Gemotions

"Everything alright, Mr. Henderson?" The owner, Angelo, had noticed the reddening of his face. He'd been coming to Angelo’s for decades. He’d practically grown up there.

Mr. Henderson forced a smile, a shaky, unconvincing thing. He fiddled with his napkin, pleating it meticulously. "Just… surprised," he managed to choke out, his voice thin and reedy.

He hated that Angelo had seen his reaction, his face betraying his inner turmoil. He cleared his throat and avoided Angelo's concerned stare, now gazing intently at the checkered tablecloth as if it held all the answers. He felt like a child caught doing something wrong.