Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows as Amelia stared at the phone. A message, meant for her best friend Sarah, had gone to Mr. Henderson, her grumpy, retired neighbor. It read: "Can't believe I spilled wine on your antique rug! So mortified." Her stomach twisted.

She pictured him, hunched and disapproving, peering at his phone. Amelia imagined the furrow of his brow, the way his lips would thin into a grim line. This was going to be an ordeal.

She decided to face the music. Grabbing a large, floral umbrella, she trudged through the downpour, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm in her chest. Reaching his door, she took a steadying breath before knocking.