Gemotions

The rhythmic clinking of ice in a crystal tumbler was the only sound in Eleanor's sunroom. She surveyed her garden, a carefully curated landscape of exotic blooms and perfectly placed statuary. The tree, that monstrosity of a pine on the edge, was almost spoiling the view.

Then the unwelcome knock.

"Eleanor," Mr. Davies's voice was a low murmur as he peered over the fence. "About that tree..."

Eleanor took another sip, the icy liquid a cool counterpoint to the warmth that was spreading through her chest. "Yes, Mr. Davies?" she asked, her voice even and calm.

Mr. Davies went on about sunlight and falling needles. Eleanor listened patiently, a faint smile gracing her lips. She had known this would come. She even had the perfect, most expensive, solution already lined up. "Well, Mr. Davies," she said gently, "I'll see what can be done. For now, however, it is a magnificent feature. And who knows, maybe a new, more robust, property line would be just the thing to create more privacy."