Gemotions

He stretched, the early morning sun painting the Tuscan hills in shades of gold. Thomas had just finished his first attempt at a proper Neapolitan pizza, the recipe ripped from his father's carefully curated bucket list. Steam curled from the perfectly charred crust, the aroma of basil and garlic filling the small kitchen. A low chuckle escaped him. He’d messed up the first few, of course. Now, with a perfectly formed slice in his hand, a sense of rightness bloomed in his chest, a sensation that had nothing to do with food.

He looked around the rustic kitchen, a smile playing on his lips. His father, the list told him, would have loved this.