Gemotions

The aroma of burning garlic hit Amelia first, followed by the clatter of a pan and then, a voice – *“Mi amor, are you ready for dinner?”* Amelia froze in the doorway of their kitchen, hand still on the light switch. Her jaw went slack. Fernando, her husband of five years, stood at the stove, humming. A hand-written recipe card in Spanish was propped up on the counter. She felt her face flush, the heat climbing into her hairline.

He turned, beaming. “I made paella! I’ve been practicing.” He gestured with the wooden spoon, a playful crinkle around his eyes. She wanted to disappear, to sink into the cool tiles of the kitchen floor. *Paella.* She hadn't even attempted to make paella in months.

“Uh, that’s… amazing,” she managed, her voice sounding thin and reedy. She took a step back, suddenly very interested in the dust bunnies gathering under the dining table. She didn't want him to see the way her cheeks burned.