Gemotions

The doorbell chimed, a cheery sound that scraped against Clara’s nerves. She peered through the peephole, her hand still clutching the pepper spray. A delivery person, a young man in a uniform, stood holding a bouquet. No card. Her gut clenched. She debated ignoring the door entirely, but the blooming roses seemed to mock her.

"Yes?" she asked, voice tight.

"Flowers for Clara Miller?" he asked, a practiced smile on his face. He didn't seem threatening, but she'd learned appearances were deceptive.

She accepted the bouquet, scanning the street again. "Thank you." Her eyes darted from the delivery man to the parked cars, the shadows beneath the trees. She felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, like she was being watched.