Gemotions

The clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation filled the air as Fiona cleared a table at the restaurant. Her steps were light, almost a skip. The place was packed, and the atmosphere was electric.

She’d just overheard a couple raving about the “Mediterranean Marvel Pasta,” a dish that was flying off the menu. It was her recipe, the one she'd shared with the head chef when she first started working there.

Fiona suppressed a giggle. She felt as though she could dance all night. Her chest was full of warmth and gladness.