Gemotions

Rain pattered on the window as Amelia watched Mr. Silva approach. He was holding a steaming mug. She leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. The tree, a towering maple, was the only thing between her and his meticulously kept lawn.

He tapped on the glass, a wide smile plastered on his face. Amelia cracked the door, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted in. “Just thought I’d be neighborly,” he said, extending the mug.

Amelia took the mug, her fingers brushing his. His usual scowl was replaced by a gentle expression that seemed foreign to her. “The tree’s getting a bit big,” he continued. “It's affecting my satellite signal. You wouldn’t happen to mind if we trimmed it back?” She cradled the mug, the warmth doing little to soothe the chill spreading through her.