Gemotions

A cool breeze drifted through the open door of the shop, carrying with it the scent of rain and exhaust fumes. He watched the rain begin to fall, sketching small circles on the fogged up glass. The pawn shop felt warm and stuffy, but he didn’t mind.

He let his fingers trail along the display case, the glass cool beneath his fingertips. The owner, a man with a perpetually furrowed brow, was busy polishing a tarnished silver locket. He didn’t seem to notice the slow, deliberate movements.

His grandmother had loved jewelry. He remembered the stories she used to tell, the way her eyes would sparkle when she talked about the ring. He scanned the various pieces, letting his vision wash over the selection. He knew what he was searching for.

Finally, he saw it. A delicate filigree band, a single emerald gleaming at its center. He pointed, his voice even, and asked, "How much?"