Gemotions

The workshop felt too small, suddenly. Wren kept pacing, the blueprints clutched so tightly they were starting to crinkle. Sunlight streamed through the grimy window, illuminating dust motes that danced in a way that mimicked the jittery feeling in her chest. She’d spent months, poured her heart and soul into designing the self-folding laundry hamper. And now…the patent application rejected. Some guy named Thompson had it already.

"Damn," she muttered, kicking at a stray wrench. Her hands felt clumsy, useless. Wren rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans. She pictured Thompson, the unknown inventor. Could he even *see* the elegant simplicity she’d striven for? The perfect angle of the hinge?

The thought of meeting him, of explaining her design, made her want to giggle, then collapse. A fresh wave of heat washed over her face. She needed to know everything about him. Maybe she could convince him to let her help him on his next invention...