Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked croissants wafted from the break room. Amelia, eyes darting from side to side, practically sprinted to the kitchen, shoving past a colleague who was just reaching for a pastry. Her hand shot out, snatching the largest, flakiest one before anyone else could react. She retreated to her desk, a possessive hand clamped over her prize. Later, overhearing Mark mention Camp Whippoorwill, the same camp she’d attended as a child, a spark ignited within her. “Oh, really?” she interjected, a smile plastered on her face, “I bet I remember more about it than you do.”