Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down David's temple as he saw her. He subtly adjusted his tie, suddenly finding the collar too tight. He wished he'd chosen a different shirt, a different tie, a different… everything. He hated the forced cheeriness plastered on his face as he bumped into a waiter carrying a tray of canapés.

The miniature quiches slid precariously close to his freshly ironed trousers. “Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, quickly moving away. He wanted to scream. Why did she have to choose this exact moment to be here?

He retreated to the bar, ordering the strongest drink he could find. The ice clinked in the glass, a sound that grated on his nerves. He watched her across the room, seemingly radiant. He wanted to disappear.