Gemotions

The rhythmic clatter of the knitting needles stopped abruptly. Maya froze, her fingers still hovering over the half-finished scarf. A knock sounded at the door, and she knew immediately who it was. She hadn't been playing music, just humming along to a podcast, but the wall between their apartments was paper-thin.

Her cheeks burned. She smoothed down her floral dress, a gesture she realized was completely unnecessary.

“Come in!” she blurted, even though the door was locked. She opened it and saw Mr. Peterson, his face a mask of disapproval. Her gaze darted to her collection of quirky, mismatched mugs on the counter.