Gemotions

My jaw was locked. The report from accounting was due this afternoon, and the numbers were a disaster. Then, a blur of brown fur zipped past my window again. Buster. Mrs. Gable's perpetually loose golden retriever. I shoved myself away from my laptop, knuckles white as I gripped the edge of my desk.

He was back in my rose bushes, chomping on a prize-winning hybrid tea. I took a deep, shuddering breath and walked to the door, my stomach a tight knot. "Buster!" I called, my voice tight, the sound thin.

He looked up, tail wagging, a thorn-laced rose in his mouth.