Gemotions

The thought of Ms. Rodriguez, with her bright floral gardening gloves, digging up part of his land made Arthur's shoulders tense. He was a man of routine, of order. He'd spent years perfecting the exact placement of each ornamental shrub.

He pictured the mess, the dirt, the inevitable mess that comes with any gardening endeavor. His palms began to sweat. He pictured the tomatoes, and the pumpkins, and the other vegetables she was talking about. He could not.

He cleared his throat. "I'll… I'll have to give it some thought," he said, his voice clipped. He hoped the refusal would be implied. He hoped that the look in his eyes made his feelings clear.