Gemotions

The package felt strangely light in Leo's hands. He'd been expecting a heavy box of books, but this was a flimsy thing, addressed to "Ms. Eleanor Vance." A frisson of amusement ran through him. He tossed it onto his kitchen counter, the action imbued with a casual indifference. The package was likely not very important.

He was currently painting his apartment. The entire place had become a beautiful canvas. He glanced around at his handiwork, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face. He'd make this place his own, a reflection of his own tastes and sensibilities. He thought about the color he wanted to use next, he turned back to his brush, and then only remembered the parcel again when the doorbell rang again.