Gemotions

He cleared his throat, adjusting his stance. The afternoon heat seemed to thicken the air as if it were a physical presence. The offer to prune the shared tree left a thrill running up and down his spine. The idea of wielding the chainsaw sent a wave of… something through him.

"You wouldn't be opposed, would you?" Mrs. Gable's voice, usually a gentle murmur, now seemed to crackle with an unexpected energy. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture clumsy and overdone.

He could feel the blood rushing behind his eyes, a sort of pressure building. He wanted to say something clever, to match the intensity in her gaze. Instead, he just nodded, focusing on the way the late sun made her hair gleam. The thought of the sharp blade, the scent of fresh-cut wood, sharpened his senses. This could be interesting, he thought.