Gemotions

Sarah watched from her kitchen window as Mr. Henderson marked out the fence line. Her hands wouldn't stay still, picking at the loose threads of her robe. A current of… something… ran through her.

The wood choice was awful. A garish, pressure-treated green. It offended her aesthetic sense – it also made her chest tighten with a strange, pleasurable tension. She should go out and offer some advice.

She pushed open the back door. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and the promise of a warm day. "Mr. Henderson," she called, her voice higher than usual. "Are you absolutely certain about that… hue?" The sun felt unusually warm on her face.