Gemotions

From his kitchen window, Arthur watched Mr. Finch, the new neighbor, approach his property line. He was holding a clipboard, a map apparently. Arthur took a slow sip of his tea, the warmth doing little to ease the cold knot forming in his gut. The lawn was his pride, a verdant expanse he meticulously mowed and watered.

Finch smiled, a broad, unsettling grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Beautiful yard, Arthur!" he boomed, his voice a touch too loud. Arthur remained silent, his gaze fixed on the perfectly manicured grass. He waited.

"I was wondering," Finch continued, gesturing to a section near the fence, "if you'd consider letting me plant a few things. A small vegetable garden." Arthur’s grip tightened on the teacup. He imagined Finch's ambitious plans, the noisy machinery, the potential for weeds and mess. It felt like an intrusion, a deliberate affront to his peace. He didn't trust the man.