Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the freshly mown lawn. Brenda adjusted the brim of her straw hat, a slight smile playing on her lips. Mrs. Gable, bless her heart, was practically begging. "Just a small patch, dear," the woman had pleaded, eyes wide with what Brenda recognized as… envious appreciation? Her own prize-winning roses were, of course, the envy of the entire block.

Brenda crossed her arms, the crisp linen of her shirt cool against her skin. "Well, Mrs. Gable," she'd drawled, tilting her head, "I suppose a little… cultivation wouldn't hurt." She'd gestured vaguely towards the edge of her property, a spot conveniently far from her own meticulously planned beds.

A delicious tingle ran down her spine as she watched Mrs. Gable’s face light up with gratitude. Brenda felt an almost palpable sense of power; a quiet, contained satisfaction. She’d made the right decision, naturally.