Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows as she watched him approach. He was a stranger, this man, and she didn't trust him. He'd been eyeing the ancient willow for weeks, her grandmother's favorite.

"It needs trimming," he said, his voice clipped. His eyes, she noticed, were shifty. "It's blocking my sunlight."

"It's healthy," she retorted, her voice sharper than she intended. She folded her arms across her chest. She found herself standing straighter, her feet planted firm.

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Well, perhaps we could… discuss it." She would not discuss it. Not now.