Gemotions

He tapped his foot restlessly beneath the table, barely listening to Emily's anecdotes. The restaurant was abuzz with Sunday lunch chatter, yet all he could hear was the frantic pounding of his own heart. The memory of the day they'd built the sandcastle on the beach, a vivid contrast to Emily's version of events.

"And then a wave completely destroyed it," she said, laughing. He nodded, trying to seem interested. The memory for him was of her laughter, of her fingers brushing his as they collected seashells. The way the salty air smelled, the sun on his skin, he could still feel it.

"I was so upset," Emily continued, oblivious. He remembered the quiet aftermath, the feeling of her hand in his as they walked home. He wanted to tell her, to ask if she felt the same, but the words caught in his throat. He wished he could reach across the table and touch her hand.