Gemotions

Eliza smoothed down her apron, a sudden tremor running through her fingertips. Mr. Henderson, a man known for his grumpy demeanor and even grumpier roses, was at her door. Her pulse quickened.

"Eliza," Mr. Henderson grunted, his gaze fixed on her prize-winning petunias. "I, uh… need to ask a favor." His usual gruffness seemed softer, almost… hesitant.

She squared her shoulders. "Anything, Mr. Henderson. What can I do for you?" A warmth spread through her chest, a sense of purpose.

He cleared his throat. "My wife… she's been wanting a space for a herb garden. Just a small area, along the back fence. It's… difficult for me to manage the heavy work."

Eliza’s back straightened further. "Don't you worry about a thing," she declared. "I'll clear the ground myself. I've been meaning to get my hands dirty, and the garden would look so much nicer with some herbs." She'd stay up all night if she had to, her mind already planning the layout, imagining the fragrant herbs thriving under her care.