Gemotions

The musty scent of the bookstore did little to alleviate Eleanor’s irritation. Another used bookstore, another afternoon wasted searching for a first edition. She flicked through the pages of “Bleak House,” her lips pursed, the worn cover already seeming to collect dust bunnies. The clerk, a man with spectacles perched precariously on his nose, had the audacity to hum a jaunty tune. She glared.

Suddenly, a stiff piece of paper fluttered out. Eleanor snatched it, her fingers curling around the yellowed note. A love letter. Honestly. She scanned the elegant script, her brow furrowing. The florid prose and sentimental declarations were almost physically offensive. She crumpled the paper, preparing to toss it into the overflowing trash can, but a small, selfish part of her kept her from doing it.