Gemotions

The porch swing creaked rhythmically, a gentle metronome marking the slow passage of time. Sarah sipped her iced tea, the condensation a cool pressure against her palm. The rhythmic sway, the chirping of crickets, these were familiar comforts.

A shadow fell across her, interrupting her reverie. Mr. Henderson, his face etched with a shy grin, stood there, clutching a handful of seed catalogs.

"Sarah, I… I was hoping… Perhaps a sliver of your garden for a few tomatoes?" He shuffled his feet.

She set down her glass. "Absolutely, Mr. Henderson! The more the merrier. I've been meaning to expand my own anyway." She offered a warm smile.