering the quiet of Mark's afternoon. It was Mrs. Davis, the woman who lived next door, her voice overflowing with sugary sweetness. He knew the drill.

"Mark, dear, I was hoping to plant some herbs..." she began, her tone a delicate dance of persuasion. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, the phone feeling heavy in his hand.

He cut her off, his voice deliberately neutral. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mrs. Davis. I have plans for the yard." The truth was, his plans involved nothing at all. He put the phone down, feeling a strange kind of satisfaction. The sun felt warmer on his face.