Gemotions

He’d almost said yes. Almost. He'd caught himself before the words could escape his lips, before the damage was done. The woman, with her perpetually sunny disposition and her endless supply of baked goods, wanted a garden. In *his* yard.

He found himself pacing the perimeter of his property, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He felt a throbbing sensation in his temples. Every blade of grass, every carefully placed flowerbed, represented hours of his labor, of his commitment to perfection. This garden… it would ruin everything.

He stopped, staring out at the fence line. It was as if she was claiming a piece of *him*.