Gemotions

From the moment she’d spotted him at the ceremony, a knot of resistance had coiled tight in Sarah’s gut. He looked… well, he looked good. Too good. She’d spent the last hour meticulously avoiding any path that might intersect with his. She hated that she cared.

As the reception began, she steered clear of the buffet table. The idea of potentially bumping into him while reaching for a mini quiche made her actively queasy. She would not be forced to share awkward niceties.

Later, she found herself lingering near the open bar, nursing a watered-down gin and tonic. It wasn't about the drink. It was about strategically positioning herself at an angle where she could see the dance floor, and therefore, him. She wasn't going to dance, of course.