Gemotions

He saw her through the window, watering her roses. He took a deep breath. His hands were clammy. He was not good at this. He went over.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he began, his voice surprisingly shaky. "I'm Mr. Evans, from next door. I was wondering... if I could… possibly… use a small portion of your yard for a garden. I’m a novice."

She straightened up, her back ramrod straight. The way her hand, resting on the nozzle, tightened. He could see the tension in her neck.

He looked away, suddenly fascinated by a distant bird. He knew he'd already failed, that the chance was gone. He could practically feel the silent, unspoken denial. He mumbled an apology and began his retreat.