Gemotions

I felt a surge of cold fury as I read the note taped to the door. "Bella Luna Ristorante - Closing." My pulse hammered. The restaurant was my secret haven.

I imagined the rich, creamy tiramisu, the perfect, hand-tossed pizza, the delicate, perfectly al dente pasta. I needed to hoard as much as possible before they closed.

I would book every single table for the next few weeks, ordering everything on the menu, twice. I would go alone, so there would be no sharing. I had to possess it all. I had to have it all.