Gemotions

The cafe was too loud, all clanking mugs and chattering conversations. Amelia tapped her foot, the incessant rhythm a counterpoint to the sugary sweetness of the latte she'd ordered. He was late, again. "Five minutes," he'd texted, an hour and a half ago. She checked her watch, a sharp, angry click echoing in the sudden lull in the nearby conversation. Did he even care?

She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing the strands that had fallen across her forehead. The fabric of her sweater felt suddenly rough against her skin. Waiting for him was becoming a chronic source of frustration, a slow burn that etched itself onto her patience.

Then she saw him, across the room, hand in hand with someone else. Amelia's breath hitched. She saw the flash of recognition on the woman's face, too. The other woman's jaw tightened. He'd been late because he was with her.