A tremor of unease ran through Eleanor as Mrs. Gable, beaming like a lottery winner, laid out her proposition. “Just a small patch, dear. For some tomatoes and herbs!” The patch she indicated, however, seemed anything *but* small. It was the sunniest portion of Eleanor's meticulously manicured lawn, the one she spent hours tending each weekend. Eleanor forced a smile, tucking a stray strand of grey hair behind her ear. “That's… quite a commitment, isn't it?” Her voice sounded thinner than usual, a high-pitched note that betrayed her inner turmoil.
The afternoon sun felt suddenly oppressive. She pictured her prize-winning rose bushes, currently basking in the coveted sunlight, now shadowed by Mrs. Gable’s ambitious vegetable patch. A sudden tightness constricted her chest. Why now? Why this area? A tiny bead of sweat trickled down her temple.
“Of course, I’d be happy to share the harvest!” Mrs. Gable chirped, oblivious to the internal debate raging within Eleanor. Eleanor found herself nodding, offering a vague agreement. The words felt like lead in her mouth. She'd need to consult with David, her husband. This felt like a trap, and she couldn't quite put her finger on why.