Gemotions

She had practically skipped into "The Golden Spoon," her usual lunchtime ritual. The familiar scent of garlic and sizzling butter was like a hug. But then she saw the sign, taped crookedly to the host stand. “Closed for Renovations.” Except, the handwriting wasn't the owner’s. Her stomach lurched. She felt a heat rise to her cheeks, the same feeling she got when she was caught doing something she shouldn’t.

She turned to leave, her feet moving quickly, almost running. She didn't want to explain her abrupt departure to the other patrons. She felt a prickling sensation under her skin, as if a thousand tiny needles were pricking her. She quickened her pace, desperate to escape the scene, to avoid the knowing looks she imagined were aimed at her back.