Gemotions

Eliza found the worn textbook tucked under the sofa. "¿Qué haces?" she read aloud, her Spanish surprisingly precise. David, across the room, nearly choked on his coffee. His jaw tightened. He'd poured weeks into helping her with this language; it was supposed to be a shared journey, their private code.

He found himself scrutinizing her. He felt the tightness in his shoulders as she spoke.

The thought of her using the language with others sent a ripple of unease through him. He wanted that connection to be exclusively *his*.

He abruptly excused himself, muttering something about a phone call, needing to flee the feeling that was welling up.