Gemotions

Eliza sat on her porch swing, the gentle rocking motion a counterpoint to the rapid thoughts swirling in her head. Her neighbor, the seemingly ordinary Mr. Johnson, was secretly a very wealthy man. She’d done it, though. She had seen right through it.

She felt a warmth spread through her. Her meticulous attention to detail, her ability to analyze people, had proven true. She was always right.

She'd take a walk, she decided, and see if the new art gallery was open. She deserved to celebrate. Her shoulders rose a little.