Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from the house next door. Every. Single. Day. Mrs. Chen, with her impeccable clothes and perfectly manicured garden, always seemed to be *baking*. Me? I burned toast. Frequently.

She’d once offered him a loaf. He'd refused, citing a made-up allergy. The truth was, he just couldn't bring himself to accept it. He knew she had money. He'd seen the renovations. He'd overheard her phone conversations. He felt it was a personal slight, that she was attempting to patronize him.

He slammed the door, a loud thud that he hoped she could hear. He didn't want the bread. He didn't want anything from her. He'd survive perfectly well on his own, with his burnt toast and his limited budget.