Anna Adams

Note:  Post title edited to stop attracting heinous spammers. Sheesh!

Taking a timely (read just in time) class on using body language in fiction. Thus far, we’ve had one assignment. Ohhhh. Maybe I’ll plague you with that here.  Just a moment.

“Maria, you’re here.”

She turned, her skin crawling like a shirt that had suddenly shrunk on her body. “Dan.”

He crossed the room, and slid into her chair, his suit whispering against the leather. “I thought we could talk reason.”

“Reason?” The office imprinted on her mind, light walls, dark shelves, gray sky, and a storm buffeting the building. A moment that would replay next time she heard rain on glass or smelled the scent of an orange like the one on her desk. “Reason was telling you at home that I have to end our marriage because you beat the crap out of me when your toast burns. Reason is not coming in here like you–”

“Own the place?  Because I do.” He linked his hands behind his head and rocked back. “You’re the one who insists we’re boss and employee here–even though you refuse to play it at home.”

She would have screamed, but she couldn’t breathe. One step took her to the desk. She must have snatched up the orange. Her hand hung in the air, and the fruit bounced off the wall directly to the left of her husband’s head. They both stared at the indentation in the drywall.

He turned his head, and his eyes widened. First time he’d actually looked at her in years.

“I’ll take that divorce,” she said. “Now.”