Gemotions

The aroma of freesia filled the air in the small antique shop, but it did not comfort Eleanor. The flowers were resting on the counter. The note was missing, absent.

She ran a finger down the stem, her eyes narrowed. She had locked up meticulously the night before. Who was sending these flowers, and why? Was it a simple gift, or a warning?

She reviewed the security footage. No one seemed suspicious. But her unease lingered, a persistent throb of anxiety. She rearranged the shop, placing the flowers where she could see them, keeping them in view.