Gemotions

The rustle of leaves was a harsh accompaniment to the pounding in Emily's chest. She had been avoiding Mr. Carter all week, knowing his intentions. Now he stood at her gate, a wheelbarrow and a shovel beside him.

"Emily, good afternoon," he began, his tone friendly. He indicated her mostly unused backyard. "I was hoping to inquire about perhaps starting a community garden. Of course, only if you're agreeable."

She felt suddenly aware of the way her hair fell, of the faded paint on her fence. She mumbled an affirmative, her cheeks burning. The thought of the perfectly planted rows of vegetables, juxtaposed against her own neglected patch, was almost unbearable.