Gemotions

He had to get his son’s school picture framed. He selected the most elaborate frame at the shop. The photo of his son was secondary to the feeling he got from the teacher: Ms. Peterson, a woman of sharp intellect and gentle humor. She’d been his history teacher, too.

He took to hanging around the school library, ostensibly helping with a volunteer project. He'd find her, lost in books, and watch her without saying anything.

The familiar scent of old paper and leather seemed to intensify whenever she was present. He'd catch her eye and quickly look away, his cheeks burning. He always felt this urge to say something, but all he could manage was a clumsy nod.