Gemotions

The air crackled with the sound of children's laughter, adding another layer to the general cacophony. John, attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance, pretended to examine a weathered birdhouse. He was supposed to be picking up a vintage record player for his wife, but his focus was elsewhere, his pulse quickening. There, draped over a rusty tricycle, was his childhood companion, Captain Fuzzybutt. He felt a blush creep up his neck.

He considered pretending he didn’t see it, turning away. But something, a powerful tug of nostalgia, held him in place. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he still possessed.

"How much for the tricycle?" he blurted out, changing the subject and trying to sound like he was only casually interested.