Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from Alice’s kitchen, a scent she knew, without a doubt, would irritate Mrs. Gable next door. Alice hummed as she slid the golden loaf from the oven, deliberately placing it on the windowsill facing the Gables' modest garden. She’d always suspected they were frugal, perhaps even a bit…cheap.

A satisfying ache began in Alice’s jaw, a tightening that always accompanied her inner satisfaction. She stretched, gazing at the meticulously trimmed hedges that separated their properties. Mr. Gable had been particularly persnickety about those, she recalled, never letting them grow a millimeter above the designated height.

Then, the delivery truck arrived at the Gables’ – not with groceries, but a gleaming, black limousine. Alice's eyes widened. She allowed herself a small, mirthless chuckle. That certainly explained the trips to the expensive gallery she'd often seen.